Page 17 of Unholy Night
He pulls me against him suddenly, roughly, burying his face in my hair. "How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Make everything better. Make me forget that this can't last."
The words chill me. "Why can't it last?"
But he's already pulling away, moving to check his satellite phone again. His shoulders tense at whatever he sees, or doesn't see. The waiting is killing him, I realize. He's expecting something. Something bad.
"Tomas, what…"
"I could do this forever," he interrupts, pulling me back against him almost desperately. "This life. With you."
"So could I."
And I mean it. Four days ago, I was a woman with a mission. Now I'm a woman obsessed with someone I should hate. The transformation both scares and thrills me.
"Merry Christmas, Tomas," I whisper.
"Merry Christmas, Natalie."
He kisses me, soft at first, then harder, like he's trying to memorize the taste of me. For this perfect moment, we're just two people who found each other in a blizzard. Not enemies, not hunter and prey, just us.
The satellite phone buzzes on the side table, the sound sharp and violent, shattering our paradise into a thousand pieces.
Tomas goes rigid against me, his entire body shifting from lover to killer in a heartbeat. He looks at the phone, checking the message indicator, and I watch the color drain from his face.
"Shit," he breathes, checking the callback number. "It's Leonardo."
"Leonardo, your cousin? The one who wanted me dead?" The memory from that first night rushes back, Tomas reciting names I recognized like they didn't matter.
"Yes," he says, his voice cold and flat as he dials back.
His hand was in my hair a second ago. Now it's on his gun. When he looks at me, I don't recognize his eyes.
6 - Tomas
“Why would he call at this hour?” Natalie murmurs.
It's well past midnight now, December 26th creeping toward dawn.
Natalie is sprawled by the dying fire, her paper snowflakes catching the last flickers of light. Pine branches scent the air. Perfect. Too perfect to last.
"This better be life or death, Leo," I say into the satellite phone, voice flat.
My gun sits on the side table. Close enough to grab, far enough that Natalie hasn't commented on it since we stopped pretending this was temporary.
"It is." His voice cracks with panic I've never heard from him. Not when we were kids dodging his father’s fists. Not when the Santos family first started circling. "They found you."
Everything inside me goes cold. Natalie sits up, the blanket falling from her shoulders, reading my body language with that curious instinct she can't fully suppress.
"How?"
"I don't know. Maybe they tracked my calls, maybe someone talked. Does it matter? They're coming, Tomas. Scouts are already on the move."
"How long do we have?"
"An hour, maybe less. They left right after they confirmed your location. I'm already in my car. I can be there just after them if I push it."
