Chapter 4

Chapter Four

S late

The wind rips through the trees like it’s trying to tear the whole mountain apart. Snow slices at my face, cuts through my jacket, bites into my skin. My breath comes out in sharp, cold bursts, fogging the air in front of me. But I keep my eyes on her. I track Emma through the whiteout, every unsteady step she takes twisting something deep in my chest. She’s fighting the snow like she’s got something to prove, like she’s too stubborn to admit she’s in over her head.

“Stubborn as hell,” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it, just a tight knot of frustration. Snow falls thicker, faster, swallowing up the path in front of her, making it impossible to see more than a few feet. I can barely make out her shape through the sheets of white, the way her legs start to buckle, the way she sways against the wind.

“Damn it, Emma,” I growl under my breath, knowing she can’t hear me. I should’ve stepped in sooner, should’ve stopped her before she got this far. But she would’ve hated me for it, would’ve fought me every step of the way. So I let her try, let her push herself until she’s on the edge. But that’s as far as I’ll let it go.

When she drops to one knee, her breath coming out in ragged gasps that fog the air, I make my move. I surge forward, snow crunching under my boots as I cut through the storm, every step a battle against the wind. My muscles strain, burning from the cold and the effort, but I close the distance between us in seconds.

She barely has time to look up before I’m there, grabbing her arm and hauling her upright with a strength that makes her gasp. Her eyes widen, shock flashing across her face, and then her expression hardens into that familiar defiance.

“What the hell were you thinking, Emma?” I shout over the wind, my voice rough and edged with the fear I refuse to admit. “You want to die out here?”

She wrenches her arm free, glaring up at me even though her face is flushed from the cold, snow sticking to her lashes. “I had it under control.”

I bark out a laugh, harsh and humorless, the sound almost swallowed by the wind. “Yeah, sure. You were doing great—right up until you were about to pass out in the snow.”

She shoves at my chest, but I don’t budge, my hands still gripping her arms tightly. She might as well be shoving at the side of a mountain. “I don’t need you to save me, Slate.”

My frustration boils over, my grip tightening on her arms. “You don’t need me, huh? Look around, Emma! There’s no one else out here but me. And if I hadn’t shown up, you’d be a popsicle in the snow by now.”

Her eyes flash with anger, but beneath the fire, there’s something else—a flicker of vulnerability that twists the knife deeper in my chest. “I can handle myself, Slate. I don’t need you coming in here, acting like you always have to be the hero.”

I lean in, letting the words spill out between us, rough and edged with the cold. Our breaths mingle, fogging the air, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world drops away— just the two of us standing in the middle of a storm. “Maybe if you stopped being so damn stubborn, you’d realize that I’m not trying to play hero. I’m trying to keep you alive.”

Her chin juts out, defiance blazing in her eyes despite the way she shivers under my hands. “Why do you even care, Slate? You made it pretty clear back then that you were done caring.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, dredging up memories I’ve tried to bury for years. My jaw tightens, my voice dropping to a rough growl, the wind carrying the words between us. “Yeah? Well, maybe I never stopped.”

For a heartbeat, everything goes still. The snow swirls around us, a cocoon of white that wraps us in, muffling the storm’s fury. Emma’s breath catches, her gaze locked with mine, and I see the way her resolve wavers, the way her lips part like she’s about to say something—but then she bites it back, shaking her head.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she mutters, but her voice is softer now, the anger fading, leaving something raw and uncertain in its place.

I feel that uncertainty, that unspoken question between us, settle into my bones, but I push it aside. We’re not having this conversation out here. Not when the storm is clawing at us, trying to bury us under feet of snow. My hands slide down to her wrists, my grip firm but gentler now, my heart still pounding with the adrenaline of the chase, the rescue, and the fight.

“You’re right. It doesn’t change anything,” I say, and I mean it. “But we need to get out of this storm before it does change us into human icicles. Can you walk, or do I have to carry you?”

She glares at me, but there’s a flicker of grudging gratitude in her eyes as she nods, shifting to find her footing in the snow. “I can walk. But this conversation isn’t over.”

I can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corner of my mouth. Even now, with the snow whipping around us and the cold turning my fingers numb, she manages to keep that fire burning. “Oh, I’m counting on it, Emma.”

I keep a hand on her arm as we start moving, guiding her through the snowdrifts, matching my steps to hers. The wind howls around us, throwing snow in our faces, but I keep her close, every muscle tensed, ready to catch her if she falters again.

She keeps pace beside me, her breaths coming out in sharp, pained bursts, but she doesn’t complain. She’s tougher than she looks. Always has been. But as much as I admire that strength, it makes me want to pull her in, press my lips to her temple, and promise that she doesn’t have to do it alone—not anymore.

We push through the snow together, our shoulders brushing, the cold biting into us with every step. But the heat between us is hotter than the storm, simmering just beneath the surface, a slow burn that licks through my veins with every glance she throws my way, every time her hand brushes mine.

I know this isn’t over. I know as soon as we’re out of this, she’s going to push back. Hell, I expect it. But for now, she’s here, beside me, leaning on me more than she probably realizes.

The old trapper’s cabin comes into view through the swirling snow, a shadow against the white, the faint glow of light barely visible through the thick flakes. Relief floods through me, but it’s mixed with a darker, more possessive need. A part of me wants to drag her inside, strip off those wet clothes, and warm her up the best way I know how. A part of me wants to remind her exactly what we had—what we could still have if she’d just let go of that stubborn streak.

I glance down at her, catching the way her teeth are chattering, the way her cheeks are flushed pink from the cold. She catches me looking and glares, but there’s no real heat behind it, just exhaustion and that same flicker of something she’s not ready to say.

I lean closer, letting my breath wash over her ear, barely loud enough to be heard over the wind. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy, Emma.”

Her head snaps up, and she glares at me, but there’s a shiver in her that has nothing to do with the cold. She opens her mouth, but whatever retort she had ready dies on her lips, and she just shakes her head, focusing back on the path ahead.

We reach the cabin, stumbling inside. I close the door against the storm, and for a moment, we just stand there, dripping snow onto the floor, our breaths mingling. I head directly to the fireplace, throwing a few logs from the stack in and lighting it quickly. Within minutes warmth fills the cabin.

I stand and Emma looks up at me, her eyes still blazing with that stubborn fire, but I see the gratitude there too, buried deep beneath the anger. And I know this isn’t over. Not even close.

I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “Welcome back, Emma. Ready for round two?”

She glares at me, but her lips twitch, almost like she’s fighting a smile. “Go to hell, Slate.”

I lean closer, my voice dropping to a rough whisper that brushes against her ear, making her shiver. “Oh, I’m already there, babe. And you just made it a whole lot more interesting.”