Page 72 of Snowbound

When they make no move to leave, I open the door as wide as I can and scream. “Owen!Owennn!”

I scream myself hoarse, and when I turn back to the cabin, the two men are advancing on me.

“I’m sure we could have our little liar help us warm up, don’t you think? Don’t scream to a phantom husband, pretty girl, when we’re right here and could have a hell of a night together. Come on, help us warm up. What’s your name?”

“Getout of my house,” I hiss, anger replacing fear.

The taller one takes a menacing step toward me. “We’re not freezing to death just because you’re too scared to have us here. For Christ’s sake, we only want to get warm.”

And then I hear it, not words but a growl. Low, male, threatening.Familiar.

And something shifts in the air. I’m still afraid, but now, hopeful.

Owen steps into view, axe swinging lazily, menacingly, by his side. His face is thunder, cold and deadly.

The two men begin to backpedal, their gazes fixed steadily on Owen.

“Y’alright, lass?” he asks, though his gaze remains on them.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “These men came in without me asking them, and they won’t leave.”

Owen turns, swinging his axe up to his shoulder. “Is that right, lads?”

His face is thunder. Cold. Deadly.

The two of them begin to move back like prey that just realized they’re standing right in front of their greatest predator.

Owen doesn’t yell. He doesn’t need to. His silence is more terrifying, anyway.

One of them stumbles and drops something. A flask? The other grabs his arm, muttering something I can’t hear. And they run. Not walk, not saunter, not amble away in knee-deep snow, they manage torun.

“It’s only because of you they’re still standing,” he mutters with a growl, and there’s something in his tone that makes me believe that he’s sincere. He isn’t just keeping me company. He’s guarding me.

And for all my talk about independence and safety and learning to stand on my own, I realize… I don’t feel weak for wanting this, for wantinghim.I feel wanted. Protected.Loved.

He storms through the cabin toward me. “Tell me, before the chance to catch them’s gone. Did they touch you, Emma?”

I shake my head vehemently. “No, they didn’t.”

He stares at me, then drops the axe still dripping with snow. He cups my face in both hands like he needs to make sure I’m alright.

“You sure?” he demands.

“They didn’t,” I whisper, still trembling. “Can’t say they weren’t thinking on it, though.”

I feel his rumble all the way down to my toes. His jaw flexes. I see the same expression on his face he had years ago, that need to hurt something. Someone.

His breath leaves him in a rush, like he’s only now allowing himself to take a breath.

"You screamed."

I nod.

“Why’d you open the feckin’ door, Em?”

I swallow hard. “I-I thought it was you. I thought you were here, and I?—”

His gaze falls to my unbuttoned top and the gentle curve of my bare belly. “Did you, now?” he whispers.