But as I drift toward sleep, wrapped in Nash's arms, I know something.
Thaddeus always said that in nature, adaptation is the key to survival. You change, or you die.
I came here to study how a caribou adapted to a changing world. Instead, I'm the one who changed.
And for the first time in three years, I'm living life instead of observing it.
Chapter Sixteen
NASH
I haven't movedin an hour, and that hasn't happened in a decade.
Usually, I'm up before the light. I'm out of the bag, brewing coffee, checking the perimeter, and organizing the day's logistics before my clients even roll over.
Today, I haven't moved an inch.
Aris is asleep on my chest. Her hair is a chaotic halo of dark waves spread across my shoulder, and her breathing is a slow, steady rhythm that I can feel against my ribs. One of her legs is tangled with mine in the sleeping bag, and her hand is resting flat over my heart, as if checking to make sure it's still beating.
It is. In fact, it's beating harder than it has in years.
I look down at her, tracing the line of her spine with my hand under the heavy down of the bag. The memory of last night—the heat, the desperation, the surrender—hits me, and I feel a fierce, possessive tightening in my chest.
We didn't just step over the line; we erased it.
Technically, this is a disaster. She's a client. I'm supposed to be her professional guide. We're miles from civilization, surrounded by a wolf pack that has already shown an unusuallack of fear, and we have no satellite phone. My focus should be 100% on the environment.
But looking at Aris, all I can focus on is how soft her skin is and how much I want to wake her up and do it all again.
You're in trouble, Hollister,a voice in my head warns.Deep, deep trouble.
Aris stirs. She takes a deep breath, her lashes fluttering against my skin, and then she goes still. I can practically hear her brain booting up, loading the memories of the broken antenna, the soldering iron, the sex.
She lifts her head slowly, blinking in the orange light. Her eyes meet mine. There's a second of vulnerability, a question mark hanging in the air.
"Morning," I rumble.
She searches my face, looking for regret. When she doesn't find it, the tension leaves her face all at once.
"Morning," she whispers.
She props her chin on my chest. "So. We're still here. The world didn't end."
"Not yet," I say, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Though the day is young."
She laughs, a soft sound that vibrates against me. "You're a pessimist."
"I'm a realist. And realistically …" I glance at my watch, "… we have about four hours of direct sunlight to charge the solar array. We need to check the antenna fix. And we need to find Waldo."
The mention of the caribou brings the outside world rushing back in. I feel her body tense slightly. The scientist is waking up.
"The antenna," she says, sitting up and pulling the sleeping bag around her shoulders. "Do you think it held?"
"Only one way to find out."
I sit up too, the cold air of the tent biting at my bare skin. I grab my thermal shirt from the pile of clothes in the corner, the clothes we shed in such a hurry last night.
"I'll get the stove going," I say. "You check the gear."
