Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Snow still lingered in the shadows of the tree line, like the last remnants of a threat not quite done with them. Bare birch trunks reached into a sky the color of wet slate, and the Dalika River ran swollen and fast beside the road. He eased the truck through a muddy bend and cut left, tires crunching against frozen gravel and away from the main river. Another half mile brought them to Amka’s land.
Tika snored happily in the back seat, spreading out like he owned the vehicle.
Amka's cabin rose out of the ground like it belonged there in two stories of weathered log and green metal roofing, tucked at the edge of a thicket where the forest would someday reclaim everything. The place had a comfortable vibe. Welcoming. However, it was way too exposed and would be easy to infiltrate.
He killed the engine.
Amka shifted beside him. Even that small movement made her wince.
He didn’t like the wince. “You said that Doc May cleared you except for the bruises and that your rib might be cracked.” He spoke without looking at her, his gaze still pinned to the cabin where a small curl of chimney smoke drifted above the roof.
“I think I’ll be fine,” Amka said, her voice hoarse but steady. Her fingers brushed a streak of soot from her thigh. “I got ash all over the truck.” She shivered as if unable to warm up. It was probably the shock setting in. “I’m sorry. I smell like a firepit.”
He turned his head slowly. “No. You don’t.”
She blinked at him.
“You smell like cloudberry.” The second the statement left his mouth, he wanted to take it back and bury it under the permafrost. What was that?
Amka tilted her face toward him. Eyes dark, rimmed with red from smoke or emotion. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail that had mostly come loose. “Cloudberry?”
Hell. He was already in. Might as well commit. “Yeah. Like apricot, amber, and rose. Sort of wild. A little sharp.” He cleared his throat. “Even after the fire.” Why was he still talking?
She watched him. Not blinking. Not smiling. “I think that’s sweet.”
Sweet? No. He didn’t know how to even think about being sweet. Even to someone like her. He huffed out a breath, half a laugh, more a self-directed curse. “Don’t misread me or see anything that isn’t here.”
A silence settled between them, heavy but not awkward. More like the land itself had leaned in to listen. He shifted in his seat, trying not to think about how she’d taste if she really did smell like that fruit. Bright, tart. Maybe sweet around the edges.
Jesus, he had to stop.
“Christian?” Her voice barely reached him. Tentative.
He hated that. The hesitation. The uncertainty that curled around his name like she was afraid of him. Which, honestly, made sense. Most people were.
He was a damn menace—tall enough to block out sunlight and with a face that looked like it had seen one too many nights without rest. He didn’t talk much, didn’t care to be seen, didn’t trust easy. Crowds made his skin itch. Noise made him leave. And people? Most of them weren’t worth the oxygen they burned.
Still, he tried. Plastered on something neutral and turned to face her, aware that he took up more than his share of space in the cab. His voice came out rougher than he meant. “What is it?”
Her long lashes, pure and natural black, fluttered against the pale skin beneath her eyes. “Thank you. For saving my life.”
That caught him off guard. Not the words because he’d been thanked before. But not like that. Not quiet. Not raw.
Something about her saying thank you tugged at him. Not quite enough to pull a smile, but his mouth twitched, traitorous. “You probably could’ve saved yourself, darlin’.”
She stilled. “You do that a lot.”
He paused. “Do what?”
“Use endearments.” She tilted her head, studying him. Really studying him. “But not as a compliment. More like to distance yourself. You very rarely call me by my name.”
He kept control of his body, like usual, and didn’t shift in the seat. Nobody got beneath his skin and saw the real him. They’d go running, screaming if they did. But Amka had always had a way about her. Intuitive. If he believed in magic, she’d have it.
He couldn’t figure out what it was about her that got past his armor. Maybe it was the way their drive from town had been filled with silence, and not the awkward kind. The good kind. Like she understood that not every second needed noise. That sometimes, silence was its own language.
She let out a breath, easy, like she wasn’t going to press him. “Would you like to come in for an early supper? It’s the least I can do.”
His gut tightened. Food sounded good. Her cooking even better. But it wasn’t hunger pulling at him, it was the invitation. The warmth behind it. The door she was cracking open. Being in her presence, just around her, somehow provided a quiet peace. One he couldn’t figure out.