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JACKSON POV

The sickening crunch of the impact cut through the air. My breath hitched as I tried to register what just happened.

Meanwhile, the car didn't stop. It just sped up and the taillights disappeared into the storm like it had never been there.

Had I just witnessed a hit-and-run?

For a second, I just stood there, frozen. My brain still struggling to process. Did that really—?

Yes. Yes, it did.

I snapped out of it and ran.

My boots slipped on the ice, and I nearly went down, but I caught myself just in time. The person was lying face-down in the snow, utterly still.

Oh God. Oh God, Oh God.

“Hey!” I yelled, my heart racing in my chest. “Can you hear me?”

I dropped to my knees beside him—it was a man but there was no movement and he was unresponsive, a dark pool of blood slowly seeping into the snow around him.

That looked bad.

That looked really, really bad.

I had basic first aid training from that summer I volunteered at the community center, but this was far beyond anything I knew how to handle.

My breathing quickened and my hands trembled so badly, I could barely get my phone out of my pocket.

I had to call 911. I fumbled with the screen, my fingers numb, barely able to get a good grip. No signal.

My stomach dropped.

“No,, no.” I panicked as I tried again but still nothing. The storm must've knocked out the cell towers.

I looked around wildly, the streets were completely deserted. Every shop was closed, every window dark and the nearest hospital was miles away. No cars, no people, nothing but snow and wind and this man helplessly bleeding out on the side of the street.

He needed help and right now, I was the only one who could help him. I closed my eyes and inhaled, summoning some inner strength. Carefully, I turned the man over so I could grab from under his shoulders only to be left mesmerized.

Even unconscious and covered in snow, this man was…striking. That was the only word for it. Pale skin, sharp features, black luscious hair matted with blood and melting frost.

He looked like he belonged in some painting somewhere rather, and not lying injured in a street during a blizzard.

And his clothes made no sense. He was wearing a thin linen shirt and a pair of dark pants. No coat, no gloves, nothing suitable for winter.

But even at that, he was still breathtaking…even as a guy.

“Focus, Jackson!” I scolded myself, shoving my phone back into my pocket and yanking off the scarf from my neck. I pressed it firmly against the gash on his temple, applying pressure.

As I wrapped the scarf around his head, I couldn't help but notice just how cold he was—his skin was actually freezing and I was pretty damn sure it wasn't from the snow.

The worst came to mind and I placed two fingers at the side of his neck. “Please be okay, please be okay,” I muttered under my breath and relief washed over me when I felt a low pulse.

I got my arms under his shoulders and God, he was heavy…sadly you couldn't expect more from an unconscious person. I wasn't strong but adrenaline was a crazy thing.

I couldn't let him freeze to death waiting for help that might not come. I had to get him inside, get him warm, get him warm, try to stop the bleeding and figure out the rest from there.

I managed to haul him up, draping him across my shoulder blade, basically something similar to a  fireman's carry I'd only seen in movies while still managing to hold the grocery bag.

My legs nearly buckled. My back screamed in protest but I pushed forward anyway.  Two blocks had never felt farther.

Each step was agony, my muscles shook and my lungs burned. The man's blood was soaking through my coat, warm against my shoulder before the wind swept it away.

I just hoped Santa Claus was seeing this one.

After several excruciating minutes, I could finally see my building through the foggy snow—the converted house split into four smaller apartments, its pale white paint, blending seamlessly with the snow.

My apartment was on the second floor and I could have cried from happiness.

I marched on, practically dragging him up the stairs. When we reached the front door, I had to put him down to find my keys, leaning him against me while I fumbled in with stiff fingers.

“C'mon, where is it?” I breathed in frustration until I finally felt it in one of my pockets.There. I unlocked the door and half-carried, half-pulled the man inside and eased him down on the couch.

I stood there for a moment, slightly swaying, my entire body trembling. My coat was soaked through with melted snow and blood. My hands were shaking so badly, I could barely flex my fingers but I was grateful for the warmth that etched around us now.

And the fact that he was finally inside.

Right.

I set aside my coat and stumbled to the bathroom, grabbing my first aid kit from under the sink and a stack of clean towels. I had to move quickly.

When I got back to the living room, I dropped to my knees beside the couch. He was still unconscious, but his chest was rising and falling steadily. That was something.

I moved my blood-soaked scarf away from the wound on his temple. I gently parted his hair,

reached for a clean towel—

And froze.

I stared down, blinking as realization crashed over me.

The bleeding had stopped.

The breath in my lungs seized and I stumbled back. “What?” I uttered in complete shock.

Was I starting to imagine things? The gash had been large and deep…I had seen it and now there was nothing?

Swallowing hard, I leaned closer, my heart tremouring in disbelief and confusion. My fingers pushed back a good chunk of his dark hair from his forehead. The skin underneath was flawless, not even a scar. Like he'd never been hurt at all.

“What the hell?”

This wasn't possible. People didn't just get hit by cars, sustain a major injury and then were perfectly fine some minutes after. Wounds didn't just close themselves. I'd seen the blood soak into the snow, my scarf, my coat.

My eyebrows knitted as I tried to make sense of any of this. I wasn't crazy. I reached out again, convinced that if I just looked closer, the wound would be there and I’d been too panicked to see it.

But before my fingers could even touch his skin—

His eyes snapped open.

They were ice blue. Piercing, pale blue eyes that reminded me of glaciers and for just a fraction of a second—so brief I thought I might have imagined it—they flashed gold.

His hand shot out with impossible speed, clang around my wrist with an iron grin.

I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything but stare into those eyes while one thought echoed through my stunned brain;

Just what the hell did I bring into my home?