Page 7

7

Lena

S omething was wrong. Something beyond the obvious. Something that had nothing to do with the discovery of an old skeleton.

“What’s going on, Tristan?”

“Nothing,” he said, his jaw clenched tight.

“Please don’t lie to me,” she said. “Come on, I’m a big girl. You can tell me.”

Finally, he huffed out a sigh. “Fine. The sound of the river has changed. I don’t like it. And it’s still raining. I think we need to go higher. We’ll be safer there.”

“Oh.” Lena didn’t think she could stand, let alone climb anywhere higher. “I see.” If she were braver, she’d tell him to go ahead without her. But the thought of being alone again filled her with unspeakable dread. Her hand tightened on his, claw-like.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this,” he said, crouching beside her. He pulled out a radio, making her wonder how he still had use of his hands in this weather, and pressed the call button.

“Fontaine,” a voice spoke. The name was familiar. Her father had always striven to keep work and family separate, but she’d heard of Commandant Beau Fontaine. “Talk to me, Tristan. How’s Madeleine?”

Tristan gave her an encouraging smile. Not that she believed it for an instant. “She’s okay. But I think we’re too close to the river. It’s risky to stay here.”

“Can you get her back up?”

“Not up the way I came,” Tristan said. “But we can go up, parallel to the river. I’ll get her to the caves. We can wait there until the storm passes.”

There was silence for a long instant, making Lena wonder what was wrong with these caves.

“Understood. Colonel Pelegrin had a message for his daughter. He wants her to hold on so they can watch that movie together tomorrow.” Tears—and this time she couldn’t blame it on her ankle—welled in her eyes.

She nodded cautiously. “Please tell him I’d like that.”

Beau’s gruff voice softened as he spoke to her. “Will do.”

“I’m getting her out of here now. Call when you’re ready.”

Silence. Then, Beau’s sigh, the kind that said he already knew Tristan wasn’t going to listen to him no matter what he said.

“Be careful.”

Moments later, Tristan put the phone back in his pocket.

“You can’t carry me,” she whispered.

“You’re going to hurt my self-esteem if you’re not careful,” he shot back.

“I dare say your self-esteem is just fine,” she laughed. A tremor shook her body, spoiling the effect of her words. “I’m serious, Tristan.”

“So am I,” he said, shifting closer to her. “So. What’s the movie?”

“ Compartment No. 6 . It’s an independent Finnish movie set on a train traveling through the Arctic from Russia to Finland.” She paused. “I suggested it weeks ago, and my father looked at me like I was crazy.”

“I wonder why. It sounds like a fascinating plot,” Tristan drawled. A small smile lit his face. Then his expression grew serious again.

“What do you need me to do?” Lena asked, pretending more bravery than she was really feeling.

Tristan slipped an arm beneath her knees. His other arm went around her back. “Absolutely nothing. Just hold on and enjoy the ride.” Then he stood up easily, pulling her tight against his chest as he did so.

“Tristan, you—” Pain shot up her leg, a strangled cry escaping her lips before she could stop it. Tristan sucked in a sharp breath, like the sound hurt him, too.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice strained. “I know. Just—breathe through it. Trust me.”

Sweetheart .

The word almost—but not quite—distracted her from the pain in her ankle. She liked it. She liked it too much.

She bit down on her lip, nodding weakly. She did trust him.

His breath was harsh as he adjusted his grip, steadying them both before moving. “We’re getting out of here, Lena. You just have to hang on.”

She would. She would hold on as long as it took. Her arms tightened around him. Because he wasn’t wearing a coat anymore, she could feel his thick shoulder muscles. “This is better than Dream Tristan,” she said dreamily.

“Dream Tristan?”

“Before you came … it’s a long story.”

A small sigh. “I look forward to hearing it, sweetheart.” He started walking up the slope, his steps sure and careful, even as the storm pressed in around them. The wind clawed at them, but Tristan’s body was warm. Solid.

She focused on that—the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his arms tightened ever so slightly every time she trembled. Lena tucked her face against his shoulder, trying to suppress another shudder. She had no idea how he was carrying her with such confidence over the uneven terrain, but she wasn’t going to argue. Even if her pride screamed at her for being a burden, she knew there was no way she would have made it out of here on her own.

Her foot throbbed with every step he took, the pain radiating up her leg in sharp, searing jolts. She clenched her jaw, trying to breathe through it, but Tristan noticed everything.

“Talk to me,” he said, his voice low, soothing.

She swallowed, forcing her focus away from the pain, from the cold, from the fear pressing in at the edges of her mind. “Okay. Um… Dream Tristan.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Right. So what exactly does Dream Tristan do?”

Lena sighed, letting the memory of that warm, distant dream settle over her like a thin blanket. “He sits across from me in a bar. He buys me a drink. But not a beer. Maybe a hot chocolate. Something warm,” she murmured.

Tristan huffed out a breath. “When we’re home, I’ll make you the best hot chocolate you’ve ever seen, Lena. With whipped cream, and little marshmallows.”

“With marshmallows?” she asked softly. She was so cold. So, so cold.

“What can I say? I’m resourceful.”

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“I got lucky,” he said, easily. “Thankfully, your father was right about the area you’d been exploring.”

That wasn’t what she meant. “Your boss was screaming at you. Earlier. On the radio. About you ignoring a direct order.”

She felt him tense slightly beneath her, but then his hold on her only tightened. “I’ll take whatever punishment they throw at me later,” he muttered. “Getting you out of here is all that matters.”

Her heart did something strange at that—a slow, deep pull that had nothing to do with survival. Tristan’s boots crunched over loose rock, the wind howled through the trees, and, slowly, the sound of the river moved further and further away.

She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, trying to ignore the nagging worry clawing at the back of her mind. “Where are these caves?”

“Not far,” Tristan said, but she could hear the strain in his voice.

Her arms tightened around his neck. “Tristan, I?—”

“Don’t even think about saying you can walk,” he cut in. “We’re doing this my way.”

The climb grew steeper, and Tristan adjusted his grip, shifting her slightly higher against his chest. The moment her ankle moved, pain lanced through her again. She swallowed the gasp threatening to escape her throat, not wanting to add to his burden, but he seemed to know, anyway. His hold on her turned almost crushing. “I’m sorry. We’re almost there,” he whispered, his voice tight.

She exhaled a slow breath, nodding against him. She trusted him. She had to . And her eyelids felt heavy. Too heavy. The exhaustion was pulling at her again, whispering to her that she could just close her eyes for a moment, just for a second…

“Lena.”

Tristan’s voice yanked her back. His grip on her shifted, a gentle shake.

“No sleeping,” he ordered, voice rough. “Talk to me. About anything. Just keep talking.”

She wanted to argue that she was so tired, but the fear in his voice scared her into compliance.

So she forced her lips to move, her words slurred but there.

“You know…” she murmured, fighting to stay conscious, “Dream Tristan… he also kissed me.”

Tristan stiffened mid-step.

“Did he?” His voice was low, rough in a way that sent warmth through her despite the cold.

“Mm-hmm,” she said sleepily. “And it was… a really good kiss. Like the one we shared in the bar. Only even better.”

A beat of silence. Then a slow, deep exhale.

“Sweetheart,” Tristan murmured, “we are absolutely going to talk about that… when you’re not half-frozen and delirious.”

She would have laughed, but the exhaustion was winning again.

The last thing she felt was the way he held her even tighter, his arms steady, unyielding, and safe.

Tristan

Tristan stumbled into one of the larger cave formations that he knew dotted this area. There were higher caves, and he would have liked to get to one of those, but he figured they’d climbed high enough to be protected from the river.

He needed a break, and he needed to get Lena warm. She was only half-conscious now, and her lips were tinged with blue. She’d also stopped shivering, which wasn’t a good sign.

Tristan moved quickly inside the cave, his heart hammering against his ribs, his arms screaming from the effort. It was a good cave—deep enough to provide shelter from the wind and rain, but not so deep that large animals were likely to have made their home there.

He set Lena down as carefully as he could, his stomach twisting as she let out a weak, barely-there sound of pain.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, kneeling beside her. “I know. Just hold on.”

Her breathing was too shallow, her skin icy beneath his fingers. He had to work fast.

He yanked his pack off, digging inside for his emergency supplies. Thermal blanket. Bivy sack. Stove. Emergency lantern.

He turned on the Black Diamond Moji lantern first, placing it on the ground next to them. It gave off enough light that he could turn off his headlamp for now. He poured some water from his canteen into a small pot, setting it over the portable stove to warm.

Cursing under his breath, he struggled to get his frozen fingers to work enough to unzip the bivy sack. Finally, he had it as open as it would go. Body heat was the fastest way to warm Lena up, and at this point, modesty wasn’t a concern.

He grabbed the blanket, laying it on the cold, hard ground, and set Lena on top of it, unzipping her wet outer layers and removing them as quickly as his frozen fingers would allow. God, she was soaked through. Finally, he’d pulled away the cold, clammy fabric, leaving her clad in leggings and a sports bra. He didn’t dare remove her boots. He didn’t know how bad the injury to her ankle was, and his main objective right now was to prevent further damage.

“Lena,” he called softly. She barely stirred.

Not good.

He stripped off his own long-sleeve top before maneuvering them both into the bivy sack. He pressed his body to hers, pulling the fabric tight around them, pressing his body heat into her icy body.

She didn’t even react. No shivering. No protests. Nothing.

Tristan’s throat tightened.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, voice rough. “You hear me?”

He ran his hands up and down her arms, trying to force her body to wake up, to fight back against the cold. His chin brushed against the damp strands of her hair, and he muttered another string of curses.

Her breathing hitched slightly, and then—the tiniest shiver.

Good. That meant her body was recognizing the warmth.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he whispered. “That’s it.”

The lantern and the small flame from the portable stove worked together to cast a warm, golden glow against the cave walls. He stayed close to her until he heard the water start to boil, then pulled himself out of the warm cocoon, pouring the water into a small mug and digging into his backpack for a small package of instant tea, which he ripped open with his teeth.

The scent of chamomile filled the air, but Lena didn’t stir.

“Lena,” he murmured again, shifting her carefully. “I need you to drink this.”

She stirred, then, blinking slowly, like waking was the hardest thing in the world.

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

“Please drink this.” Tristan lifted the warm cup to her mouth, tilting it just enough for the liquid to touch her lips.

She swallowed weakly, her lashes fluttering as she managed a tiny sip.

“That’s it,” he murmured, relief washing through him. “Again.”

After a few sips, she rested her head against his chest again, as if the effort of drinking had exhausted her. But at least she was responsive.

The storm raged on outside, the rain hammering against the rocks, but inside the cave, Tristan focused only on her.

“Tristan?” she finally whispered. “I don’t feel as c-cold anymore.” Her chattering teeth belied her words.

“Good. I’ve got you, Lena. You’re safe.” He tightened his arms around her, pressing another soft kiss against her hair.

“You’re not Dream Tristan.”

“No?”

She shook her head faintly. “He wouldn’t just be kissing my hair.”

Tristan smothered a laugh. “We can talk about where you want me to kiss you later, okay? Now I need to look at your ankle.”

“Do I need to move?”

“No. Let me just wrap the sleeping bag around you … like this … and take a quick look.” He took her boot in his hands, very gently. “Can you flex the foot at all?”

Lena nodded, wincing. “A bit. But it really hurts.”

“Okay. Stop. This is good. It might just be a bad sprain, rather than a fracture,” he said. He wished Ry were here with them. “I’m going to stabilize it until we can get you to the hospital.”

He took a bandage from his backpack and wrapped it around her boot for support. He then placed it on top of his backpack to keep it elevated. By the time he was done, Lena’s breathing was shallow. He could tell she was in a lot of pain. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she finally murmured, her voice slurred with exhaustion. “You came for me.”

Tristan exhaled slowly, his forehead briefly resting against the top of her damp hair. He wanted to tell her he’d always come for her, but he knew how unfair that would be. The two of them … now that he knew who she was, and she knew who he was … it was all so much more complicated than it had been.

He lay back next to her and tightened his arms around her, letting the steady warmth of their shared body heat settle between them. Outside, the storm was still a living, breathing thing—wind whipping against the rock, rain still hammering down—but already he could feel it slowing. The downpour wasn’t quite as relentless as it had been. And daylight would follow.

That meant help would be here soon.

Still, not soon enough.

“You doing okay?” he murmured after a while.

Lena shifted slightly against him, sighing softly. “You’re warm. I like it.”

That shouldn’t have made his chest tighten the way it did, but it did.

“Good,” he said, voice rough.

A beat of silence passed between them.

Then, softer—“Thank you, Tristan.”

He closed his eyes. Christ. She was going to be his undoing.

Minutes blurred together, the steady flicker of the emergency lantern casting long shadows on the cave walls. He kept rubbing warmth back into her arms, her fingers, and even cajoled her into drinking a bit more tea. Eventually, she drifted into an exhausted half-sleep.

Tristan forced himself to stay alert. He listened. For the first break in the storm. For voices.

Then—finally.

Distant at first, barely audible over the last whispers of the rain. Tristan snapped to attention. He shifted, careful not to jostle Lena as he stood up and put on his shirt again.

He reached for his radio.

“Beau, do you copy? We’re in the southernmost cave formation. I left a strobe light near the entrance.” He looked at his watch. It was only midnight. He couldn’t believe only a few hours had gone by.

The static crackled, then, “We see the light. How is she?”

Tristan let out a breath, relief making him lightheaded. “Stable, but she needs a hospital.”

A brief silence. Then?—

“We’re close. Sit tight.”

Tristan exhaled sharply, looking down at Lena. Her lashes fluttered open slightly, her brow furrowing. “Help’s here,” he murmured. “We’re getting out of here, sweetheart.”

She blinked up at him, eyes still hazy with exhaustion. He helped her into his too-large jacket to cover her bra, then draped the bivy sack around her shoulders.

A few minutes later, he heard the sound of boots on wet rock outside the cave. Flashlights sweeping through the dark. Beau’s large frame appeared in the doorway.

His commanding officer. His friend. His furious, about-to-rip-him-a-new-one boss.

Tristan braced himself.

Beau stepped into the cave, his gaze immediately locking onto them. His face was unreadable—except for the sharp exhale of relief that barely lasted a second before his expression darkened. Two more figures stepped past Beau and into the cave: Ry and Lorenz. Tristan had never been so happy to see his friends.

Lena, however, looked overwhelmed.

“Tristan?” she asked, her voice suddenly fearful.

“These are my friends, Lena. They’re here to bring you home,” he said, squeezing her hand.

Ry kneeled next to Lena. “Madeleine? My name is Ry Harrison. I’m a medic with the PGHM. Is it okay if I look at your ankle?”

Lena nodded, but squeezed Tristan’s hand tightly in hers. Tristan looked up to see Beau staring right at their joined hands.

A few minutes later, Ry looked up. “I don’t think the ankle’s broken, but she’ll need an X-ray to be sure.” Tristan sighed, relieved, as Hugo and Ry carefully loaded Lena onto the stretcher. At that instant, the familiar whir of rotor blades cut through the air. Kat.

Beau spoke up for the first time. “Mademoiselle Pelegrin, the helicopter is waiting to take you home. Your father is already at the hospital.”

Tristan forced himself to stay still, when all he wanted to do was follow her outside.

“Don’t leave me,” Lena begged, leaning over to grab his hand.

“You’re safe now, Lena,” Tristan said, extricating himself gently. “I trust these men with my life.” He stood aside as the stretcher exited the cave. Instead of following, he turned again and forced himself to focus on Beau’s anger.

He expected the reprimand. Hell, he’d welcome it. He’d lied to his commanding officer—a lie by omission was still a lie. He’d ignored a direct command. It was everything he shouldn’t have done.

And I’d do it again in a heartbeat .

So when Beau turned to him, eyes blazing, voice sharp enough to cut through the engine noise, Tristan braced himself.

“Did you not fucking hear me when I asked you to turn back?”

Tristan squared his shoulders, met his boss’s glare head-on. He wasn’t going to lie. “I heard you, Commandant .”

“You sure? Because it sure as hell seemed like you were doing whatever the fuck you wanted back there.”

Tristan didn’t flinch. “I had to find her. She wouldn’t have made it through the night alone out there.”

Beau let out a sharp breath, raking a hand through his dark hair. “Christ, Tristan.” His jaw tightened, but then something in his expression shifted. His gaze flicked outside, to where Lena was being prepped for evacuation, then back to Tristan.

“What’s going on?” Tristan’s stomach knotted. Beau’s voice was lower now, still sharp, but laced with something else. “Don’t even think of telling me you and Madeleine Pelegrin just met.”

Tristan’s pulse kicked hard in his chest.

He could lie. He could deflect, brush it off, claim it was nothing. But he’d never lied to Beau before tonight. And he wasn’t about to do so again.

He looked down, his throat tight, ready for the fallout, but it didn’t come. Instead, Beau let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Go to the hospital with her. Make sure she’s comfortable. We’ll speak about this tomorrow in the office.” He paused. “And, Tristan? Good job keeping her safe.”

For a second, Tristan didn’t move. Then he gave a sharp nod. “Yes, Commandant .”

Beau let out another sigh, muttering something under his breath that Tristan was pretty sure included the word “idiot”, but at this point, he’d take it.

Kat, who was standing nearby by her helicopter, smiled at him, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “Come on, Tristan, or you’ll miss your ride. I’ll drop you off at the hospital and come back out for your bird,” she called over the noise of the rotor wash.

Tristan nodded his thanks, climbing into the back without hesitation. His gaze locked on Lena. Her eyes fluttered open just as he settled in beside her, her expression hazy from exhaustion and pain.

“You’re here,” she murmured, her voice hoarse.

His chest tightened.

“Yeah,” he said softly, taking her hand—which was still too cold—in his. “I’m here.”