Page 55 of Wilde and Untamed
Rue was still examining the locked case, her brow furrowed in concentration. “What do you think is in here?”
“Nothing that matters right now,” he replied, already packing the gear into the abandoned backpack. “We need to move while we still have energy.”
She nodded reluctantly and stood, wincing slightly as she put weight on her right ankle. He caught the grimace before she could hide it.
“You’re hurt,” he said, not a question.
“It’s nothing. Just twisted it in the fall.” She waved off his concern. “I’ve hiked Kilimanjaro with worse.”
He didn’t doubt it—Rue had an almost supernatural tolerance for pain—but that didn’t mean it wasn’t serious. “Let me check it before we start climbing.”
She rolled her eyes but sat on one of the cases, extending her leg. He knelt, carefully removing her boot and feeling along the joint. It was swollen but not distorted, suggesting a sprain rather than a break.
“Can you flex it?”
She demonstrated. Her range of movement was limited but functional. “See? Nothing major.”
“Let me wrap it.”
He pulled a roll of athletic tape from the first aid kit, working quickly but gently to stabilize her ankle. The muscle memory came back easily—he’d wrapped countless sprains during his military days. His fingers moved deftly despite the cold, crossing the tape in a figure-eight pattern around her ankle and foot.
“So, doctor,” she said, watching him work, “will I live?”
“If the cold doesn’t get us first.” He secured the end of the tape. “How’s that feel?”
She flexed her foot experimentally. “Better. Thanks.”
As he helped her pull the boot back on, he couldn’t help noticing how small her foot seemed in his hands. Rue was all boldness and swagger, larger than life in every way thatmattered, but physically, she was petite. Breakable. The thought sent a fierce surge of protectiveness through him.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said, pushing down the surge of protectiveness that threatened to overwhelm him. “Just making sure it’s secure.”
He packed the remaining supplies, using the familiar routine to center himself. He tested the straps of the abandoned pack, grateful that whoever had left it behind had invested in quality gear.
“Ready?” he asked, shouldering the load.
“Born ready, Wilde.” Rue stood, testing her weight on the wrapped ankle. She moved with only a slight limp—manageable, but he’d need to watch her for signs of worsening.
They followed the painted arrow deeper into the passage.
The arrow led them around a bend and into a vast chamber that stole Elliot’s breath. Unlike the previous spaces, this cavern soared upward in a natural chimney, its walls studded with what looked like dozens of climbing anchors glinting in his headlamp beam. Someone had transformed this place into an escape route—a vertical highway back to the surface.
“Holy shit,” he breathed, tilting his head back to follow the path of anchors. They spiraled upward in a methodical pattern, each one placed at the optimal distance for a climber to ascend safely. “This is professional-grade work.”
Rue limped to his side, her injured ankle clearly bothering her more than she wanted to admit. “Surface access. Has to be. They wouldn’t have installed this if it didn’t lead somewhere useful.”
The question was, did they attempt the climb? On the surface, they had a better chance of calling for rescue—if the comms had been restored at the station—but they’d also be more exposed to the elements and potentially trapped by the storm.At least down here, they didn’t have to contend with slicing wind and blinding snow.
Elliot ran the numbers in his head, calculating their odds like a mission briefing. The climb would be technical—at least a hundred feet, maybe more, with anchors spaced far enough apart that a fall could mean serious injury or death. But staying down here meant slow hypothermia as their body heat leached away into the ice.
He studied Rue’s face in the pale glow of his headlamp. Her jaw was set in that determined line he knew so well, but he could see the exhaustion creeping in around her eyes. The adrenaline that had carried them through the fall was wearing off, leaving behind the bone-deep weariness that came after trauma.
“We need to rest first,” he said, though every instinct screamed at him to keep moving. “Eat something. Warm up as much as we can before we attempt that climb.”
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, but her voice lacked its usual conviction.
“You’re not fine. Neither am I.” He shrugged off the pack, his shoulder protesting the movement. “Five minutes. That’s all.”
