Chapter Three

"Holly. Holly. Talk to me. Did you hit your head?" I ask again. I slow down the question and enunciate my words. She still can't understand me. I clear my throat. This is the most I've spoken in a long time, and the tickle in the back of my throat is really starting to annoy me.

I try again. Still no answer. She just stares at me with those big, dopey, brown eyes. Her eyes were already too big for her face, but they're so wide now, she looks more owl than human. I know she can hear me; she's staring directly at me, but it's the glazed-over, "no one's home right now" look that has me most concerned.

She's probably still in shock. Or maybe she's concussed?I think, forcing myself to take a steading breath. Stay calm. That's one thing they teach in medical school. How are you supposed to take care of your patient if you can't get your shit together?

From the quick physical examination of her face, there's no contusions or any other signs she might have hit her head when her car slid off the road. Without thinking, I lean forward, so close I catch a whiff of her flowery shampoo and the sharp tang of adrenaline in her blood and inspect her left eye. Then the right. Without a penlight, I'm unable to check her pupil's reactivity, but right now her pupils are perfectly round. She blinks when I touch her face, and her pupils stay symmetrical. Good. Not the uneven, blown-out pupils I'd seen in my human patients with head traumas. It's amazing how much I haven't forgotten after all these years.

Once I finish assessing her eyes, I move to the other areas quickly and systematically like a well-oiled machine, probing her face and then neck. I guess it"s like riding a bike. You never really forget.

It wasn't until I drag my fingers over her scalp, feeling for any bumps, that she snaps to it.

"Woah!" She jerks out of my grip. She glares at me as I hand back her beanie. Even though she's mad, her reaction confirms what I had suspected—she's fine.

"I was just checking—" I cut myself off with a sigh. Nevermind. It doesn't matter. "How are you feeling?" Do I need to carry you down this mountain to see a doctor with an active medical license?

But that doesn't matter. I made an oath to do no harm, and though it's been years since I wore a white coat, I still try to follow that promise to the best of my abilities. Sure, it would serve me better if Holly stayed, but I'd carry her down the mountain if she did need medical treatment.

She wipes some snow off her hat before yanking it back on her head. "I feel fine," she grumbles, probably annoyed that I"m still kneeling inside her personal space.

Not as annoyed as I'll be if I have to go into town again. There's a reason I keep my visit to once a month—rubbing shoulders with self-centered tourists, or bumping into demon locals who treat me like a local celebrity is enough to make my skin crawl.

"Do you remember hitting your head at all? Or losing consciousness?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "No. I'm fine."

"Do you have a headache? Nausea?"

Her fine, flat brows knit together. "I said I'm fine. Really. The snowy bank cushioned my fall." She pauses, and her eyes go wide again. I watch as she turns her head slowly towards the drop off that sits only six feet away from us. "Dear Gods, I almost died."

Technically, she almost died twice. Get this lady a lotto scratch card because she's lucky.

"My car. Where's my car?" she asks frantically. She starts scratching at the hole I dug to make it bigger. Looks like she already knows the answer to her question is right below us, buried under a wall of snow.

I stand, but she ignores me and continues to dig with her nails like she's a cat taking out all her frustrations on a scratching post. The tips of her fingers are already bright red from the cold. Her nose too. If I don't get her back to the cabin soon, I'm going to have to worry about her getting frostbite as well. I'm quiet as I watch her for a minute. This human doesn't stop; she's relentless. There's something wrong with her head, but it looks like it's a pre-existing condition. There's nothing I can do to help her right now.

She finally stops digging to glare up at me; her cheeks flushed from cold and exertion. "What are you doing? Aren't you going to help me? All my stuff is down there. My phone. My wallet. My groceries. My clothes!"

And your vibrator?I resist the urge to add. "I did help you," I reply flatly. "I saved your life."

"Damnit!" she screams, slamming her palms flat on the snow. She lowers her head, and I hear a sniffle. "Please," she begs, keeping her eyes to the ground. "All my stuff is down there. I don't have a lot." I note the desperation in her voice, a feeling I am all too familiar with. Guilt tightens in my chest, but I ignore it.

"Will you die without any of that stuff?" I ask.

That question causes her to look up. She stares up at me as her fine brows knit together. I can tell she's trying to think of a lie. Humans are too easy to read sometimes, that's what makes them easy prey to demon bargains. But this one especially. Her huge bird eyes tell you everything you need to know. She's lucky I have no reason to bargain with her. I was happy and had everything I needed until she showed up.

"Medication, for example. Are there any meds in your car you'll die without?" I prompt.

"No," she says, sounding defeated. I offered her a hint, and she still couldn't think of a lie. Mother Darkness help her—she really is a sucker. Now it's beginning to make sense how she ended up here in the first place. Because in the past few years I've lived in the cabin, no one has ever booked here. I vaguely remember Carl—the sweet, elderly human who owns the property—telling me he was going to have his nephew revamp the booking website. I was skeptical, but it looks like it worked.

"Then you'll live," I say. She remains anchored to the ground. I sigh. I know she's not my problem, but I can't leave without her. Stupid Hippocratic oath. I know she needs her stuff, but as I survey the area, fear prickles underneath my skin. The snow is unsteady, and we're only a couple of feet away from a drop-off. We'll have to wait until later to get her stuff. It's not safe for either of us. I turn my attention back to the human. "Look, there is nothing we can do right now. Your car and your stuff aren't going anywhere. At least come back to the cabin with me, warm up, and we can figure out a plan. Together." When she doesn't immediately get up, I add, "We need to move. There may be another avalanche coming. They can strike twice like lightning—"

"No. They don't," she says. "Avalanches don't strike twice. That's not true."

I blink at her, surprised. Huh. I assumed by her Boise license plates and her neatly braided blonde hair and nose ring, this was another prissy tourist. A city girl that's never stepped foot in the outdoors. Could I be wrong?

It's an easy assumption to make, considering that's the only type of tourist I see. Luckily, they tend to stay on BZB—the twin, richie-rich mountain with the fancy Emberlight resort and casino that sits on the other side of Winter Bliss—where they can get their wilderness fix, or at least a watered-down version of it. It doesn't matter what they do over there as long as they don't bother my mountain. The only tourists I have to worry about coming over here are the dumb ones who want to take a selfie with a "cute" bear. There are really only brown bears around these parts. They tend to leave us alone, but there have been a few stories of campers running around in their underwear in the snow because they left their trash out and the bears took over their campground while they were sleeping.

"I'm not leaving without my stuff." She pulls herself to her feet, wiping the snow off the front of her snow pants. No winces or grimaces as she stands. Good. No sprains or breaks in her legs to worry about. She folds her arms across her chest, craning her neck up. We stand there for a moment, glaring at each other, waiting for the other person to break.

Finally, I throw my hands up in the air. "Fine, if you want to freeze to death or get eaten by a bear, be my guest!" Without waiting for her reply, I start making my way back towards the cabin. I don't even get to the count of ten in my head before she gives in. I hear a loud, exasperated sigh, before the snow starts to crunch behind me.

We make it back to the cabin, both of us quiet the whole walk. "You wait inside. I'll be right back," I say over my shoulder as I continue on the path towards Frostwing Lookout, the only place on the mountain with reliable service. When I return, Holly is standing in the dark, a quilt from one of the beds wrapped around her shoulders, her teeth are chattering so loud I'm wondering if she'll need to see a dentist.

"Can you start a fire, p-p-please? I could-couldn't find any matches."

I wince. Demons have thicker skin that makes us less susceptible to the cold. But I'm hardier than your average demon. I've been living up here so long, I don't even notice the cold.

I collect some extra logs and toss them into the fireplace. Opening the cupboard below the sink, I hand her a box of matches. "Here. Light your fire."

She looks at the matchbox and then back at me. "Do these even work? The box is wet. You"re a demon. Just use your fire powers!"

"I don't do that," I say, folding my arms across my chest.

Holly scoffs but doesn't say anything. She opens the box and runs a match along the side a few times, growing increasingly angry with each stroke. The moment she looks like she's going to pop an aneurysm in her brain, the fire sparks at the end of the match. We both let out a sigh of relief—mine is so quiet, it's undetectable—as she tosses the match into the fireplace.

I stare at the fire, my skin prickling with delight from the delicious sight and sound. I can't look away—it's too addicting. Hello gorgeous. I've missed you. "I called Chad, the park ranger, and he told me the avalanche blocked off the entire road. The city won't be able to clear it until after Christmas. It looks like you're stuck here."

When I finally manage to tear my eyes away, Holly is curled into a little ball in front of the fire, and I can only see her back. I can't see her face, but I have a sneaking suspicion she's less than thrilled with the news. When she doesn't respond right away, I add another log to the flames. My entire body relaxes just as the fire crackles and pops.

I sigh, forcing myself to take a big step away from the hearth—away from the seductive haze that not even those most disciplined demons can resist. As much as I love it, I don't feel safe around an open flame. Not with what happened last time.

"Are you sure there's nothing they can do?" Holly asks, peering over her shoulder at me.

I shake my head. "No. Not unless you want to call an emergency helicopter to rescue you."

She perks up at that idea.

"It's an automatic fifty-thousand-dollar bill, if you do." She deflates. "Plus, they get pretty cranky when they have to pick up people who are not actively having an emergency."

"Did you try the host?"

"Carl won't answer. He's on some trip in the Caribbean and won't be back until after Christmas. And even if he wasn't, there was nothing he could do about the road. All we can do is wait." The Caribbean trip is a half-truth, but a little deception won't hurt her. Carl is spending his holiday on white sandy beaches, but that beach happens to be stateside in Florida, where the cell service works just fine. I can't have Holly talking to Carl right now. If that nice old man found out what happened with the avalanche, he would offer her a refund and more. And right now, that's not a risk I'm willing to take.

Holly seems like a reasonable enough person. I doubt she'd leave a bad review after being buttered up by Carl. As much as I like my landlord, and I want his side business to do well, I can't risk my perfectly peaceful setup here. I need Holly to leave a bad review. That's why I was so desperate to get her to stay. If she doesn't leave a review, or worse, if she leaves a good review and it encourages more guests to stay here, I'm doomed.

I wish Carl would sell me the cabin. I double my offer every time I bring it up, but he's just too sentimental. Even though I've offered way over the property's value, he refuses to budge. I can understand why, though. It's where he and his husband used to summer before his partner died of pancreatic cancer. This cabin was their refuge—the only place where two gay men could live peacefully in Idaho during the 80s.

I have enough money to build my own cabin. Hell, I have enough money to buy my own mountain, but the land on this mountain is not available for sale. Every plot is either owned by someone else who has no interest in selling, or it's public land managed by the forest service.

So, I really need to make sure Holly has a bad time. So bad, she leaves a 1-star rating and a scathing review that would scare off any future prospective renters. Maybe that'll be the final shove Carl needs to sell his place to me.

Do no harm,that annoying voice echoes in my head. I shake it off. There has to be a difference between physically harming someone and inflicting a little mental anguish, right?

"It's just four days," I say. Holly"s lower lip trembles. Dear Mother Darkness. Anything but tears. Please.

"Five days and four nights," she corrects in a strained voice. She frowns. "Do you have any food by chance? All my food is inside my car. Buried under a fuckton of snow."

I huff. "Sure, I have food." I jerk my head towards the icebox. "There's venison in the fridge and dry ingredients in the shelves above the sink. Help yourself to whatever, but just remember, this has to last both of us until they clear the roads. I can't go hunting right now. Not in this weather." She grimaces. I bite down a smile. "What? Don't like deer? You a vegan or something?" I could almost read the headline now: Renters beware. The groundskeeper forced me to eat meat.

She shakes her head. "N-no. I ate deer all the time growing up. I just feel bad taking from your supply." She sniffs, rubbing her nose. "I promise I'll pay you back."

I swallow. Holy Mother Below. I've been a complete shithead to her on purpose, and she's worried about taking from my supply? Either this woman really does need her head examined, or she's too nice for her own good. I clear my throat. "Don't worry about it." She nods, turning back to the fire. I hesitate, rubbing my forearm. "I'm sorry you don't get what you want," I say awkwardly.

She turns and gives me a confused look.

"What you said earlier? To be alone for Christmas? Sorry that you won't get that, I guess."

The fire casts long shadows across her face as I study her. She took off her beanie, and her choppy bangs lay smooshed against her forehead. When I first saw her, I thought she was plain looking. Uninteresting. All humans look plain to me with their smooth, hornless skulls and their tiny, pinched features. But I don't know. The more I look at her, the more I start to think differently. Her brown eyes are open and expressive and are the same color of freshly brewed coffee with just a dash of cream. She has a smile that can melt ice. Her eyelashes are long and dark, and her small chin and button nose with a gold hoop pierced through the side are anything but plain; she's attractive, I guess. For a human.

She playfully smacks her forehead. "Oh, right. Duh. I can't believe I said that out loud. How embarrassing. It's fine. I guess I should be used to not getting what I want by now." She forces out a laugh, but it sounds hollow.

I stand there awkwardly for a moment before I decide I've made her miserable enough for today, and I should probably turn in. As I move towards my bedroom, Holly stops me.

"Hey, wait. I never got your name."

"It's Az," I grunt.

"Let me guess, it's short for azzhole?" She laughs. A genuine sound this time.

I stop in my tracks and turn to gape at her. Not because she called me an asshole—I am an asshole—but I'm surprised someone who's had a day like hers can still crack a joke.

"Good one," I say dryly.

Her wry smile quickly fades. "I'm so sorry. I was just joking."

"Funny." My voice suggests it's anything but. "It's short for Azgoran."

She nods, smiling again. "Azgoran," she says quietly, testing it out for herself. And I love and hate how soft my name sounds on her lips. Azgoran is a harsh, brutish word that doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, but it sounds like music when she says it. I feel the odd urge to ask her to say it again.

"Thanks for saving my life, Azgoran." It's weird to hear that phrase without doctor in front of my name. It didn't happen a lot, but the few times a patient did say it to me, I waved them off like it was no big deal. But as soon as Holly says it, a delicious shiver runs down my spine. Screw an avalanche, I'd rescue her from the bottom of Mount Winter Bliss's volcano just to hear her say it again.

Wow. I really need to get laid. Just hearing a woman say "thank you" has me hard.I exhale a quick breath, composing myself. All I give Holly is a noncommittal grunt as I close my bedroom door.