Page 10 of Forest Reed (Seals on Fraiser Mountain #8)

Forest

“I am never eating sauerkraut again,” she muttered, tossing her hood aside. “It’s cursed.”

I leaned against the counter, pouring water into two mugs because coffee would have been an insult at that hour. “You held your own.”

“Please,” she said, holding the mug like it was holy. “I owned that ravine. If there was an Olympic sport for fighting crime while covered in dirt and screaming at men in masks, I’d medal.”

“Gold,” I said without hesitation.

Her eyes flicked up, catching mine. “You’re biased.”

“Damn right.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was warm, humming with everything we’d been pushing back. She stretched, shirt sliding up just enough to make my brain forget every plan I’d ever had. My control was already thin.

“You should sleep,” I said, voice rougher than I intended.

She smirked, setting the mug down slow. “I don’t feel tired.”

I crossed the room before I decided not to. She met me halfway, fingers in my shirt, mouth on mine. The kiss wasn’t wildfire this time—it was slower, deeper, like we’d both decided to stop pretending and just take.

I lifted her, carried her to the bedroom, and laid her down like she was both fragile and indestructible. Her laugh was low and breathless when she pulled me with her. “Mountain Man,” she whispered, “if you think you’re in control here…”

I kissed the rest of that sentence away.

The night stretched, heat and skin and breathless laughter between gasps. She teased me about the way I growled when she tugged my hair. I threatened to put her in the net just to prove a point. She dared me. I didn’t.

By the time we collapsed tangled in sheets again, the clock on the nightstand said 4:30 and my heart hadn’t slowed since the ravine. She traced a finger down my chest, half-asleep, and murmured, “You’re trouble.”

“Always,” I said, kissing her hair.

The sun was barely up when my phone buzzed against the nightstand. Not the burner. Mine.

I answered low, not waking her. “Reed.”

Static, then a voice I didn’t know: “If you want to keep her breathing, meet us at Mirror Lake tonight. Come alone.”

The line clicked dead.

My gut went cold. Zoe shifted beside me, arm draped over my chest, trusting me with sleep she rarely gave anyone.

I stared at the ceiling and felt the mountain shift under our feet.

Because “Mr. North” wasn’t bluffing anymore.

And there was no way in hell I was walking into that without Zoe—whether she liked it or not.