Page 9 of Season's Greetings
As far as weekend getaway venues went, the cabin was basic at best. Composting toilet. Running water—sort of. Lights powered by a generator. The décor was rustic, and no doubt a far cry from anything the Golden Jackal pack—especially the Hamiltons—were accustomed to.
But they weren’t here on holiday. They were here to get away from the city and meet at a semi-neutral location.
Still, the quiet was grating on Daniel’s last nerve.
Instead of talking and hashing things out, they’d retreated to separate corners. The snow had fallen heavier the further they drove from the city. There was something about watching snowflakes that was supposed to be soothing.
Only Daniel was wound too damn tight to find anything soothing.
Which was why he was outside cleaving logs in two—despite the large stack already leaning against the porch.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
The ax sailed through the air in a graceful arc; the blade catching the dappled light. No matter how hard he swung, no matter how many logs he split, the disquiet didn’t fade.
Thoughts. Feelings. Images. A growing need to grab Matthew and re-stake his claim—all of it pushed hard against his restraint.
Instead of throwing the ax down, rushing inside, and satisfying his urge to rut, he clenched his jaw, placed another stump, and brought the blade down.
The rhythmic thud of the ax against wood echoed in the stillness—a stark contrast to the frantic drumming in his chest. He ignored the ache building between his shoulder blades, focusing solely on the task at hand. The physical exertion was a futile attempt to quell the storm brewing within.
Each log split was a shattered thought. A broken attempt to understand the turmoil that had seized him.
He knew he was being ridiculous. Knew he was behaving like a hormonal teenager. But the bond mark—usually a source of comfort, of connection—was a searing brand, reminding him constantly of Matthew’s betrayal.
The air was frigid, biting at his cheeks, turning his breath into visible plumes. He could smell the sharp, clean scent of pine, mixed with the earthy aroma of damp wood. The falling snow, a silent, ethereal curtain, softened the edges of the world, blurring the harsh lines of the forest.
But even the beauty of the scene offered no comfort.
His bear nudged closer to the surface, tempted by the fresh powder snow.
He swung again, the force of the blow reverberating through his arms and up to his neck. This time, the wood resisted—the blade biting only halfway through. He grunted in frustration, pulled the ax free, and placed the log back on the block.
“Are we going to talk about this, or are you planning on chopping wood all night?”
Matthew’s voice, edged with a hint of weary amusement, cut through the silence.
Daniel straightened, his back protesting the sudden stop. He wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead with the back of his gloved hand, his gaze snapping toward the cabin.
Matthew stood in the doorway, the faint light from inside casting a halo around his body. Snow had settled in his blond hair, making him look even more angelic. More untouchable.
Daniel’s gut twisted.
His hand tightened around the ax handle.
Oh, how he wanted to reach out. Pull Matthew into his arms. Bury his nose in that feather-soft hair and breathe in his scent.
Matthew
When Daniel’s brother first suggested they go to the family’s forest lodge, Matthew’s initial thought was that it might be a romantic getaway.
He should’ve known it would never be that simple.
Grady had offered to pick up Toby from school and take care of him and Barney for the weekend—or however long it took for them to “get their heads out of their asses,” as he so delicately put it.
Easier said than done.
There was so much Matthew wanted to say. But every time he tried to open his mouth, his words dried up, while his senses reeled from being so close to Daniel. It was as if their bond was trying to bridge the emotional distance that still held them apart.
