Page 170 of Heart of Frost and Scars

“We’ve done this too many times.” She smiles up at me, the corners of her mouth quivering. “Saying goodbye to you never gets easier.”

“It isn’t easy because we have something worth holding onto. I’ll carry it with me until we’re together again.”

My hand, rough and calloused, traces a path along her jaw. I tilt her chin up, forcing her to look into my eyes. There’s a moment, a heartbeat of hesitation, where the world tilts, holding its breath. Then, like a tempest breaking free, our mouths collide.

My tongue follows the seam of her lips, coaxing them open and diving into the sweet, intoxicating warmth within. She tangles her hands in my hair, pulling me closer, fearing the moment I’ll slip away.

The kiss deepens, turning from a feverish exchange to a slow, agonizing goodbye.

When we finally break apart, gasping for air, the world rights itself. I rest my forehead against hers, and the shadows recede, leaving only the raw, undeniable truth of our connection.

Every kiss with her is the greatest of all time, not because it’s perfect, but because it’s ours. We defy fate, laugh in the face of destiny, and bind our souls in a way that nothing and no one can ever sever.

And now, I must leave her in the hands of Monty.

I trust her, and I trust the bond we share, but her history with him looms large.

“Monty will take care of you,” I force myself to say.

She juts her chin, her green eyes locking onto mine. “I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

“That’s my girl.”

Moments later, the boat pulls away from the dock. I lean against the taffrail, watching her, a solitary figure standing resolute against the encroaching fog.

Slowly, the island fades into the distance, a sanctuary and a prison all at once.

She’s trapped there, unable to go anywhere until the stalker is caught. While I never hear her complain, I know she’s miserable. The thought of her suffering while we’re out searching claws at my heart.

Forcing myself to turn away, I focus on the journey ahead.

We dock in Sitka, take a car to the small airport, and soon enough, we’re airborne, the bush plane vibrating with the energy of our mission.

Leo pilots with the ease of a seasoned aviator, though James keeps a watchful eye.

The rugged landscape below unfolds in greens and browns, interspersed with the glinting silver of rivers.

Seated beside me, Sirena manages the details with calm efficiency despite the tension thrumming through all of us.

Her maps and documentation are spread out before us, but it’s our memories that we’ll rely on most. Every ridge, every valley, every shadow will be scrutinized for any sign of familiarity.

Three hours into the flight, my headspace is a tangled mess.

Is Wolf out there? Dead? Alive? Will we find him? What shape will he be in? My mind goes to a dark place.

I thought I was ready, but truthfully, I’ll never be ready to see my brother’s lifeless body. And that’s precisely what we’re looking for. His remains, scattered bits of him, pieces of clothing, footprints or DNA left behind by whoever took that photo.

We need to find the location where the picture was taken. It could point us to tracks from the tires of a plane touching down nearby. Or a helicopter. A snow machine. Some sort of vehicle was used to reach that gorge.

Amid the drone of the plane’s engines and the hum of anticipation, Leo navigates with intense focus. Beside him, James scans the landscape, waiting for his turn to take over the controls.

“You know…” Sirena turns those vulpine blue eyes on me, bending in and strangling my airway with her perfume. “Something about these missions really gets the blood pumping.”

What are the rules about slapping a woman? Not a punch. Just a stinging, warning slap across the face?

I keep my eyes on the window as tension coils in my muscles.

Her long braid brushes against my arm. “You should let me take you out when we get back. Blow off some steam.”

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