Chapter 2: The Only Cabin in the Storm

The mountain did not care about five years of unadulterated hatred.

Within twenty minutes of the border skirmish and covering the dead guards with large leaves, the clouds split open into a torrential downpour that turned the steep trails of the northern ridge into churned rivers of mud. With the heavy downpour, Miracle found herself trapped three miles up the cliffside with a man who felt like a ghost walking around in a physical body.

Every step up the ridge was a quiet war. Her wolf kept thrashing against her ribs, hyper-aware of the massive footprint he left in the mud ahead of her, hyper-aware of the heavy, rhythmic sound of his breathing. The storm whipped rain sideways into her face, but it wasn't enough to wash away the memory of his thumb against her wrist or the way his steel-gray eyes had pinned her to the earth down at the watch post.

"The valley path is washed out, Mimi," Talon said, stopping near the edge of the tree line and wiping a mix of rainwater and blood from his eyes.

"Don't call me that," Miracle snapped, her hands clenching into fists at her sides until her knuckles turned pale beneath the grime. "Only people who didn't abandon me get to use that name."

Talon's jaw tightened. The muscle beneath his dark stubble worked hard, but he didn't argue. He pointed up toward a dark silhouette perched on the rocky outcrop fifty yards above them, jutting out over the sheer drop of the gorge.

"Hunter's cabin. Old emergency shelter," he said, his voice deep and raspy against the roar of the wind. "We wait out the flash flood there, or we risk getting swept into the gorge."

"I’d prefer the gorge," she muttered, but she climbed the slick rocks anyway, her boots digging into the slate.

She kicked the cabin door open with enough force to rattle the rusted iron hinges, stepping out of the gale and into the dark, dusty air. The shelter was tiny. A dry stone hearth sat cold in the corner, flanked by a pine table with a single wooden chair, and tucked into the far wall, a solitary, narrow wooden cot. One mattress. One thin, gray wool blanket.

Miracle stopped dead in her tracks, rain dripping from the ends of her dark hair onto her collarbones. "You have got to be kidding me."

Talon pushed the heavy oak door shut behind them, throwing the iron bolt into place with a heavy thud that sealed out the worst of the howling wind. The sudden enclosure made the air instantly suffocating. The room was barely ten feet by ten feet, and with Talon inside, it felt half that size.

He peeled his soaking leather jacket off, his broad shoulders flexing beneath the damp leather before he tossed the jacket over the lone chair. He was wearing a fitted black shirt underneath that clung to the terrifying breadth of his chest, shoulders, and narrow waist. The dark ink on his arms stretched down past his wrists—gothic runes, jagged thorns, and the faded, crude mark of a street syndicate she had begged him to leave years ago.

"Well," Talon purred, turning to face her. His gray eyes glinted in the dim gray light filtering through the small wooden shutter, tracking the tight, defensive line of her posture. "Looks like the mountain gods have a dark sense of humor. I'll take the left side."

"You'll take the floor, Cross," Miracle snapped, her brown eyes flashing gold as she stood her ground in the center of the cramped room, her blades still sheathed at her waist but her body ready for a fight. "Or better yet, you'll take the porch."

Talon hooked his thumbs into the leather loops of his heavy tactical belt, leaning back slightly against the edge of the oak table. He didn't move toward the door. A slow, infuriating smirk spread across his face as his gaze drifted down the length of her body, completely unbothered by the venom in her tone.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice low, amused, and dangerously smooth. "It's freezing out there, Mimi."

"Fuck you," Miracle spat.

She reached up and unbuckled the wet leather chest harness holding her gear. Her fingers worked fast, furious, stripping off the outer tactical vest to leave only her fitted, rain-soaked tank top underneath. She could feel his eyes on her skin like a physical flame, tracking the line of her collarbones, the rain dripping off her jaw, and the scar on her left shoulder.

When she glanced up and caught him shamelessly admiring her, his eyes dark and heavy, her patience snapped entirely.

Without missing a beat, her hand dropped to her thigh holster, whipped out a sleek silver throwing dagger, and hurled it straight at his head.

Crack.

The blade buried itself two inches deep into the heavy oak table right between Talon's hands, the silver hilt vibrating violently in the dim air.

Talon didn't even flinch. He didn't pull his hands from his belt. He just looked down at the quivering dagger, then slowly raised his steel-gray eyes back to hers, his crooked smile widening just enough to show a hint of white teeth.

"Missed," he murmured.

"I didn't miss," Miracle growled, stepping up until her chest almost brushed his. "I warned."

Talon let out a low rumble, the humor dying in his throat as she invaded his space. "You always were bad at threats, babe. You point a knife when you want to hide how cold you are."

"I am not cold," she spat, her jaw setting hard. "And I don't need a damn thing from you. Take your hands off your belt and get on the floor before I put the next blade through your knee."

Talon didn't move toward the floor. Instead, he stepped out from the table and closed the remaining fraction of an inch between them, his towering frame completely blotting out the faint storm light behind her.

"And let my Alpha freeze?" His voice dropped into a low, smoky rasp that sent an unwanted shiver straight down her spine. "Not a chance."

He tilted his head down, water from his buzz cut dripping onto her shoulder. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, his chest expanding as he took a deep, agonizingly slow drag of air, visibly drinking in the sharp, spicy scent of warm ginger, rain, and fresh earth that belonged only to her. When his eyes opened again, the steel-gray had softened into something raw and aching, a silent confession of five years of starvation before he hardened it back into his signature smirk.

Miracle glared up at him, her chest rising and falling heavily. The cramped space felt like an oven. The mate bond was humming between them, a golden thread vibrating so hard it made her teeth ache, pulling at her core, begging her to bridge the two inches of air separating his broad chest from her face.

"What do you actually want, Talon?" she whispered, her hard exterior cracking just enough to show the blade beneath it. "You think you can just drop back into my life after five years of radio silence and act like we're still teenagers hiding in the brush?"

Talon’s teasing smile faded instantly. The cocky gang leader facade peeled away, leaving only the man who had looked at her like she was the only real thing in the world since they were seven years old. He looked at her full lips, the faint scatter of freckles across her nose, and the scar on her left shoulder that he remembered kissing every single time.

His gray eyes softened completely, filled with a quiet, heavy darkness that made her heart slam against her ribs.

"I don't expect anything," he said quietly, his voice dropping an octave, thick with an emotion he couldn't hide. "Except to make sure you're still breathing at dawn."