“Not Sasha.”
Fuck.
“You don’t get to decide who lives,” she pushed. “You don’t get to play God because you think you’re better at surviving.”
He wiped any trace of emotion from his face. “Careful.”
A tendon snapped taut in her neck. “Or what?”
“Or you’ll say something you don’t understand.”
Frigid air cut between them.
“I made the call.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I chose you.”
The fury in her eyes faltered and the silence between them was enormous.
Wind. Snow. Fire ravenous behind them. The line of her throat moved around a swallow.
He retreated, putting distance between them, sealing back over what had broken through. “They’ll send people to check the crash site. Sat phone’s dead.” His voice was working again. “We need to move.”
She was motionless for several seconds, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, swallowed hard, and nodded.
He scanned her body.
Thin sweater, soaked through and clinging. No jacket. No gloves. Her boots practical enough but already dark with snow melt. Her hands were cut and bare, fingers red-white at the tips.
She’d be hypothermic inside an hour. Less if the wind kept rising. He stripped off his waterproof jacket without hesitation and held it out.
“I’m fine.” Her nostrils dilated, a vein beating a fierce tempo at her temple.
“Put it on.”
“Don’t tell?—”
“Now, Harper.”
She glared at him, pride fighting necessity, then took it. She shoved her arms through the sleeves without a word. It swamped her, shoulders too wide, hem hitting mid-thigh, the warmth of his body still trapped in the lining.
He pulled his spare hat from his back pocket and stepped closer. He tugged it over her head, down past her ears. She stilled for a moment, then pulled it lower herself.
He adjusted the collar of the jacket at her throat, sealing it closed, ignoring the heat of her cheek against his knuckles.
Satisfied she wouldn’t die in the next five minutes, Pav turned south-southwest and started walking. He slung his pack over his shoulders and didn’t look back.
She was following.
13
Harper hated the jacket.
She hated that it blocked the wind. Hated that it smelled like him. His scent threaded through the fabric every time she breathed. And every time the wind cut through and the jacket blocked it, some treacherous part of her brain whisperedsafe.
He wasn’t safe. Safe was a lie. He was the man who’d made a choice and called it necessary.
And the hat? She wanted to rip it off her head, throw it in the snow, and stomp on it. But her ears would freeze and he’d just pick it up and put it back on her without a word.
So she walked. And seethed.
