Page 73 of Wilde and Untamed
She nestled against his chest. His heart beat steadily under her cheek. And for a crazy moment, she thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to live that mundane life if it meant she could sleep in his arms like this every night.
The wind howled through the seams of the station, making the walls vibrate in their frames. She pressed her face to his chest, breathing in the faint scent of sweat and cocoa.
She should have been exhausted beyond thinking, but her mind refused to quiet. The image of Maren’s frozen body kept flashing behind her eyelids.
His hand traced small circles on her back, the gentle motion nearly hypnotic. “I can hear those gears spinning, Rue. Sleep. You need it.”
Easy for him to say. He’d always been able to compartmentalize, to set aside the horrors they’d witnessed and focus on what needed to be done next. It was what made him sogood at his job—what would have made him an excellent trauma surgeon.
The thought circled back to what he’d said earlier. He’d given up medicine for his family without hesitation, reshaping his entire future to fit their needs.
And now he wanted to do the same for her, to build a life together.
Tears threatened again, and she squeezed her eyes shut against them. She’d cried more in the past few hours than she had in the past decade. Everything about this day had stripped her raw, left her without her usual armor of sarcasm and bravado.
Elliot’s breathing steadied, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm under her cheek. She wondered if he was already asleep, if his tactical training had kicked in, allowing him to grab rest whenever possible.
“I’m not built for stillness,” she whispered, not sure if she wanted him to hear or not. “I need to keep moving. I need...”
She trailed off, unsure how to articulate the restlessness that had driven her across seven continents, that had pushed her to climb higher, dive deeper, push harder than anyone else. The stillness was where the darkness lived—where doubt and fear and loneliness could catch up to her.
“Oh, Trouble,” Elliot murmured against her hair. His hand found hers in the darkness, fingers intertwining with a gentleness that made her throat tighten. He wasn’t trying to hold her in place. He was just... holding her. “I know. I’ve always known that about you.”
“Then why would you want me? I’m the exact opposite of everything you are. You’re all obsessive neatness and strategy and infuriating stillness. I’m chaos incarnate.”
He made a sound, half snort, half rumble, the vibrations running through the length of her. “Yeah, you are that.”
“It’s not funny. I’m serious! I bet you fold your boxers, don’t you? And I can’t remember the last time I folded anything?—”
“Rue.” He hooked a finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to his. “I don’t need you to be neat. I like your chaos. And I’d never ask you to stay still. I’m just asking you to let me go with you.”
Go with her.
Not trying to cage her or change her, but simply... matching her pace. The concept was so foreign that it took her a moment to fully process it.
Something bright and unfamiliar bloomed in her chest, spreading warmth through places that had been cold for so long she’d forgotten they existed. For the first time in months—maybe years—the restlessness that usually clawed at her insides went quiet.
“That’s not how it works,” she whispered, but even as she said it, doubt crept into her voice. “People don’t just... follow. They want roots. Stability. They want?—”
“I want you,” Elliot said simply, his thumb tracing over her lips. “I’ve always wanted you. However that looks. Wherever that takes us.”
twenty-seven
She woke up cold.
Elliot was no longer pressed against her, warming her in ways she wasn’t entirely ready to explore yet. Panic rose up, sharp and painful, until she heard someone moving around outside.
What was he doing out there?
Standing, Rue wrapped the blanket around herself and crossed to the window. She pressed her palms against the cold glass, squinting at the vast white landscape beyond. The storm had broken, the sun transforming the Antarctic wasteland into something almost alien in its beauty—blinding crystal stretching to the horizon, a knife-edge between white and blue. Her breath fogged the window, obscuring the view for a moment before dissipating.
Elliot was there, a dark silhouette against the brilliant whiteness, moving around a snowcat, checking the treads and breaking ice from the windshield. His breath plumed in the frigid air as he worked.
Mr. Fix-It.
Warmth unfurled in her chest, equal parts terrifying and irresistible.
Dammit, she didn’t want to feel this way about him. She wanted the easy flirtation, the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the chase. Not this... ache. This unsettling sense that he might matter more than her next adventure. That he might be worth staying in one place for.
