My head pounded like I’d been on the biggest bender of my life. Bleary eyed, I held out a hand to block the light threatening to blind me and stopped as jagged stabbing pains erupted along my back and arms.

Why can’t I open my eyes? Forcing myself to move my hands again, I wiped at my face, feeling a thin crust on my eyelids. Scrubbing at it until it flaked away, I was finally able to open my eyes and look around.

And shut my eyes again.

“Holy shit,” I whispered. “I’m alive.” I did a body check. Toes? Wiggled. Fingers? Wiggled. Arms? Ouch. Legs? I tried to move my legs.

Legs?

The front of the plane had accordioned inward, trapping my legs between the seat and the engine, which was still smoking. A gust of wind was blowing the smoke in my face. I coughed, choking as it filled my lungs. I turned my head to the side, but there was no escaping it.

You didn’t survive a plane crash to die from smoke. I was a strong girl, and I’d been an athlete. I could run through pain and hold my breath for the length of a pool. I could get my legs free if the alternative was death. Bracing my hands against the dashboard, I pushed like I was planking and screamed.

Oh God, Oh God. That hurts like a motherfucker.

I sucked in a breath and choked again. Somehow, I got my arms braced and pushed. There was no give. I was the baloney in a steel bread sandwich. There was no moving, no matter how much I willed it.

Not ready to give up, I pushed one more time. I bit my lip hard. The pain tore through me, and as much as I tried not to, the scream was ripped from my body.

Teeth chattering now, maybe from shock, maybe from the cold blasting through the plane, I wrapped my arms around myself. The door was curved inward, so I focused my attention there. Smoke was filling the cabin, dissipating when the wind blew, but quick to return when it died down.

I needed air.

Turning to the door, I sought the handle to push it open and stopped, shocked.

At the window, wide blue eyes met mine. Those eyes, the most beautiful I’d ever seen, held mine and narrowed. Stunned, I watched the man outside the plane. He turned, yelling something in a language I didn’t know over his shoulder, and then another man joined him.

Had the pilot managed to land us at the airport?

The man who joined him looked so much like the first, they had to be brothers, or else my vision was doubled. Which was a possibility. No wait, they had different coats, brown and gray. Head trauma averted, hopefully.

They seemed to be considering the door while I watched them with all the intelligence of a goldfish.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

He said something, probably, you look like shit. And I nodded. It didn’t matter what the words were, the tone was so calm, so comforting I could feel warmth moving from my toes to the top of my head. Those calm words suddenly came a lot more hurried, and that warmth was starting to get uncomfortable. The second man joined the first, distracting me from the heat.

Oh my God. These guys make me feel tiny. Broad shoulders filled my vision as the second man pushed against the dashboard.

“It won’t work,” I began, before the pressure holding me in place released and I fell forward. Right as I was about to hit the dash, though, the first man caught me, extracting me from the plane and setting me on the ground.

“I’m okay,” I told him when he scanned my body. I lifted my head, staring down to confirm I was, in fact, okay and had all my important bits. Feet. Legs. Torso. Hands. Arms. All there.

Feeling as if my head weighed a million pounds, I let it fall back and studied the man who studied me. He sat back on his heels and skimmed his hands from the top of my head to my neck. His fingers were rough and calloused, and they rasped against my skin in a way that had me shivering. When I did, his eyes flashed to mine, and he gave me a tight-lipped smile.

His eyes were almond-shaped, and his cheekbones were so high, his features seemed carved. Black hair was tied back at the nape of his neck. When the second man joined the first at my side, I saw they were identical, except for a small round scar the second man had over his eyebrow. With one on either side of me, they blotted out the sky, but honestly? There was nothing I’d rather look at than these two.

Over their heads I could make out dark-green pine boughs and blue sky with white smoke curling toward the tops of the trees. “I can get up,” I said again. When I would have pushed myself up, the first man stopped me with a gentle touch on my shoulder.

The second one growled at the first. A low warning sound which made me jump.

“Can you help me?” I asked, and both turned their attention on me. It was quite something, having the full attention of both of these blue-eyed behemoths. I lifted a hand, touching my chest. “Help?”

The two exchanged a glance, and the second man nodded, answering me. His voice was gravelly, raspier than the first’s. It sent a frisson of awareness through me. Both men put their arms beneath me, lifting me off the ground. My arms wound around their shoulders. I swore I could feel their skin through the layers of their clothes—a heat that went through them to me and warmed me as if I’d been standing in front of flames.

As my feet touched the ground, I glanced around frantically for my camera bag. It lay next to the indentation I’d made in the snow. When I bent to pick it up, the blood rushed from my head and I stumbled.

Second didn’t like that. He hooked an arm under my legs, dragged the camera bag into my lap, and muttered at me.

I protested, “I can walk. Just give me a second.”

“Stubborn girl,” he seemed to say.