It wasn’t clean. His body hit the frozen ground, then again, the slope taking him, throwing him down in a brutal, grinding tumble. Rock. Ice. Frozen earth. The sound of impact brutal and awful against the mountain silence.
“Pav!”
She scrambled over the edge before the scream finished tearing out of her.
Half-climbing, half-falling. Her hands scraped for holds that weren’t there. Ice gouged her palms. Her boots skidded and she slammed into the slope, caught a root, toppled forward.
Don’t think. Move.
Thorns tore at her skin and branches whipped her face—heat, then wet—but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the dark heap at the bottom.
He wasn’t moving.
No. No.
She hit the ground on her knees and crawl-stumbled the last distance across rock dusted with grit and ice.
“Pav—”
He was on his back, arm free of his sling. Eyes open, blinking at the sky.
He’s alive.
Relief hit so hard it bordered on pain—caustic enough to morph into anger.
Thank God. He’s alive.
Blood spotted his hair—fresh and bright, welling through the stitches she’d placed. His breathing was ragged.
But he was conscious. When she skidded to her knees beside him, his gaze was unfocused for a second before it tried to sharpen. “You should see the other guy.”
Her chest tightened.
Idiot.
She wanted to hit him and kiss him at the same time. Instead she pressed her hand to his forehead. Heat scorched her palm. Burning heat that was nothing to do with adrenaline or exertion.
“Pav… you’re burning up.”
“I’m fine.” He batted her hand away.
She caught hold of his wrist, locating his pulse with her fingertips. Way too fast.
“You have a fever. I need to see the wound on your chest.”
“It’s nothing.”
She shot him a look. Nothing didn’t feel like this. “I’m checking it.”
She unbuttoned his collar but he grabbed her hand.
His eyes were glassy, focus slipping in and out like a signal dropping. When he spoke, the words dragged, thick and misaligned. “Not here, Harper. Not… we can’t?—”
She stared at him.
It took a second. Then it landed.
He thought she was?—
