Page 43 of Thaw of Spring (Knife’s Edge, Alaska #2)

T he morning air tasted like wet moss and new leaves. Cold, clean, and just sharp enough to keep him still. The sky hadn’t gone blue yet but the dark was losing its grip, softening at the edges, turning that shade of gray that meant the sun was getting ready to climb.

A thrush called once from deep in the trees. Another answered. Somewhere downhill, a stream moved fast over rock, swollen from melt. The earth smelled like thaw and pine needles.

Christian sat at the edge of the ledge. There was no reason to move. No threat in the silence. Just a wide sweep of forest waking up.

Behind him, Amka slept curled inside the thermal sleeping bag atop a thick mat he’d dug out of his gear closet, her back tucked against the stone ledge. He’d insisted on the mat for her comfort, and truth be told, he hadn’t minded. Had enjoyed holding her all night in the snug sleeping bag.

Her breath was steady, her face half-buried in the bag’s hood. Tika had parked himself across her ankles and was snoring like it was a job. The animal hadn’t stirred once all night. Neither had she.

Birdsong grew louder as the light shifted. Yellow-green lichen glowed on the rocks, and dew clung to the low brush like the whole world had exhaled and settled. Spring was coming fast now. He could feel it pushing up from the ground.

Nothing moved in the trees. Not yet. Still early. The kind of early he liked. Quiet. Alive. His bones knew this kind of morning. His blood settled into it without asking.

He watched the ridgeline and listened to the forest breathe.

Tika finally stirred, stretching and yawning, pushing to his feet. He padded over and sat, nudging Christian with his ear.

Christian obliged him and scratched down his head, feeling the thick fur.

Tika turned his head and looked behind him.

“I know,” Christian murmured. The woman had slept outside with him all night.

Not one complaint. Only a sleepy pointing out of the various constellations.

She even created a couple of new ones for him.

For fun. He’d never met anybody, besides his family, who accepted him just as he was.

But what did that give her? He glanced over his shoulder to see her thick hair tumbled out of the bag.

Protection, for sure. Love. Yeah, he could probably do that.

He wasn’t sure about romance but could probably ask Brock for advice. He seemed romantic. Sometimes.

Tika yawned again and then eased away, climbing down the rocky trail and disappearing into the forest. Maybe to hunt or just explore.

Amka mumbled something behind him and he turned, watching her come awake. She was even more beautiful than the sunrise now coloring the sky pink. “Hi.” Did she sound shy?

“Hi.” He moved to her. “You okay?”

“A little cold.” She flapped open the bag in obvious invitation.

Well, all right. He slid back inside and enclosed them, spooning her with her sweet ass against his groin. Instantly, his cock went rock hard.

She giggled. Not laughed. Not chuckled. But actually giggled, sounding young and free. Had he ever heard her giggle before? His heart thumped. Hard. “Are you sore from sleeping on the ground?”

“Nope.” She wriggled her butt. “This mat you forced up here makes this as luxurious as a real hotel bed. Like one from a fancy hotel in Anchorage.” She wriggled again. The brat was doing that on purpose.

He’d been a perfect gentleman all night, and Hank would’ve been proud. “Your body is way too sore for what I want to do with it.” He might as well be honest with her.

She turned in his arms, her hip sliding across his erection.

From the spark of wickedness in her eyes, she meant the torturous touch.

“Like I said, I’m not sore.” She rolled her hips against him again, playful and sure, and that smile—half-mischief, half-invitation—cut clean through his good intentions.

Well, all right. He was just done fighting them.

He kissed her, taking over slowly, until her teasing quieted, lips parting under his. His hand slid under the sleeping bag, up beneath her shirt, across the warm skin of her stomach. She sucked in a breath.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low against her mouth.

“I’m perfect,” she murmured, breath hitching. “Touch me.”

God help him. He was trying.

His hand slipped under her shirt, rough palm to bare skin. She sucked in a breath, hips shifting just enough to tell him she wanted more. He rubbed his thumb over her nipple—slow, light—and felt her body tighten against his.

She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. The way she moved said it all.

He dragged his mouth along her neck, tasting sweat and salt and her. Her shirt was in his way, so he shoved the material up. She lifted her arms, sleepy and sure, and he yanked the shirt off and tossed the fabric aside. Somewhere. Who cared?

He looked down, unable to help himself. Her hair was wild, eyes half-lidded, chest rising fast. She looked unreal. He leaned in and took one nipple between his lips. Sucked. She groaned, low in her throat, and her nails dug into his back.

That sound she made. Yeah, he could live there.

His hand moved again. Down her stomach. Into her yoga pants. She opened for him like she’d been waiting all night.

Warm. Slick. Already there.

His breath caught in his chest. “Still good?”

She nodded fast, then wrapped her leg around his and pulled him closer. “Yes. Christian, yes.”

He slid a finger inside. She clenched around him, hips grinding slow. He added another, worked her open, kissed her again just to keep from losing it.

“God, you feel good,” he muttered against her mouth.

“Then don’t stop.”

Not a chance in hell.

He shifted down and kissed her breast, slow and reverent, then the other, and felt her fingers grip his shoulders tight. She was hot silk and heat, already wet. He groaned into her skin, and her hips lifted, her breath catching.

“More,” she whispered.

So he gave her more. “One of these days, I’m gonna make you beg.” Not this morning. Not when her body had to be hurting from the explosions, and not while he wanted to show her that he could be gentle. Not often. But sometimes.

He used two fingers now, working gently, circling with his thumb, listening for her sounds, the way her thighs tightened and her breath got shallower. She was unraveling under his hand, and Christ, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Watching her face, he felt every pulse and tremor, and didn’t stop until her body arched and she came apart in his arms, trembling against him, her breath a broken whisper of his name. He kissed her as she came down, deep and slow, his hand still resting between her legs, holding the heat of her.

When she opened her eyes again, they were clear and full of something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

“You sure?” he asked, voice rough now.

“Yeah.” She smiled, slow and certain, shimmying out of her pants. “I want you. Now.”

He kissed her again, her jaw, her throat, her shoulder. Then he rolled on top of her, careful not to crush her. Slowly, taking his time, he slid inside her, inch by inch, and she gasped his name like a prayer.

Everything else disappeared.

The sleeping bag, the ledge, the chill in the air were gone. There was only Amka wrapped around him, clinging to him, moving with him like this was always meant to happen. And maybe it was.

When she dug her nails into his ass, he started to pound. Hot and fast, hammering into her as if he never wanted to be free. Her gasps spurred him on.

Fire rushed through him, down his spine, blasting into his cock. He switched his angle, pounding against her clit, and she went over. Hard. She arched against him, the cords in her neck stretching, her mouth forming his name.

Her internal walls grabbed him so hard his vision went black. The climax ripped through him, taking everything he wanted to be, giving it all to her. Panting, overcome, he stayed inside her as she quieted.

“Definitely not too sore,” she murmured with a half laugh.

He didn’t deserve her. Didn’t care. It was too late for them both to find another path. Christian rested his cheek against her hair and listened to the world breathe. For just a moment of peace.

They had this brief reprieve for now but would have to get off the mountain soon. She needed to check back in with Doc May as well as the troopers, and he needed to cut off the head of whoever wanted to hurt her.

But they had a few minutes. So he leaned down and kissed her again. Harder this time. He had only so much gentle in him. By the quickening of her breath, she was just fine with that.

Hopefully she understood how far he’d go to keep her safe now. There were no limits.

None.

Christian stood near the sink in the small examination room, arms crossed, boots planted, watching Amka sit on the paper-lined table in jeans and a thick white sweater.

They’d stopped by her place for clothing on the way in, since the forensic team from Anchorage had cleared the scene.

They’d actually done a good job cleaning up after themselves.

Amka swung one foot, a healthy flush on her face. He’d put that there. He tried not to smile.

Doc May clicked through her tablet with one hand and aimed a pulse ox at Amka’s finger with the other.

Her pink scrubs were wrinkled, her blonde hair shoved into a bun that had started to slide sideways.

“You’re stable. Blood pressure’s a little low, but not dangerous.

No signs of delayed shock. No coughing, so your lungs stayed clear. That’s good.”

“I’m feeling fine,” Amka said.

May smiled. “Still had to check. Headaches?”

“Only when Christian won’t stop watching me.”

Christian didn’t blink. “Get used to it.”

That flush went full-on crimson red in her cheeks, and he watched, fascinated.

May snorted without looking up from her screen. “Don’t make me kick you out of here, Christian.”

Christian gave Amka a look.

She looked back like she was weighing how hard she could kick him with one boot. “May, how’s Nixi?” she asked.

“Still out, last I checked.” May glanced at the clock on the wall. “She woke up briefly around four, so I gave her more fluids and pain meds. Nixi was resting easy when I walked by a few moments ago.”

The front door slammed open.

Heavy boots. Fast steps. Heading their way.

Christian turned toward the hallway just as Damian appeared in the doorway.

No perfectly pressed slacks. No Armani suit jacket.

Just jeans worn at the knees, T-shirt stretched and inside out at the collar.

Hair a mess. No fancy watch or matching belt.

Just wild eyes and too much urgency for a guy who normally tied his shoes with military precision.

Christian stared at him, stunned. His brother looked unhinged.

“Where is she?” Damian barked.

Christian stepped out into the hallway, putting himself between Damian and the exam room. “Who?”

“Nixi. Where is she?”

Christian didn’t ask more. “This way.” He just turned and walked, Damian fast behind him to the last door on the left. He pushed it open.

The bed was empty. Blankets had been shoved to the side on the bed and the IV unplugged. A hospital bracelet, torn off not cut, sat on the tray.

No Nixi.

Christian’s gut dropped. He looked around the room fast. The bathroom door lay open, and the window appeared mostly shut. “May said she was here this morning.”

“She’s supposed to be here,” Damian snapped. His voice cracked around the edges now. “Where the hell is she?”

Footsteps pinged behind them.

Doc May came in. “Amka ran down to the restroom. I had to give her a tetanus shot and she hates needles.” May’s eyes went wide, and her tablet nearly slipped from her hand.

“What? No. Nixi was here sleeping. Her arm is broken, she can’t—” Her voice cut out.

She strode to the bed, looked at the unplugged equipment, then the bracelet on the tray. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

Christian turned to her. “She walk out or was she taken?”

“She shouldn’t be walking at all due to her condition. She has a fractured radius, and there are two layers of gauze covering her burns. Additionally, the IV medications are still metabolizing in her system. If she got up and left, I’ll eat my stethoscope,” May said.

Damian’s jaw snapped shut. “Oh, you don’t know her. I’d bet my life that brat ignored the pain and walked right out of here.”

Christian looked at Damian, whose green eyes burned a deep fire. “Who is she?”

“Stella,” Damian said, his teeth audibly grinding.

“Your ex-wife?” Christian had never been so shocked in his entire life.

Damian’s chin lifted with a look most people would run from. “We didn’t exactly get divorced.”

What the fuck?