Page 36 of Mistletoe and Mayday

“A cabin. About three miles from the crash site.” I reach for the water I’ve set aside, supporting her head as she drinks. “You passed out. Your ankle’s badly injured.”

Memory dawns in her eyes, the confusion clearing. She takes in the cabin, the fire, then me.

“You carried me. The entire way.” It’s not a question.

“Of course I did.”

Without warning, she pulls herself up, arms wrapping around my neck.

“Thank you.” The words vibrate against my collar, raw and unguarded. “For saving me. For not leaving me out there.”

My arms circle around her, one hand finding the back of her head. Her hair feels soft between my fingers. Something cracks open in my chest at the sincerity in her voice.

“I wouldn’t have left you.”

She pulls back, those green eyes studying my face with new intensity. I must look terrible—exhaustion weighs on me like aphysical force. My vision blurs at the edges, my body swaying even sitting down.

Her hand finds my face, fingers cool against my cheek. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re about to collapse.” Her usual sharpness returns, but there’s concern beneath it. “Zombie CEOs make terrible survival partners, you know.”

“I’ll sleep here.” I gesture toward the floor, where I laid a blanket.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She shifts to one side of the narrow bed, wincing as she moves her leg. “Come here.”

“Bailey—”

“Sebastian.” She mimics my authoritative tone. “Get in the damn bed before you fall over.”

My body surrenders before my mind can argue. I sink onto the mattress beside her, keeping to my edge. The relief is immediate and overwhelming, like sinking into oblivion.

“I should check your leg again.” The words slur together, my tongue suddenly too heavy for my mouth.

“Sleep.” Her voice comes from miles away. “I’ll still be broken in the morning.”

Sleep pulls at me like quicksand, irresistible after hours of exertion. The mattress cradles my exhausted body, and despite my best intentions to maintain distance, I’m drifting closer to the warmth radiating from Bailey’s side of the bed.

A howl pierces the night—long, haunting, close.

Bailey stiffens beside me, her breathing quickening. Another howl joins the first, then a third. Wolves.

“They can’t get in,” I murmur, words slurring with exhaustion. “Cabin’s secure.”

“Sebastian?” Her voice is small in the darkness. Nothing like her usual confident chatter.

“Hmm?”

In answer, her hand finds mine beneath the blanket. Her fingers slide between mine, intertwining. Such a simple gesture, yet it ignites something molten in my chest. Her thumb traces small circles on my palm, each one sending electricity up my arm.

I should pull away. Establish boundaries. Remind us both that this—whatever this is—ends the moment rescue arrives.

Instead, I squeeze her hand, drawing it closer until our joined fingers rest against my heart. Her body relaxes, curves toward mine like it belongs there. The wolves howl again, but she doesn’t flinch this time.

“Go to sleep,” I tell her. “I’ve got you.”

“Promise?” The vulnerability in that single word undoes something in me, dissolves a barrier I didn’t know existed.