Page 294 of Heart of Frost and Scars

I turn on the faucet, setting the temperature on a warm, comforting stream. The kind of warmth that washes away the cold and the dark.

But inside, I’m still burning, coiled tight with a fury I can’t shake. The bloodlust is still snarling and clawing, making it impossible to be anything other than rough.

Monty’s hands move with care as he unties her robe, peeling the fabric away from her skin.

I step in to help, my fingers brushing against his as we work together to remove the last barrier between her and the water.

The robe falls to the floor, and I swallow hard, my chest tight as I take in the sight of her. She was bruised. Drugged. Raped. But she’s still here, fighting.

Monty and I move in sync, shedding our clothes quickly, our eyes never leaving her.

My fingers are clumsy as I pull off my shirt, the fabric sticking to the dried blood smeared across my skin. I still feel the heat of the hunt, the violence we unleashed. It’s hard to let it go and soften the edges when every part of me remains out there in the hills, killing with a vengeance.

The water hits my skin, washing away the blood, the dirt, the sweat, but it doesn’t wash away the knowledge of what was done to her. I scrub at my skin, the movements harsh and punishing, as if I can force the darkness away and scrape off the layers of brutality.

Monty guides her under the spray, his touch so different from mine. Soothing, gentle, careful. He has that ability to be soft when the world is hard, to be calm when everything else is chaos. And right now, she needs that. She needs him.

Together, we wash the remnants of the assault from her body, rinsing away the violence that was forced upon her. I follow his lead, my touch firm but careful, doing what I can to help, even though I want to send my fists through the wall.

The water turns pink as it swirls down the drain, taking with it the stains of the night, but it doesn’t take away the memories. It doesn’t erase what was done to her, what she had to endure. But we do what we can. We clean her. We hold her. We let her know she’s not alone.

When we’re done, I grab a towel, wrapping it around my waist. Then I meet Monty’s eyes.

He knows me well and understands the war inside me. He also knows that Frankie needs more than just a shower.

She needs affection, reassurance, a loving touch. I can’t give her what she needs without fucking her into the wall.

Monty and I exchange a wordless understanding.

She sees it and nods. “You’re on the right track, but I’ll spell it out so we’re all clear. I need you to erase his touch. Remove it. Replace it with yours.” Her voice breaks, choked with emotion. “I need you inside me. Right now.”

I lean against the vanity as he turns and wraps her in his arms, pulling her close, his lips finding hers in a kiss that’s soft, tender, and flowing with love.

She melts, clinging to him as his hands move over her skin. With each touch, the tension in her body eases.

His lips trail over her cheeks, neck, and shoulders as if he can kiss away the bruises, the hurt, the memories.

He lifts her against the wall, his dick hard and ready. Then he makes love to her, gently, slowly, reminding her that she’s loved, that she’s safe, and that she’s everything to us.

They’re beautiful together, their bodies rocking beneath the cascade of water. The faint sounds of their breaths, the soft murmur of Monty’s voice as he whispers to her, it’s intimate, private, but not exclusive.

As they start to come, their eyes turn to me, inviting and wanting. I lean in and capture her mouth, kissing her as they climax together.

We find clean clothes we left behind in Denver’s old room. By the time we emerge, I can breathe again, my heart slowing, my mind starting to clear.

I’m ready to go home and put the hills behind us.

An hour later, we board the bush plane.

The engines hum with a steady vibration as I check the instruments one last time.

The sky is calm and dark with the onset of polar night. No snow. No wind. Monty assures me it’s safe for flying.

He sits beside me in the co-pilot’s seat, his hands steady as they move over the controls.

Behind us, the cabin is quiet, save for the soft sound of breathing and the occasional creak of the plane’s frame.

I glance back, checking on Frankie.

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