Holy fucking shit, it was cold. Cora hugged herself as hard as she could, but it didn’t help. Her legs burned from exertion, but even they couldn’t produce enough heat to counteract the icy air or the snow hitting her numb face.

Her mouth was sour with bile—she’d almost puked back there when she’d looked at that line of red dragging behind the deer’s corpse. She desperately wanted to wash her hands, even though she’d been wearing gloves. There’d been a stink of blood and animal fur back there so strong, she’d almost been able to taste it in the air. She’d tried melting snow on her tongue as she walked, but it did nothing for the taste.

The pines were wooden soldiers, standing guarding on both sides of the narrow, unending road.

She paused, stomping her feet to try and urge warmth into her toes. She wouldn’t be surprised if she had frostbite in her feet—they’d lost all feeling several minutes ago.

“Come on,” Finn called out as he passed her. “No stopping.”

“How far?”

“Just keep going.” When she didn’t follow, he turned to her. Agitation brought red spots to his pale cheeks.

“I’m coming,” she muttered, trudging forward again.

A blast of snow struck her so hard that she tottered. Had her feet not been in a foot of sludgy snow, she might have fallen over. She wheeled her arms before she could catch her balance, and then started forward again after Finn.

Well, one thing was for certain—no one would ever be able to find her here.

The cabin reared from a nest of tall, resolute pines—a dark square partially embedded in snow, despite the steeply angled roof.

Finn searched around the door’s lintel and got down a set of keys hidden in a nook. He opened the door, yanking against it to try and sweep back the snow that had gathered on the stoop. It was tar black inside the cabin, but there was no snow or wind in there. She hurried inside, paused to stamp snow from her boots, and came up short in the middle of the living area.

A last gust of wind followed Finn, carrying snow inside before he could shut the door. The storm huffed and moaned outside, sounding more like the sporadic waves of a tumultuous ocean than wind and snow.

The room’s single window cut a cold, gray square onto the outside world.

Finn fumbled against the wall, and the cabin lit up.

She turned to take in the rag-tag furnishings, the log walls, the stone fireplace. The living room had an open-plan kitchen to one side.

Finn pointed to an archway. “There’s a room upstairs. Try find warm clothes.”

“Can I shower?”

“Water won’t be warm yet. Still have to turn on the geyser.”

She nodded, shivering hard as she made her way to the stairs. Behind her, Finn’s boots thumped on the wood floor. She found another switch, flipped it. Yellow light bloomed. There were no windows here, just a narrow flight of stairs walled with more wood. The stairs creaked when she made her way up them. A particularly hard gust slammed snow into the side of the cabin, sounding like sand. She shivered again and pushed open the first door she came to. Light pooled in from the hallway; a small bathroom—porcelain tub with shower head, toilet, basin.

The next door led to a bedroom with a double bed taking up most of the space, piled with blankets and two floppy pillows. A closet stood against the wall, one of the doors open an inch. She found the room’s light switch, washing the room in more yellow light.

There was a window in this room. She walked up to it, amazed at how even more cold emanated from the thick glass the closer she came. She glanced outside before turning to the closet to find clothes. There were several pairs of sweatpants, heaps of thermal underwear. Thick sweaters made from corded wool. She grabbed a pair of pants, socks, a long sleeve shirt, and a sweater from the cupboard, then went to put her Taurus on the nightstand. It was warm from where it had been nestled in the small of her back. Strange, how a person could get used to something as annoying as having a gun digging into their back.

Her jeans were around her knees when the stairs creaked.

Obviously, Finn would want some warm clothes, too. She pulled her jeans back up, grimacing at how cold they were, and went to the door. Finn’s head cleared the stairs, eyes already fixed on her.

“I’ll change in the bathroom,” she said

He gave a shrug, their bodies brushing as they passed each other in the hallway. She shivered again—this time, not from the cold.

Judging from the awkward car trip she’d just endured, she doubted he wanted to be any closer to her than he absolutely had to. Three hours in a car with someone as determinedly silent as Finn…it had been downright painful. She’d managed some sleep but, as soon as he’d started up the mountain toward the cabin, she’d been wide awake, staring at the snow with a goofy smile on her face. She loved snow.

Correction: she had loved snow.

Snow was amazing—when you were warm, dressed to the nines, and sipping on a cup of cocoa with little marshmallows floating in it.

This snow was brutal, like the feral prehistoric ancestor of the snow she loved. It was gray and dirty and not fluffy at all.

She stripped in the bathroom, grabbing the Santa Muerte pendant her father had given her as it bounced against her naked breastbone. Her shivers kicked up a notch as her icy, still-wet skin was exposed to the chilly air. Maybe she should have grabbed one of those onesies she’d seen. No way she’d be cold in one of those. She grabbed a towel from the rack and quickly dried her legs before slipping into the dry clothes.

Heaven on a stick. Her eyes fluttered closed as warmth bloomed on her legs. Her feet didn’t seem to notice the addition of socks, until she rubbed the wool furiously with her hands and managed to get some heat through friction.

Then the painful tingles came. They rushed into her toes and heels. She gritted her teeth as she padded down the stairs.

She turned to the window where black night was swiftly replacing purple twilight. The floor boards creaked as Finn moved around upstairs.

Her shivers had abated some when he came back downstairs and started a fire. The air in the living room was still too cold on her cheeks, and her toes were alive with electric fire as they reheated under the thick socks and blanket.

By the time Finn finally lit the fire, premature night had fallen. Orange light licked the wooden walls and made the shadows clinging to the corners dance and weave. Woodsmoke stung at her eyes until Finn opened the chute. The fire spat sparks at him and he backed away, silhouetted with firelight as he watched the flames take root.

“There are blankets upstairs on the bed,” she said.

He glanced at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. Then he nodded and went upstairs. She could track his movements from the sound of his weight on the floorboards. He returned a few seconds later, dumping blankets on the sofa, and then went into the kitchen. He came out with a bottle and two tin mugs. He poured a measure of brandy into each mug and then handed her one.

“I’ve never seen you drink,” she said before taking a tiny sip. It stung her mouth and the first inch of her throat, but it made her belly warm when it eventually reached it.

“I don’t, as a rule.” He twisted the mug in his hand. “But I’m fucking freezing.”

He tossed back the brandy, and then poured himself another. She shook her head when he offered to top her up. He set the bottle down on the coffee table with a thud.

Finn hesitated for a second before sinking down beside her. The sofa bowed under his weight, springs creaking alarmingly. One of the blankets went over his legs, the other he draped over both their bodies. There wasn’t much space on the sofa—as it was, his thigh kept brushing her feet. After a second’s hesitation, she wriggled her feet under his leg, throwing him an apologetic look when he frowned at her.

He slid his hand under the blanket and grabbed one of her feet. “You check for frostbite?”

“Is that where my feet go blue?”

He gave her a long-suffering stare.

She shrugged. “Then I guess I’m fine.”

It was so warm under his thigh that she had to resist the urge to wriggle her toes deeper under him. She took another sip of the brandy and let it fill her mouth before swallowing.

Cora glanced around the cabin. The only decoration was a pair of antlers mounted above the fireplace. Luckily, they were no longer attached to the deer. She would have been unable to sit here—fire or no—with a dead deer staring at her.

“So, this is your cabin?”

“Mine and Lars.”

She couldn’t picture the kind of person who would be friends with Finn. Maybe they were like two peas in a pod—both silent, hulking men who could sit for hours in front of this fire without speaking a word and call it a good time.

“How’d you two meet?”

He stared at the fire before slowly turning to her. “Military.” Then, as if realizing one word wasn’t sufficient as answer, added, “We were stationed in the same platoon in Syria. When we completed our service, we started Argos.” He held his hands out to the fire, and then pressed them against his cheeks. She was content to huddle in a ball while her feet thawed and her legs slowly came up to room temperature. Already, her shivers were gone.

“Did you have to kill a lot of people? In Syria.”

If he seemed perturbed by the question, he didn’t show it. Finn gave a shrug, not looking at her when he answered. “Some.”

“What was it like?”

His eyes caught the fire when he glanced at her. “You should know. You’ve done it.”

She licked her lips, and stared at the fire instead of his confused expression. “I can’t…I can’t really remember. It’s hazy.”

“That’s the heroin.” He rubbed the arch of her foot. There was a moment’s silence accompanied by the furious wind outside.

“I liked it.”

“Killing—?”

She cut in with a murmured, “The heroin. The way it made me feel. Or…the way it made me not feel. I wasn’t scared. I felt invincible, like nothing could touch me.” A shiver tore through her at the memory.

Finn squeezed the bridge of her foot, and then slid his hand under the elastic hem of her sweatpants. It looked like an afterthought, the way he stared entranced at the fire, as if he didn’t realize what he was doing.

His fingers were warm, smooth. “My sister’s in rehab.”

“Your…sister?”

He turned to her, something like a smile on his mouth. “You sound surprised.”

“I just—I thought you were an only child or something. What’s she in rehab for?”

Finn shifted on the sofa. “Heroin.”

Cora’s eyebrows shot up. “Shit.”

“It is.” Finn drank the rest of the brandy, hesitated, and then poured himself another measure. The way he screwed on the bottle’s lid when he was done made it clear he wasn’t going to have any more. It was a pity—she’d learned more about him in the past five minutes than she had in the last five days. She wriggled her toes a little, watching to see if he would protest. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Don’t do it again,” he said in a low voice.

“What, heroin?” She laughed uneasily, and took a long swallow at the brandy. “Of course not.”

“It’s not worth it. Not ever. What you felt when that—” he cut off. “That’s the best it will ever be. That’s why they call it ‘Chasing the Dragon’. Because you’ll always be chasing what you felt that first time.”

He stared at her. “Promise me.” His voice was low, almost a growl.

She shrugged, and hid behind her mug.

“Cora. Promise me.”

“I said I wouldn’t—”

“I’ve seen what it does.”

“I’m not going to—”

“It’ll possess you like a fucking demon hard up for action.”

She closed her mouth around another protest and watched Finn’s chiseled profile as he stared into the fire. His eyes were midnight blue pools, his lips painted orange by the firelight.

“I’m sorry.”

Finn blinked hard, as if coming to. He glanced at her, threw back the last of his brandy, and set his mug down. “For what?”

She shrugged. “For this.” She waved around the cabin. “For everything. If it wasn’t for me—”

He squeezed her ankle, and then flinched as if he’d just realized he was touching her. He hurriedly took his hand out from the blanket and rose, piling the excess wool on top of her.

“Hungry?” he asked, without meeting her eyes.

“Starving.”

He smiled at her then, and a wave of warmth washed over her. Not from the fire, or the blankets, or her thick clothing. But from the light that touched his eyes.

“Why’d I even ask?” he murmured as he walked past her into the kitchen.

The frenzied sounds of the blizzard outside the window filled the cabin. Finn had brought back two plastic pouches and a soot-blackened pot. He emptied the pouch contents into the pot, added some bottled water, and gave it a quick stir with one of the fire place tools from the stand beside the mantel place before hanging it on a hook set inside the fireplace.

Cora shivered; more from the thought of how cold it must be outside than with actual cold. The blankets and warm clothes had drawn the ice from her bones. Even her toes felt normal again. The brandy had helped a lot—it made her feel warm and slightly woozy. She still had some in her mug, and sipped at it as she watched Finn idly stirring the pot.

He was such a solid block of a man, as if chiseled from the same hard stone as the fireplace. Orange stone now, with the firelight dancing over his face. He dished up their rehydrated food a few minutes later and handed her the warm bowl.

“Macaroni and cheese. Don’t try and enjoy it—that’s not the point.”

She lifted her spoon, letting some of the gloopy mixture slide back into the bowl. “What is the point, then?”

“Nutrients. Warmth.”

She grimaced at the bowl and ate an experimental spoonful.

Finn gave her a wary look when she let out a soft, “Mmm.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” he said.

“It’s not bad. A bit chewy, but…” She ate another spoonful, and then settled back in the sofa, staring at the flames as she emptied her bowl.

They put their bowls down on the coffee table at the same time, and Finn gave her a frown as he settled back on the sofa.

Wood crackled, the sound nearly drowned out as the wind hurled snow against the cabin and shrieked through the eaves.

“Turning into a blizzard out there,” Finn said.

“Shit,” Cora murmured. There was nothing to see out the black window, but she could imagine clouds of snow pummeling that thick glass.

She wriggled her toes under Finn’s thighs again, and the corners of his mouth lifted a little. He stroked the arch of her foot, and glanced at her. For once, he didn’t seem angry or irritated or on high alert. The only thing she could see on his face was…resignation.

“Bet you wish you hadn’t taken this job,” she said softly.

He half-turned toward her, but his eyes didn’t leave the fire as if he was entranced by the flames. “Hm?”

“You could have been home by now,” she went on. “Not stuck in a blizzard with me.”

“Home,” Finn murmured to himself. “Bet you think the same of me.”

“What? Of course not. If it wasn’t for you—”

“You’d have been in Texas by now. Bailey by your side.” Finn threw her a quick, unreadable look. “You’d have preferred that, wouldn’t you?”

“If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably be a prisoner by now.” Cora frowned at him. “Not in Texas.”

Finn shrugged. “For all we know, I’m overreacting.”

“I know I’m safe.” Cora reached across her legs and brushed her fingertips against Finn’s sleeve. He flinched at the touch, and turned to her. “And it’s because of you. That’s all that matters.”

“That’s all that matters?” Finn said, his lip slowly lifting into a sneer. “I disobeyed a direct order from my client—your father.”

“If you hadn’t, I might be—”

“Might being the operative word,” Finn cut in. “I’ve never fucked up a job like this—”

“That’s all this is to you?” Cora whipped away her hand and dragged her feet out from under his thigh. “A job?”

Finn pushed the blanket off his lap and went to go stand by the fire. He rested his arm against the mantel and leaned in as if trying to absorb the fire’s heat.

“Answer me,” she said. “For once, Finn. Just be honest with—”

Finn’s sardonic laugh cut through her words. “We both know this stopped being a job when I fucked you.”

Heat flashed onto her cheeks. The way he spoke that word made her insides clench and she had no idea if it was with pleasure or pain. Finn pushed away from the fire, turning to her. She crowded into the sofa when he bore down on her. There was a strange light in his eyes; a swirl of anger, frustration, confusion.

One hand grabbed the sofa’s arm, the other the cushion behind her shoulder. When he leaned in, it was like he was trying to absorb her aura. He filled her world, blocking the warmth from the fire, the snow batting against the black window, even some of the blizzard’s ferocity.

“What I did to you is unacceptable,” he murmured, so close that his breath stirred stray strands of hair against her throat. “What I want to do to you.” His eyes flickered over her face, drinking her.

“I—” she swallowed hard. “It was my choice—”

He barked a laugh. “You had about as much choice as a kitten in a bag, drowning in a river.”

“You think I can’t make my own decisions? Huh? I kissed you first. I wanted you to—”

Finn slid his hand behind her neck, yanking her forward. His mouth was soft and warm against his, the stubble around his lips sending a tremor through her as it scraped her skin. Just as she began leaning into the kiss, Finn scooped her off the couch. He urged her legs around his waist, gripping her against him as he maneuvered her through the cabin as he headed upstairs.

She broke off their kiss to gasp for air, grabbing his shoulders and grinding herself against his stomach. It was supposed to make her stop aching for him, but it didn’t help. He made a frustrated sound, taking the stairs two at a time. His hand slid up the back of her sweater, and tangled in her long-sleeved shirt.

He dropped her on the bed, and it creaked in protest as she bounced. He was on top of her a second later, smothering her with his weight, raining kisses on her neck as he undressed her.

He’d just managed to take off her sweatpants and sweater when the wind gusted.

Outside, something cracked like a rifle shot. A second later, the cabin shook with a thunderous crash that made Cora yell in surprise.

The lights went out, throwing the bedroom into utter darkness.

Finn grabbed her hips, squeezed her.

She let out a strangled, “What—?”, as she tried to calm her pounding heart.

“Sounds like a tree hit the roof.” Finn sat up, his warmth leaving her almost reluctantly. The bed creaked when he climbed off and went to the dark window. He was a black shape against that grey, swirling darkness. “Must have taken out the power line.”

Cora swiped her hands over her face. “That can’t be good.”

“It’s not. The generator should have kicked in by now.”

“Shit.”

“Shit, indeed,” Finn muttered. “Stay put.”

As if she’d just planned a shopping spree and her limo was waiting outside. She glared toward the sound of him taking the stairs and then stopped when she realized he couldn’t see her.

He came back a minute later, an aura of light preceding him. A small lamp hung from his fingers, looking child-sized compared to his bulk. He set it on the nightstand and went to the bedroom closet. He grabbed a parka from the closet and zipped it up over his sweater. With so many layers, he looked indestructible. The parka’s white, fur-lined hood hung around his shoulders—so pale that his face looked more tanned in comparison. His eyes bluer.

He checked his pistol before shoving it back into his belt and then glanced around at her, considering her with a faint frown for a few seconds. He went over to the nightstand, hesitated, and then handed her the Taurus she’d set down on it earlier.

She took it from her, flinching at how cold it was. “Where are you going?”

“Have to see what’s wrong with the generator. It’s just around the back. Won’t be long.”

Cora wriggled the gun at him. “Yet you feel the need for me to arm myself?”

“There’s a blizzard outside.” Finn shrugged. “If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, you’ll have to come look for me.”

“Forget it, Finn. We don’t need the generator.”

“You want to shower. I doubt the geyser’s warmed up yet.”

“I don’t care. Don’t go. Stay—” Cora bit off the rest of that whiny sentence. Why the hell was she being like this? Finn was a fucking man—he could look after himself. And so could she. She’d been with this man for less than a week, and already her independence had been eviscerated. She ejected the Taurus’s clip and showed him the empty magazine.

“It’s empty.”

“Only three people in the world know that.”

He must have seen the question in her eyes. Finn gave her a grim smile. “You, me, and the devil makes three.”