Page 68 of A Rebel's Shot

“F-fire needs to be on the upslope end. Don’t want to… to get smoked out.”

The pack slipped from his trembling fingers, spilling its contents across the rocky floor. Tiikâan cursed under his breath, frustration warring with bone-deep cold. His body was crashing.

A rustle of fabric caught his attention. Merritt emerged from her warm nest, determination etched on her face. “You need to change into dry clothes. I’ll move the gear.”

“I’ve got it. It’ll just take a sec,” he protested, reaching for the scattered items. His fingers felt like useless blocks of ice, but he didn’t want her to get any colder.

“Stop.” Merritt’s hand on his arm halted him. Her touch sent a jolt of warmth through the shirt material to his frozen skin. “I’m not some helpless princess, Tiikâan. Let me help.”

He looked into her eyes, seeing not pity, but a fierce resolve that matched his own. Something inside himsoftened, even as another violent shiver racked his body.

“Okay,” he conceded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Th-thank you.”

Merritt thrust the dry clothes bag into his hands and turned away, busying herself with the scattered gear.

Tiikâan fumbled with the zipper, his frozen fingers clumsy and uncooperative. When he finally managed to peel off his sodden shirt, a groan of pain escaped his lips before he could stop it.

He felt Merritt’s gaze on him and looked over. Her eyes widened as they traveled across his exposed torso, a blush creeping up her cheeks. Any other time, he might have enjoyed her obvious appreciation, maybe even flexed a little for her benefit.

But right now, he was too darn cold to care.

Merritt’s expression suddenly shifted from awe to confusion, then alarm. “Tiikâan, you’re shot!”

Before he could process her words, she was at his side, her warm hands ghosting over his skin. He hissed as her fingers grazed a spot just below his armpit.

Tiikâan glanced down, surprised to see a gash the width of his pinkie along his side. The cold had numbed him so completely he hadn’t even felt it.

“It’s bleeding,” she said, her voice tight with worry. “Must have opened up when you were gathering wood.”

“It’s just a graze,” he muttered, though the sight of his own blood made his stomach lurch.

Merritt’s face was inches from his, her breath warm on his chilled skin. “Just a graze? You should have told me you were hurt!”

The concern in her eyes made his chest constrict. He opened his mouth to reassure her, but another violent shiver cut off his words. She glared at him.

“Get dressed. As soon as we get the fire built, I’m tending that.” Her eyes narrowed. “No argument.”

Tiikâan nodded, too exhausted to argue. He fumbled through his pack, locating the first aid kit with numb fingers. Pressing a wad of gauze against the wound, he winced at the sting. At least the pain meant he was starting to regain feeling.

Changing clothes became an epic battle. His wet pants clung to his legs like a determined octopus, refusing to release their icy grip. By the time he’d wrestled them off and pulled on dry clothes, he was panting from the effort.

He looked up, blinking in surprise. While he’d been engaged in mortal combat with his wardrobe, Merritt had transformed their shelter.

The packs were neatly stacked on the downslope side, and two sleeping bags lay side by side a safe distance from where the fire would be. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of them so close together.

At the upslope end of the crevasse, Merritt knelt by a small pile of twigs arranged in a crude teepee formation. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she added another stick to the structure.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, his voice rough.

She glanced up, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Well, one of us had to be productive while you were putting on a one-man show over there.”

Despite his exhaustion and the lingering cold,warmth bloomed in his chest. He lowered himself onto the sleeping bag, his muscles protesting every movement. He reached for the TOAKS pot, relishing the heat that seeped into his hands as he lifted it to his lips. The hot tea rushed down his throat.

The teepee Merritt built listed to one side. A violent shiver racked his body, nearly causing him to spill the precious tea. Her gaze jerked to him, almost knocking her kindling down.

“I’m fine,” he assured her, though his chattering teeth betrayed him. “Now, let’s get this fire going before we turn into Alaskan popsicles.”

He talked her through how to stack the kindling like a small log cabin so it wouldn’t fall over, his voice growing steadier as the tea worked its magic. “Okay, now take some of those smaller twigs and use the flame from the Bushbuddy to light them.”

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