Page 13 of Mountain Storm
"Weren't you?"
The silence hangs, thick and charged. She glares at me, cheeks flushed.
I rise to my full height and stare down at her. "You're not going anywhere."
She stiffens. Her chin lifts, rebellious. "The storm will pass."
I lean closer. "The one outside, perhaps."
She understands then.
This isn't about weather. This isn't about timing. This is about her trespassing in more than just my territory. About how once you step into the lair of something feral—you don't walk back out untouched.
She shivers again, breath hitching as her nipples tighten beneath the fur. Not from cold. From recognition.
5
CARYN
The morning breaks with a silence that feels threatening—a brittle, unnatural stillness that presses against my skin like frostbite, cold and warning. It's the kind of silence that holds its breath before a scream, that creeps into your bones and whispers that something's changed, something's coming. My chest tightens under the weight of it, instinct prickling like a thousand tiny needles beneath my skin.
At first, I think it's just the thick log walls muting the outside world, but then I realize: the storm has stopped. The wind isn't screaming anymore. The snow no longer claws at the windows. All that's left is the eerie hush of winter holding its breath... and him.
I roll onto my side, careful not to let the furs slip too far, and spot Zeb at the stove, shirtless, muscles tense as he pours coffee like he's fueling up for battle. He doesn't glance at me. Doesn't say a word. But I feel the moment he notices I'm awake—his shoulders stiffen, his back straightens.
"Good. You're up," he says without turning.
His voice still has that grit to it—rough-hewn, weathered, like it clawed its way out of stone and snow with bare hands andteeth. It's a sound that scrapes over my skin, low and jagged, curling down my spine and pooling heat between my thighs before I can stop it. I hate how my breath catches. I hate how my nipples tighten under the fur, aching like they know who's in the room. My stomach clenches, traitorous and tight, and I feel the slow, humiliating bloom of arousal where there should be nothing but rage.
"Is the storm over?"
He turns. Slowly. Controlled. Like a predator deciding if the meal is worth the effort—and suddenly realizing the prey is both familiar and far more tempting than it should be. My breath catches, pulse skipping as his gaze latches onto mine, sparking something hot and primal in the silence between us. I don't know if it's fear or anticipation crawling up my spine, but I know I can't look away.
"The weather cleared. The rules didn't."
I sit up straighter. "Rules?"
He walks toward me with that same deliberate stride, eyes unreadable.
"No wandering. No lying. No leaving."
"What am I, your hostage?"
Zeb sets the coffee down on the side table next to me, his looming presence impossible to ignore. The scent that clings to him hits me hard—sweat, cedar, and something darker, like smoke clinging to skin after a fire. It's a primal, male scent that sinks its claws into my senses.
My fingers curl tighter around the fur, nails digging into the pelt as a shiver rakes down my spine. I don't know if I want to rip the furs away and confront him fully or bury myself deeper, hide from whatever this is swelling in my chest—fear, fury, or something far more dangerous.
"You're something I should've let be; let the mountain have you—but I didn't. And now, I can't," he says simply.
My heart stutters. I blink up at him, throat dry. "You don't get to decide that."
He shrugs, gaze dropping to my lips before dragging slowly back up. "Too late."
There's a beat of silence so dense it presses against my throat, thick and unyielding, like a noose cinching tighter with every heartbeat. It wraps around us, heavy with all the things we didn't say, thick with heat and warning, with need neither of us will name. My pulse hammers in my ears, and for a breathless second, I swear the air itself is braced—waiting to see which one of us will shatter first.
I throw the covers back and stand, chin lifted. "I need to pee. Or is that against the rules, too?"
He steps aside but doesn't turn his back. As I disappear into the bathroom, I see him turn away. I pull the door shut behind me and it clicks like a cell locking.
