Nika’s door sits wide open, so I have a clear sight line into the bedroom. She’s still tied to the headboard, her hands useless, but she could wiggle her way under her blankets. Even from her room, she’ll also benefit from the fire’s warmth.
Every time I shift my weight, my ankle screams, but I ignore the pain as I shuffle around the house. I check each window and door to ensure this fortress is as secure as it can be.
Nika doesn’t say a word when I return to the living room carrying the bag I left in the garage. She’s silent as I shift the couch to face her bedroom door. I’m farther from the hearth this way, but considering I don’t trust her, I’d rather keep her visible.
I feed the fire some bigger logs, and the seasoned wood catches fast. Within minutes, a cheerful blaze tosses dancing shadows on the walls.
Cloaked in waves of heat, I strip off my wet clothing. My muscles protest every move, every inch of me sore from the hike and fight. At least the exhaustion that’s taking over got rid of my boner.
In just my undershirt, boxers, and socks, I lay my clothes out on the other furniture to dry and examine my injuries.
I note my hellishly scraped, chafed, and bleeding hands, the bruises littering my arms—some still red and forming, others already deep purple—and this damn ankle. Now that I’ve shoved my boots off, I can see that the swollen one’s nearly twice the size of the other. This sort of injury requires rest, ice, and elevation.
Too bad I’ve had enough ice and elevation to last a lifetime.
I shuffle into Nika’s room, doing my best not to reveal the state of my ankle.
As I figured, she’s used her legs to slide herself under the blanket and has wiggled enough to get her pillow positioned against the headboard.
“Are you cold?”
She presses her lips together and glares at me.
The silence stretches.
Five seconds. Ten.
“Nika?”
Apparently, she’s not going to respond.
Lifting the blankets, I pull them higher so they cover up to her chest. Considering the murderous gleam in her eyes, I stop before my hand gets close enough for her to bite.
She angles away and faces the wall.
If I had the energy to engage with her more, I would, but exhaustion wins out. Humans can push themselves beyond their limits, but eventually the body will collect a toll.
I need at least a few hours of sleep.
Scooping up my snow pants and glove, I carry them back to the living room and lay them out with the rest of my gear to dry.
Using the parka as a blanket, I sprawl out on the couch. In my chest holster, my gun hangs heavy but accessible.
Within minutes, warmth spreads over my skin and my eyes close.
I’ll deal with Nika once I’ve rested.
Chapter 16
Max
I wake with my neck twisted at an angle that needles down my spine. My shoulders throb, either from the first fight, the second fight, the trek through the snow, or thethirdfight. At this point, I can’t keep track.
Or maybe the pain’s from my night on the not-so-comfortable couch.
I’ve slept on military cots with more cushioning.
I sit up, scrubbing my hands over my beard stubble and suppressing a groan. Half the battle of resting in enemy territory is maintaining the appearance of lethality. Waking up wobbly and achy is just asking for an attack.
