“—spread out, twenty-meter intervals—”
“—remember, this thing is dangerous. Shoot first, questions later—”
“—Wicks, you keep your boys in line. Military wants it alive if possible—”
“Alive?” Dale’s voice carries clearly through the trees, bitter and angry. “Tell that to the families of everyone who’s gone missing in these mountains. Tell that to Hannah Barrett’s kids.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. Hannah Barrett died in a car accident two years ago—went off the road in a blizzard. But if Dale’s blamingthat on Jack Frost, if he’s turning this into some kind of vendetta...
The footsteps are close now, so close I can hear the crunch of individual boots in the snow. Ja’war’s hand moves to the back of my neck, fingers tangling gently in my hair in what I realize is probably a claiming gesture meant to comfort both of us.
“—tracks here, but they’re old—”
“—this area’s been disturbed. Something big came through—”
“—keep moving, we’ll do a full sweep—”
One set of footsteps stops almost directly outside our hiding spot. I hold my breath, pressing my face against Ja’war’s chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and controlled despite the danger.
“Wicks, what is it?”
“Thought I heard something.” Dale’s voice is maybe ten feet away. “Could’ve sworn...”
Silence stretches. I can feel Ja’war’s muscles coiled like a spring, ready to move if discovery becomes inevitable. His hand on my neck is warm, steady, protective.
“Just the wind,” another voice says. “Come on, we’ve got six more sectors to cover.”
“Yeah.” But Dale’s voice carries doubt, suspicion. “Yeah, alright.”
The footsteps move away, voices gradually fading as the search team continues their sweep. But it takes several more minutes before Ja’war relaxes, before the tension leaves his body.
“They are gone,” Ja’war says softly, but he doesn’t loosen his hold on me.
“Good.” I should move. Should put distance between us now that the immediate danger has passed. But his arms feel like the safest place in the world, and I’m not quite ready togive that up.
“Fiona,” he says, and there’s something different in his voice. Softer, more vulnerable. “May I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“When you learned the truth about my watching, you said it was either the most romantic thing anyone had done for you, or the most terrifying.” His hand continues its gentle movement on my back. “Have you decided which?”
The question hangs between us, heavy with three years of longing and the weight of choices I’m not sure I’m ready to make. In his arms, warm and safe while danger lurks just outside, the answer feels surprisingly clear.
“Both,” I admit quietly. “It’s both.”
His arms tighten around me, and I feel him press a soft kiss to the top of my head. The gesture is so gentle, so full of carefully controlled affection, that it makes my chest ache.
“I can accept both,” he says. “If it means you will give me the chance to prove the romantic outweighs the terrifying.”
I tilt my head back to look at him, taking in the sharp angles of his alien features, the winter-blue eyes that hold three years of patient longing. This close, I can see the faint patterns in his skin, the way they pulse slightly with what might be increased heart rate.
“You realize this is crazy,” I tell him. “All of it. Alien couriers and fated mates and Christmas Day spaceship repair.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “Completely insane.”
“And you’re asking me to trust someone who’s been essentially stalking me for three years.”
“Yes.”
