Page 2 of Heart of Frost and Scars

I’ve never driven before, but I can figure it out. The controls can’t be more complicated than flying a plane.

“Let’s get out of here.” I twist in the seat and find Kody’s eyes. “We don’t need him.”

“You sure about that?” He stiffens, his voice low and rough. “You heard what he said about the reporters. We can’t have them broadcasting her location. She’s in danger.”

“Apparently, being in danger is my new normal.” She curls her fingers on her lap, her words clipped. Angry.

Outside, Monty gestures animatedly as he converses with the crew beside the jet, preparing to carry us off to his estate in Sitka.

“This threat against you…” I soften my tone, not wanting to scare her more than she already is. “It’s worse than wolves and blizzards and starvation. You know why? Because we don’t know who or what it is. We won’t see it coming until it’s too late.” I thrust a finger at the man who is far too eager to help us. “The threat could be Monty.”

I expect her to react, to argue, to defend him. But she doesn’t. She glances in his direction, where he huddles into his coat and talks to the crew.

Then she nods. “We can’t rule him out. Denver said this…admirer is from my past, yearning for me in a way far darker than his own affection.” She shudders. “Maybe it is Monty. But he had me for three years. He had endless opportunities to do what he wanted. I mean, I lived with him. Married him. Trusted him.” Emotion builds in her tone. “My brain says to run. I can’t trust him. But my gut…I don’t know. It’s just a twisted, hard knot of fear. It doesn’t tell me anything. I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re upsetting her,” Kody snarls.

“It’s not Leo.” She slumps. “It’s everything else. We need a fucking break, you know? It’s like we escaped, only we didn’t.”

What have we gained by leaving Hoss? We traded starvation and cold for what? A monster worse than Denver?

I shift uncomfortably, the stiffness of new denim chafing my skin. Every layer of fabric on my body carries a scent I don’t recognize. An unwelcome, chemical stench that isn’t found in nature.

Monty bought our clothes, our boots, even our goddamn underwear. The suede coat envelops me, its edges precise, each stitch meticulous, so different from the worn, practical clothing I shared with my brothers all my life.

I run a hand along the soft, luxurious material. It may have come from an animal, but it’s been crafted into an unrecognizable pelt meant to shield me from the cold in a way that seems too gentle for the life I’ve lived.

Frankie pulls her coat tighter around herself. A white puffy thing, similar to the first one she wore when she arrived at Hoss. The memory of that day flashes in my mind—her strength, her vulnerability, as she stepped into a world so brutally different from anything she knew.

She despises the cold, and that coat doesn’t look warm enough.

I remove mine and pass it to her.

“What are you doing?” She pushes it back.

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m not cold, Leo. I promise. Put your coat back on.”

Despite her assurances, I make a mental note to find her something warmer, something that feels more like us. Something less like this new, polished existence and more like the survival and warmth we’ve found in each other against the raw cold of the Arctic.

Kody’s new coat, similar to mine, hugs his frame awkwardly, as if it’s unsure of its place on his body. The fabric, though fine and expensive, seems to constrain him, like he’s wearing someone else’s skin.

“What does your gut tell you?” he asks me, tugging at the collar, his fingers rough against the velvety material, pulling it away from his neck like he’s trying to escape it. “Do we fly to Sitka or cut ties and run?”

I shift my gaze back to Monty, churning with suspicion, confusion, and an unbearable acknowledgment that, for now, we could use his help.

“I don’t like it,” I finally murmur, glancing back at Frankie.

Her pale skin, tight expression, each breath strained and shallow—she’s a far cry from the woman I know, the woman I love.

A fresh wave of worry crashes over me. “Maybe we should stay in Anchorage for a bit, give ourselves time to adjust.”

“And do what?” Kody stabs a hand through his hair, setting the black strands in disarray, an unconscious rebellion against the refined look he’s been forced to adopt. “I’m not disagreeing with you, but we need a plan. Where would we stay? How would we survive?”

I don’t have an answer, and he knows it. Our options are limited, dire realities pressing in from all sides. The thought of staying in an unknown city, where threats lurk unseen, without money or shelter to protect her, makes my hackles bristle.

We need time to process everything—the tangled family ties, the looming danger, Denver’s haunting words.

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