Page 114 of Hunted to Be Mine
He pressed his mouth to my brow, a promise sealed warm against my skin. “I won’t lose you again,” he said. “Not to Dresner. Not to anyone.”
Chapter 27
Selina
I stood at the cabin window, watching snow curtain the distant peaks. My broken arm felt heavy in its cast, tucked awkwardly against my chest. The view could have been a postcard: pristine slopes, evergreens bowed under fresh powder, a quiet village tucked into the valley. It was nothing like the sterile hospital room I’d woken in yesterday. Nothing like the nightmare of Dresner.
“Switzerland,” I murmured, breath fogging the glass. “Of all places.”
I tested my mobility, taking careful steps across the creaking floorboards. Each movement sent a dull ache through bruised muscles. Long shadows stretched across the wood from pale winter light. The fire kept a steady crackle in the stone hearth, the only sound besides my measured steps.
The escape from Geneva blurred at the edges. Wolfe drove mountain roads through the night, avoiding highways until we reached this village tucked deep between ridgelines. I rememberimages only: headlights, snow, his profile hard in the dash glow. The rest drowned in exhaustion and pain meds.
I stepped away from the window and winced when my ribs complained.
The place was small but solid—thick beams, a stone hearth with fading embers, a single room tied to a compact kitchenette, a bathroom, and one large bed dominating the space. Thin daylight silvered the frost on the panes.
A folded note sat on the rough-hewn table. I picked it up with my good hand.
Gone for supplies. Stay inside. Back soon.
“Could you be any more cryptic?” I muttered, setting it down. “How about, ‘Don’t worry, I haven’t abandoned you in the middle of nowhere, Selina.’ Or, ‘Please don’t panic while I’m gone.’ Better yet, wake me before you vanish into the mountains.”
I eased onto the edge of the bed. How long had I been asleep? The last clear memory was crossing the border just before dawn, Wolfe’s hand steady on the wheel, his profile cut sharp by instrument light.
The cast was bulky and awkward, the itch beneath it already maddening. Three to six weeks, if memory served. Three to six weeks of being a burden.
The door swung open on a blast of cold air. I flinched and nearly toppled as Wolfe entered with grocery bags, snow dusting his dark hair. His gaze found me, cautious shifting to concerned when he caught me struggling.
“Don’t get up,” he said, crossing the room in three quick strides. He set the bags down and steadied my shoulders with firm, careful hands. “You shouldn’t be moving around yet.”
“Says the man who left me a note straight out of Spy Communication 101.” Relief made my voice sharper than I intended. “What happened to ‘I won’t lose you again’?”
A hint of a smile touched his mouth and disappeared. “I was gone forty minutes.”
“In normal person time, that’s thirty-nine minutes too long when you’re in a strange cabin in the Swiss Alps after escaping psychopathic villains.”
“Not the Alps. Jura Mountains. Different range entirely.” He brushed snow from his jacket.
“Oh, thank you, National Geographic. Vital clarification.”
His eyes warmed. “Your injuries haven’t affected your ability to deliver sarcasm.”
“It’s my coping mechanism. Still operational despite a broken arm.” I nodded toward the bags. “Please tell me there’s coffee.”
“Better.” He pulled a thermos free. “Already made. Still hot.”
I reached with my good hand, almost desperate. “You’re forgiven for abandoning me.”
“I didn’t abandon you.” An edge roughened his voice. He took a breath. “You should be resting.”
I lifted my cast with a wry look. “I was tired of my own company. There’s a ceiling here, and it’s not that interesting.”
“You’ve had a broken bone for less than forty-eight hours.” One brow rose. “Your endurance for boredom needs work.”
“Says the hunter who can probably sit motionless for days waiting for a target.” The words slipped out before I remembered the weight of them—the history he was still reclaiming.
Instead of shutting down, his mouth curved. “Twenty-six hours is my record. Zagreb, 2018. Not my finest moment.”
