Page 11 of Mountain Summons

It was what Tristan had expected, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. “Understood.”

“I’ll let the colonel know. And Tristan? Stay close to the radio this time. If you ignore a direct order again, you’ll be packing your shit when we get back to thegendarmerie.”

“Understood.” Tristan released the radio and winced.That went well.

“Hey,” he murmured, brushing wet hair back from her face. His fingers were cold, but her skin was colder. “You with me?”

Her eyelashes fluttered for a moment, but she didn’t open her eyes.

He had to get her somewhere less exposed.

He squeezed her hand. “I’m going to get you out of here, okay?”

Her lips parted. “My camera.” Then her eyes closed. Another shiver racked her body.

A small laugh bubbled out of him. He looked around, found the camera bag beside her body, and stuffed it inside his backpack. “I’ve got it. I promise.”

Lena

She was dreaming. Obviously dreaming. In this latest dream, she’d conjured Tristan up in the mountains with her.

She was glad it was only a dream. She didn’t want to think of him hurt or in pain.

She opened her eyes and caught him frowning at her. He was as tall as she remembered, his wide shoulders braced to withstand any storm. Rain poured down his temples, making his light brown hair look even wilder, and a muscle ticked behind his strong jaw. He looked cold, which was odd. She closed her eyes again, willing herself to go back to the other dream, the onein the bar. She preferred that dream—one where they were both warm and happy.

“Lena,” Dream Tristan said sharply, shaking her gently. “Stay with me. Look at me.”

She squeezed her eyes tight.No. She didn’t like this dream. She was going back to the other one.

“Dammit, Lena, open your eyes.” She flinched at the harshness in his voice. His arms were around her now, pulling her against his chest. She could hear his strong heartbeat, feel his ragged breath against the top of her head as he held her tight against him. A sob escaped her at how real it all felt.

“Please look at me,” he begged.

She didn’t want Dream Tristan begging, so she did as he asked, only to find his light blue eyes dark with worry.

“Lena.” His breath fell on her frozen cheek, warming her for an instant, and it was that sudden warmth that made her realize she wasn’t dreaming.

“Tristan?” Her voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “Thought you were … a dream.” Her brows knit together. “But you’re really here.”

He let out a sharp laugh. “I’m here, Lena, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t understand,” she said. She tried to shift, and pain radiated from her foot all the way up her leg. A soft, pained sound escaped her lips. Tristan caught her immediately. “Don’t move. Your ankle looks sprained, maybe broken.”

“Where are the tourists?” she asked, looking behind him, into the dark.

“Tourists?” he frowned, looking worried. “You’re not alone?”

A laugh escaped her. “Yourtourists, I mean. You said you were a pilot. I assume you do helicopter tours?”

His jaw clamped together at that. “No tours. No tourists. I’m a pilot with the PGHM.” It took a moment for his words to maketheir way through the noise in her head. He pointed to the front of her jacket, which wasn’t her jacket at all. He must have put it on without her realizing. That must be why she wasn’t quite as cold anymore. And there, in white lettering, was the little emblem she knew well.

“The PGHM,” she breathed, the pain receding as she thought through the implications. “That means you?—”

“Work for your father,” Tristan completed grimly. “Yes.”

The realization sent a different kind of ache through her. Tristan was here because her father had sent him here. Because it was his job. She bit her lip in annoyance. So what? She should be glad he worked with the PGHM. Gratitude was the only thing she had a right to feel.

“Lena?”

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