No breath.
She pinched his nose, sealed her mouth over his, and breathed.
His chest rose. Fell.
“Come on.”
Another rescue breath.
“Don’t you dare do this to me.”
Another.
“Come back to me.”
His body jerked under her hands as she bent again. A harsh inhale tore into his lungs, and suddenly his face was right there.
So close.
Her lips were still parted, his breath hitting hers, warm and alive. For a split second there was nothing but those wild, untamed eyes.
She jerked back as he sucked in another breath, his chest heaving, his back arching as his body fought its way back online.
His hand locked around her wrist. His eyes were open, unfocused, his grip crushing. Pure reflex. This wasn’t him. Not yet.
“It’s me.” Her voice broke. “It’s me. It’s Harper. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
His eyes found her face. Focused. The wildness receded—dragged back under control by force.
Something else flickered there, raw and unshielded. Gone almost as soon as it surfaced. His grip loosened but didn’t release.
“Harper.” His voice was wrecked.
Her head dipped at the sound of her name. “I’m here.”
His eyes closed, and his breathing steadied from its ragged pace. She crouched over him in the snow, his blood on her hands, her breath still in his lungs.
His fingers tightened around her wrist.
Not enough to hurt.
Enough to hold.
20
“Pav. We need to move.”
Drone.
Someone had been behind that camera. And even though the drone was downed, they would know where.
Which meant they were coming.
Her gaze flicked to the shattered wreckage smoking in the snow, then to the trees. The forest pressed in—dense, silent, full of places to hide and nowhere to run if you were already marked.
Minutes?
Maybe less.
