Page 23 of Dark Promise

“What are you doing now?” I ask, confused.

“Improvising,” he mutters. “That’s what you do when you’re unprepared.”

“Is that your subtle way of admitting this is all your fault?” I shoot back, trying to inject some venom into my tone, but it comes out weaker than I intend.

“You can’t walk in those shoes,” he says, without even glancing at me.

“I’m fine,” I insist, though my feet have been frozen blocks for the past ten minutes.

“You’re not.” He rises, holding up the sleeves, then kneels in front of me. Before I can protest, he grips my ankle, pulling off one of my heels. His hands are firm, his touch steady, and I’m too cold to fight him. He slides the down-stuffed sleeve over my foot, securing it with strips of cloth he cut from the coat’s lining.

He stands, towering over me again. “Better?”

I glance down at the makeshift boots, then at the oversized coat swallowing me whole. I look like a character from some post-apocalyptic nightmare, but the warmth is undeniable. I hate that he was right.

“Yeah,” I mutter grudgingly. “Better.”

“Good,” he says simply, then tips his head toward the dark stretch of forest ahead. “Let’s go.”

I nod, pulling the coat tighter around me. Then I bend down and retrieve my purse from where it sits, discarded in the snow.Nikolai strides ahead, his pace brisk and unyielding, as though he’s carved from the same unforgiving cold that surrounds us. I follow, my makeshift boots feeling awkward, clumsy, but at least my feet aren’t numb anymore.

The forest looms ahead, dark and sprawling. Snow clings to the towering pines, their branches sagging under the weight. Shadows dance between the trunks, and the wind whistles through the gaps, carrying with it an eerie sense of isolation.

I stumble after him. My breaths come in sharp bursts, clouds of white puffing out in front of me. My fingers are stiff, curled into fists inside the oversized coat sleeves.

“Do you even know where we’re going?” I ask, my voice trembling from the cold and the effort of keeping up.

“Yes,” he says without hesitation, not bothering to look back.

“How?” I press, my frustration bubbling up despite my exhaustion. No phone. No GPS. “Following breadcrumbs?”

“I’ve been here before,” he says simply.

“Of course you have,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. Then realization dawns, the pieces clicking together. “Oh, let me guess…this cozy little murder shack is part of your grand master plan? What’s next, Nikolai? A nice, romantic kidnapping itinerary with matching monogrammed handcuffs?”

He glances at me over his shoulder. “Handcuffs, goddess? I didn’t think you’d be so eager. But if you insist, I’ll make sure they’re silk-lined, for your comfort.”

“Fuck off.” Now there’s a masterful comeback.

He laughs, low and rich, the sound curling around me like smoke. “You’re welcome to turn around and head back to the burning car. Let me know how that works out for you.”

“Touché,” I grumble, quickening my pace to keep up.

Despite the sharp edge of our banter, a quiet certainty settles in my chest: Nikolai is my best chance for survival, and he intends to make certain I survive. The way he moves, the wayhis sharp gaze scans the terrain, it’s all calculated, protective even. But there’s something possessive in it, too, something that makes my skin prickle. Like I’m not just his responsibility. I’mhis.

The forest closes in around us, the snow falling heavier now, thick flakes clinging to my lashes and hair. The way is uneven and treacherous. My legs ache, every step a battle against the cold and the terrain, even as I try to step where Nikolai has stepped, his footsteps creating a path for me to follow. As I take my next step, I realize he’s shortened his stride to make this easier for me. No way could I step in his footsteps otherwise.

“Watch your footing,” Nikolai says, his voice low but commanding. “The ground’s uneven here.”

“Thanks for the tip, Captain Obvious,” I snap, my sarcasm sharper than intended. “Should I also avoid stepping on sharp objects? Maybe not walk into trees?”

He stops abruptly, turning to face me. His eyes, glinting like ice, lock onto mine.

“Sabina, if I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of saving you. So, unless you’d like me to carry you the rest of the way, keep walking.”

For a moment, I don’t answer, caught off guard by the heat behind his words. There’s something simmering under his icy exterior, something dangerous and relentless, and it’s aimed squarely at me.

My cheeks flush. I tell myself it’s from the cold, but a secret part of me recognizes it’s from the way his gaze burns through me.

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