Chapter Five

The venison crackles and pops as I stir it in the skillet with a spatula. The cabin may not have any central heating, but at least the gas stove works.

I'm trying to look on the bright side here. It's hard when I was supposed to have a jacuzzi with LED lighting in my bedroom.

My entire arm is trembling from just holding the weightless cooking tool. After Az chopped down a tree, he dragged it—yes, a whole ass tree by himself—back to the cabin. Demonkind are genetic powerhouses. They can wield fire and are super strong?! It's just not fair.

Once we made it back to the cabin, we took turns chopping it into smaller, digestible pieces for the fire.

I may be just a weak human, but I think Az was a little impressed I knew how to hold an ax. Sure, I was panting, and my arms and shoulders turned to jelly while Az looked like he hadn't broken a sweat, but my stack of wood was as tall as his. That's gotta count for something, right?

I switch the spatula to my left hand to give my right a break. Now you're paying the consequences. You should have let him do all the work.

Standing is too much work; I have to lean against the counter to catch my breath. I'm tired, but not just from overexertion. I feel emotionally wrung out and a little embarrassed for dumping all my baggage on Az so quickly. When he asked me why I wanted to be alone for the holidays, I doubt he was expecting an oral essay about my life. But I couldn't help it. My mouth is like a broken faucet and once you turn it on, it keeps drip-drip-dripping until you want to rip your hair out.

I don't regret opening up to Az, though, despite how uncomfortable I probably made him. For the first time, I was able to talk about Melinda and not be met with a bewildered stare. Whenever I cried about her to my friends or coworkers, they looked at me like I was concussed. Everyone hates their mothers-in-law, I get it, but I loved mine. She was more of a mother to me than my own mom, who walked out when I was seven. Melinda was always there when I needed her—listening to me vent whenever Jeremy yet again quit a job after a couple of days because he "didn"t vibe with the place," taking me out to get matching mani-pedis when work was stressing me out, or always being the shoulder for me to cry on. She gave me advice on everything, even her own son. She knew firsthand how hard he could be. The mood swings and the inability to follow through with anything he promised to do. Though she never advised me to divorce him, I felt like it was always implied, hanging in the air because she couldn't outrightly say, "Leave my son. He's a total loser and you can do so much better."

Just how I thought it was implied if I did leave her son, she would still be in my life. Things between us might've been a little rocky at first, but we'd eventually fall into the groove of our new normal. I was not expecting her to cut me off completely after Jeremy and I signed the papers. How can you be in someone"s life that long and then suddenly cut them off like they never existed?!

Gods, I'm so dumb.

Now that Melinda is gone, I feel like that same seven-year-old again, hugging her teddy bear with her face pressed against the window as she watches each car pass by, praying that the next one that rolls down her street will belong to her mom.

So when I told Az, I braced for the worst. If the people closest to me couldn"t wrap their heads around my grief, why would he be any different? But when Az murmured a quiet, "I understand," a wave of relief washed over me, lifting the huge rock on my chest I didn't realize I had been carrying.

As I push a lumpy piece of meat around the skillet with my spatula, I still feel open and light. Almost giddy, like I took an edible earlier, and it's about to kick in at any moment. For the first time since arriving here, I want to stay on the mountain in this shitty little cabin, just so I don't lose this feeling.

It's been a couple of hours since Az said he needed to take care of something and disappeared out the door, and I'm starting to wonder where he is. I know he lives here, but should I be worried?

I almost drop my spatula when the front door kicks open. A gust of winter air stings my cheeks.

"There you are! I made us some dinner," I say as Az ducks under the doorway and steps inside, shaking snow off his horns and shirt.

My mouth falls open as I take him in. He's cleaned himself up and the change in his appearance is startling. He looks like a completely different person, like the moment in those cheesy rom-coms when that leading lady takes off her glasses and she's—what a shocker, but we all secretly knew all along because we're not blind—absolutely gorgeous.

"You shaved?" I say weakly. His tangled black hair has been combed through and smoothed back away from his face, the wavy ends still curling up above his shoulders. His thick beard is gone, revealing a stubbly jaw so square, we could use it to cut through ice. The shave is anything but perfect; there are still a couple of patches here and there, and a few bloody nicks, but now I can see the thick column of his neck.

My mouth falls open. Damn. I thought he was handsome before but the rugged demon that stands before me right now has sucked all the air out of my lungs. I'll probably need to be put on life support because I don't know if I'll be able to breathe on my own after this.

Az raises a thick brow at me. "Yeah? So what?"

A whiff of rotten eggs hits my nose; the smell is gross enough to knock me to my senses. My nose wrinkles as I sniff the air again. "Do you smell sulfur?"

He scratches the stubble on his chin. "It's the mountain. She's technically a volcano, and sometimes the air smells like sulfur and ash when she's acting up. We demons love smell—we love anything related to heat and fire. I had forgotten other species are more sensitive to that certain smell."

I raise both eyebrows. I'm sure they're touching my hairline at this point. "I'm sorry, did you just say there's a volcano that's acting up?" First an avalanche and now a volcano? I got your message, Universe. You want to get rid of me. I hear you loud and clear. "That wasn't mentioned on the booking website." Az steps towards me, leaning over to pop a piece of meat in his mouth. He makes a deep "Mmm" sound that has my abdomen feeling all warm and tight. Not good.

He snorts in reply.

I sigh, rubbing my temple. "Let me guess, there's also not a ski slope or luxury spa? You're not hiding a jacuzzi back in that room, are you?"

"The only amenities you'll find here are the great outdoors. You're probably thinking of Mount BZB—the richie-rich mountain." He pops another chunk into his mouth before turning to face me. I have to practically crane my head all the way back to see him. He still reeks of sulfur but seeing those chiseled features and those dark, intimidating horns up close makes it all worth it.

This place may not have amenities, and the views are disappointing, but at least I have a rough-around-the-edges lumberjacked demon to admire.

"That makes sense," I sigh. What I was suspecting clicks into place. The booking was simply too good to be true. Hopefully, I finally learned my lesson: if something seems too good to be true, that's because it probably is.

If I had spent an extra five minutes doing some research instead of rushing to the "confirm booking" button, I would have realized it was all a scam. The host had copied and pasted the photos and amenities from the cabins on BZB and pasted it onto his own page. But I had fallen for it, like the sucker I am.

I watch Az lick the grease off his finger, my lips parting slightly. Warmth tingles deep inside my belly; my nipples going taut against my undershirt. Az holds my gaze with those dark, curious eyes with equal interest.

For the first time, I notice he has icicles sticking in his hair. It seems like he took a shower and stepped out into the snow before he had a chance to dry off—

"Wait. You're clean. How are you clean? I thought there wasn't any running water here?!"

"We don't have running water," he insists.

My eyes narrow on him. "Then how are you clean?"

"I took a dip in a frozen pond close to here. I had to cut a hole in the ice and everything. I didn't tell you because I thought humans couldn't handle bathing in freezing water. But if you want to—be my guest, I'll point you in the direction of the pond."

My heart sinks. What I wouldn't give for a hot shower right now. Something doesn't sound right, though. I know demons are more tolerant of harsh weather than humans, but bathing in ice-cold water seems a little extreme, even for them.

"What is that?" he asks, his gaze settling on something directly behind my head. He sneers at it like someone dragged fresh roadkill into his cabin and left it on the floor.

I spin around, following his gaze. "Oh! It's my Christmas tree," I say proudly. I rush over to the waist-high Douglas fir perched against the wall. Or I think it's a Douglas—it's too burnt to tell. I begin to spruce up the skinny branches until one breaks off in my hand. "I hope you don't mind. I cut it down while you were out. It felt weird not having a tree for Christmas." I run my hand along the charred side as I add, "I just wish I had stuff to decorate it with."

"I thought you didn't want any reminders of Christmas."

I stop fiddling with the baby tree. "Oh," I say, quietly. I pause. He listened to me? There was a very small part of me that wondered if he tuned me out while I gabbed, and responded when there was a lull in the conversation. But he actually listened. A little too well, actually. "I did say that," I reply with some hesitation. "I was thinking about it, and I don't know. This trip has been such a disappointment already, I don't want what happened with Melinda to sour my vacation anymore. Not if I can help it. I still want to celebrate this tradition, at least. Cutting down a Christmas tree was something my dad and I used to do together. We would go up to the mountains every December and pick out the best-looking tree. We were too poor to do anything else." I smile to myself. "Now that I think of it, we were probably trespassing on private land and cutting down some stranger's tree." There I go dumping more baggage on Az. At this rate, he's going to know everything from my social security number to the fact I had my sexual awakening when I watched Buffy: The Vampire Slayer before my stay is even over.

"I see." He nods politely. "Well, I'll get out of your hair," and starts heading towards his room.

"Wait!" I say. Az stops just outside his door, turning to give me a surprised look. I steady myself, trying not to look as nervous as I feel inside. "I found some hot chocolate packets in the back of your pantry. The kettle is almost ready. Want to join me for a mug?"

He openly assesses me from my doubled-up wool socks to the black leggings and the oversized green hoodie. I ditched the bib snow pants once the room was warm enough. I smooth a hand over my head. I'm sure I have gross, flat hat hair from wearing my beanie all day. I feel incredibly self-conscious now that he's all spiffed up.

He opens the door and steps inside, shutting it behind him without another word.

"Rude," I scoff, feeling absolutely crestfallen. It's fine if he didn't want to hang out, but he didn't have to be so rude about it.

Az opens the door a minute later, and flashes me the bottle of rum in his hand. "I prefer my hot chocolate to have an extra kick."

Ten minutes later, we're sitting in front of the fire on his bearskin rug, sipping boozy hot chocolate out of blue enamel camping mugs. A few sips in, and my body is already feeling a happy buzz.

"So, what happened to all the trees around here? Was there a forest fire?" I ask.

He gives a short nod. "Last summer." He takes a long swig as he stares at the fire with a concentrated look. He looks pained but refuses to tear his gaze away from the hearth. I love a good fire, but with the way the orange flames dance across the dark pools of his eyes, I can't seem to tear my eyes off of Az.

"And it missed the cabin? Were you around when it happened?"

Az peers at me from the corner of his eye. "Yes, I was around," he says tersely. "I don't know why the fire didn't hit the cabin." He glowers at me, shifting his body and attention to me. I feel myself shrink under his surveying eye. "You know, for someone who wants to be alone, you sure are chatty." He sounds annoyed but there's a teeny-tiny edge of playfulness in his voice.

I smile like an idiot. "What can I say? I'm a walking, talking contradiction."

"And I'm an azzhole," he says with a humorous huff. I grin wider.

I run my hands through the soft fur of the dead bear. It feels macabre that they left the poor animal's head attached, but then again, I grew up with a hunter father. We decorated our entire trailer with mounted elk heads and stuffed pheasants with vacant, black marble eyes. I'm used to macabre. It actually reminds me of home a little bit. The good parts, anyways. "Okay, one last question, and I promise I'll stop talking. I know there is a story behind this," I motion to the rug beneath us, "and I have to hear it."

"It's nothing exciting. I stumbled onto a bear in the forest. I started to back away, but he charged, and that's how I got this," he says, motioning to the thick scar running across his forehead and slashing through his eyebrow.

My eyes widen. Nothing exciting? If you opened a dictionary, there would be a picture of a demon fighting off a bear under the definition of exciting. "Oh my. Seriously? You're lucky you didn't lose an eye. Or your entire face!"

He nods in agreement. "I know. I thought I had lost both eyes at first. The head is a very vascular area. So when the bear swiped at me, I had blood pouring down my face and it completely obstructed my vision, and I had to wrestle him and kill him," he frowns, "with my bare hands."

It takes every ounce of restraint to not burst out giggling at his unintentional pun. "Wow," I say once I'm composed enough to talk. I want to reach out and touch the scar, to feel the firm bumps underneath my fingers. But that would be inappropriate. "Then what happened?"

He arches a brow at me.

"How did you make it back if there was all that blood in your eyes?"

He sips his drink. "When the shock wore off long enough to realize I wasn't dead, I walked myself back to the cabin. Then I stitched up my wound. After that was taken care of, I went back for the bear. I figured if I managed to kill it all by myself, I deserve to keep the pelt—"

"Wait. Wait . . ." I wave my hand in the air. His eyes widen with confusion. "You stitched up your face by yourself? You didn't have to go into town to see a doctor?" I knew mountain men were tough, but this was insane. An image of an old western cowboy pouring whiskey onto a gash on his leg before he sewed it up with a needle and thread pops into my head.

"Correct," he says, running a finger along the jagged line. "It didn't come out as neat as I would have liked, but it's not like I was winning any beauty pageants before."

I stare at him, utterly speechless. I promised him no more questions, but that's fine because my brain is blank right now. Az fills his cup with more rum, bringing the mug to his mouth.

He winces from the burn of the drink. "I used to be a doctor," he offers, as if he could anticipate what my next question would be before it popped into my head.

"Really?"

He watches the fire; a log giving an especially loud pop before it's devoured by flames. "It's how I ended up here. You asked me that question earlier—what made me move out here." He shrugs. "To make a long story short, I dropped out of residency and moved out here."

Give me the long version, please! I'm dying to know. I clear my throat. I have to approach this carefully. I can't be too eager, or he might close down on me. Guess the alcohol loosened both our lips. "Why Mount Winter Bliss?"

He stares down into his cup, a marked dejection in his eyes. "People have a helluva time finding you in the woods," he says. He glances up at me; his black eyes intense and unyielding. "I understand your need to be alone, where no one can bother you. It's what brought me here too. Trust me, it's better up here than down there. People pretend to care about you but," he shakes his head, "no one really cares about anything but themselves. I had to learn that lesson the hard way. So did you. But it's better for us to know the truth. It's the only way to protect ourselves." He smiles at the fire, but there's no humor in his eyes. "And even when you hide in the mountains, sometimes they still find you," he murmurs under his breath.

His words ring true, and yet, I can't help but disagree. The whole world can't be selfish. It's just statistically impossible. Plus, as a doctor, he's seen the worst side of people, but I'm sure he's seen good too. I thought I wanted to be alone, but after opening up to Az about what was bothering me, it gave me the peace I had been searching for this whole time. Is it possible for two people to be alone . . .together?

"It's nice to be alone," I agree, "but not forever. I don't think anyone is meant to be alone forever. It's not healthy. You should know, you're a doctor." I purposely use the present tense. I imagine teaching is a lot like medicine, and even if you leave it, it never really leaves you. It becomes ingrained in your soul.

I scoot closer so that our knees are almost touching. I place my hand on his bicep. Not a sexual touch, but the way I would comfort my students when they came into my classroom crying because their friend refused to sit with them during lunch.

I can feel the firm muscles in his arm . . . Maybe it is a sexual touch.

"I know it's easier to run and hide from the past, but it's not good to keep that locked up inside, either. It eats away at you. I can"t tell you how good it felt opening up to you today. Now, you don't have to talk about anything if you're not comfortable, but I'm here to listen if you ever need it."

He's quiet as he contemplates my offer. I see it the moment it happens: his face closing down. He looks down at my hand. I quickly pull it away.

"I'm sorry—" I blurt.

He clears his throat and stands, abandoning his half-empty mug. "It's late. I should be going to bed."

My throat tightens. Shit. Way to go, Holly. I nod quickly, not trusting myself to speak. I turn away, choosing to stare at the fire. I hear creaking floorboards as Az heads to bed. He pauses just outside the door.

"Be careful not to use up all the wood. It's going to be a cold one tonight, and I'm not hiking up the mountain in the middle of the night to get more." He shuts me out without another word.