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I anticipate some witty comeback, but Wolf only nods. His eyes, once so full of snark and mischief, now only hold a sad resignation, a heartbreaking acceptance of the inevitable.
“Hey.” I capture his neck and haul him to me, embracing his stiff, shockingly thin body. “We’ll get through this, hear me? We’re finally free, and in just a few months, we’ll leave this place in the rearview.” I lean back and grin at him. “Hope the world is ready for us.”
“Yeah.” He slips out of my arms and ambles out of the workshop.
Leo watches him leave and turns to me. “He won’t stop talking about death.”
“Frankie will know what to say. She’s good with him.”
“He needs hope. Getting the generator running would be a start.” Pensive lines form between his brows. “Beneath its wings lie the answers you seek.”
“In a cage of ice and echoes.”
“Wings…like on the plane? Is the answer to restoring the power there?”
“That’s where my mind went.”
“Okay.” He pulls in a deep breath. “Let’s dump the body and eat. Then we’ll start looking for those answers, yeah?”
I clap a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “Good to have you back.”
“Missed me?” He grips my neck, mirroring my pose.
“Nah.” I shouldn’t rile him. I really shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. “I was wrapped up in silken legs and long red hair. Don’t need coal when I’m sharing body heat in the biblical way.”
His hand tightens, going from affectionate to threatening in a blink. “You’re fucking dead.”
I wrench him against me and growl in his ear. “We’ve spilled enough blood today, don’t you think?”
His breathing accelerates, his body rigid and unyielding.
I let him boil for a moment before offering relief. “I didn’t touch her.”
Momentary relief. The instant he relaxes, I snatch it away.
“But I will, Leo. I’ll be inside her as deeply and often as you are. She’s not yours. She’s ours, and the sooner you accept that, the happier she will be.”
“I’ll fight it tooth and nail.” He pulls an arm free to take a swing.
“Save it.” I restrain him in a painful embrace, forcing some brotherly love on him with a hard smack of my lips on his cheek. “We have wolves to feed.”
71
Frankie
—
Shadows loom like silent sentinels, untouched by candlelight, impervious to the cold.
I sit on a stool in the desolate kitchen, the only companion to my thoughts, a pulsing anger. Its presence paralyzes me, soughing in my ear.
You killed him. You killed him. You killed him.
A long, overdue justice.
But the cost…
It’s crushing.
I sealed our fate.
The lives of the men I love hang in the balance because I made a rash decision with my heart, not my head. I’m reckless. Irresponsible.
What do I do now?
I should make dinner. I should clean off the blood. I should do something, yet here I remain, a prisoner to my own breath, shackled by trembling hands that know no peace.
The front door opens, and the frozen floors creak, marking the somber approach of steps.
A ghostly silhouette emerges in my periphery, pale blue eyes hovering, their depths lost in a living nightmare.
Wolf lowers onto the stool beside me, quiet, preoccupied, perhaps digesting the horrific consequences of my actions.
Black hair, messed with agitated fingers, stands on end in every direction. Dark suede coat undone, the fur collar soaked with snow.
I sense his loathing, his blame. He’s right to feel that way.
“They’re disposing of the body in the hills.” He stares at my bloodstained coat. “They’ll be back in a few hours.”
“In this weather?”
“The weather, the empty pantry, the wolves…” He rests an elbow on the island, voice grave. “No matter how you slice it, we’re dead.”
“I’m sorry.” Guilt gnaws at me relentlessly.
“You’re a mess.” He releases a resigned breath. “Come with me.”
Without waiting, he grabs my hand and leads me to Denver’s bedroom. Gathering towels from the bathroom and a pot of tepid water from the hearth, he proceeds to clean my hands and face.
Can’t remember the last time I showered. The sponge bath earlier left behind the reek of fire smoke and cold soot. Now those scents are buried beneath layers of sweat and death.
“Better.” He wrings out the towel and gently dabs my face with a dry one. “Just like ice cream.”
“Hmm?” I lean into his touch.
“Your skin.” Dipping his head, he kisses my cheek. “Looks and tastes like ice cream.”
“Have you ever had ice cream?”
“Never. I imagine it’s sweet and creamy.” His mouth brushes my other cheek. “Cold and smooth like your face in the winter.”
Then he kisses me. Lips like winter’s frost, part mine, and I welcome the caress of his tongue. This kiss isn’t driven by desire or expectation. It’s steeped in kindness and friendship, a whisper of love.
So why does it feel like farewell?
Tilting his face back, he looks at my soiled coat. “I can’t clean this. Here…” He shrugs out of his and holds it out to me. “Take mine.”
