Page 58 of Wilde and Untamed
He did remember. Three years ago, a rock climbing trip in Wyoming that had started as a training exercise and ended withthem sharing a bottle of whiskey under the stars. She’d been dating someone then—some photographer with a man bun and an attitude—but that night, it had just been the two of them, and for a brief moment, he’d let himself imagine what it would be like if it was always just the two of them.
“Yeah,” he grunted, pushing the memory away. “Except colder and with more chance of dying.”
Her laugh echoed up the shaft, a bright sound in the frozen darkness. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Wilde?”
“I left it in New York. Along with my common sense.”
He inched higher, his back braced against the ice wall. A sharp edge caught his coat, tearing the fabric further. Cold air sliced through the new opening.
Every so often, the world above would shift—a gust of wind, a rattle of falling snow, the ominous groan of the glacier settling. Each time, he’d stop and listen, forcing his breathing down to something controlled and manageable. Each time, she’d roll her eyes and call him a chicken, or some variation thereof, but she always waited for his nod before continuing.
Finally, blessedly,
He lay there for a moment, gasping, his body screaming with exhaustion. Snow floated down from the heavy gray clouds overhead, landing on his face. The storm had weakened, at least for now.
“Elliot?” Rue called from below, her voice echoing in the shaft. “You dead or what?”
He crawled back to the edge of the opening, peering down into the darkness. She was twenty feet below, her face illuminated by the glow of his headlamp. Strands of honey-gold hair had escaped her hat, plastered to her forehead with sweat and ice.
“Not dead yet,” he replied. “But the day’s still young.”
Watching her climb those final twenty feet was torture. Every time she shifted her weight, every pause to catch her breath, sent his pulse spiking. The rope went taut as she reached the narrowest part of the chimney, and he heard her sharp intake of breath.
“Talk to me,” he said.
“Ankle’s not happy,” she admitted, her voice tight with pain. “But it’s holding.”
When her hand finally appeared at the edge of the opening, he grabbed her wrist and hauled her up, probably too fast, too rough, but he couldn’t help himself. The relief of having her solid and safe under his hands was overwhelming.
She collapsed beside him, breathing hard, her face flushed with exertion despite the cold. Ice crystals had formed on her eyelashes, and her lips were definitely blue now, but she was alive. They were both alive.
For a long moment, they just lay there side by side, the snow gathering on their bodies like a thin blanket. Elliot stared up at the gray sky, letting the flakes melt against his face. Each breath sent pain lancing through his ribs, but it was real pain—living pain. The kind that meant they’d survived.
“We made it,” he murmured, more to himself than to Rue.
She turned her head toward him, her face inches from his. “Was there ever any doubt?”
The absolute certainty in her voice made him want to laugh and shake her at the same time. Of course there was doubt. There had been nothing but doubt from the moment they’d fallen into that crevasse. But that was Rue—fearless to the point of recklessness, confident to the edge of delusion.
It was going to get her killed someday. The thought hit him like a physical blow, stealing his breath more effectively than the fall had.
“Where are we?” he asked, pushing himself up to sitting position. His body protested every movement, muscles trembling with fatigue.
Rue sat up beside him, wincing as she put weight on her injured ankle. She scanned the horizon, squinting against the falling snow. “Hard to tell. But look—” She pointed to a dark shape in the distance, barely visible through the swirling white. “That could be the station.”
Elliot shaded his eyes, trying to make out the shape. It was too large to be one of the snow cats, and the wrong shape for a natural formation. “Could be,” he agreed. “Or it could be another research outpost. We don’t know how far the tunnel system took us.”
“Only one way to find out.” Rue started to push herself to her feet, but her leg buckled beneath her. She caught herself before she fell, but not before Elliot saw the flash of pain cross her face.
“Let me see,” he said, already reaching for her ankle.
“It’s fine,” she insisted, but didn’t pull away when his hands closed around her boot.
Carefully, he unlaced it and eased it off. The tape job he’d done in the cave had held, but her ankle had swollen further, straining against the wrapping. When he gently probed the joint, she sucked in a sharp breath.
“That’s not good,” he muttered.
“It’s just a sprain.”
