Scrubbing the remainder of sleep from his face, he opened the door. It took him a second to see her through the dark—sitting in the rocking chair near the window. Pale moonlight gleamed on the pages of the book she held, her blond hair, the barrel of the shotgun tucked beside her.
Then, as if she’d struck a light, her own crimson glow began shining from her eyes, washing her features in red. “Did the wolves wake you?”
That glow lit his way across the room. He struck a match to the table lamp, faced her again.
“What wolves?”
She tilted her head, eyes still glowing. “I can hear them. You can’t?”
“No.”
“Sometimes it’s almost as loud as the city here. It’s just loud in a different way. Not as many people noises.”
“I heard people noises. And now I understand why the woodpile has been disappearing faster than it should have been.” His grandfather would have skinned him. “You don’t have to keep it hot in here at night. That’s what the blankets are for.”
The shining in her eyes dimmed, left only blue—human, and amused. “Not everything is about you, Nicholas. The fire is for me.”
“And you could lie out on a glacier for twenty years, then get up and walk away without feeling any the worse for it. You’re burning through our fuel—which I need if we’re going to live out here—twice as fast as we should. And we didn’t spend the summer stockpiling it.”
She shrugged. “So I’ll chop more.”
“You don’t need to,” he pointed out. “So why?”
With a sigh, she set her book aside. “I don’t like being cold.”
“You also said that like and dislike don’t matter. Only familiar does.”
“The cold is familiar. Not the kind of cold out there, but colder. It’s enough to be familiar, though, and I don’t like it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s different. Those other things that are familiar, when I feel them I want to chase them down. I want to find out where the familiarity came from. I want to know what memory I’m missing.” As if suddenly agitated, she rocked up out of the chair, stood looking out of the window before turning to face him again. “With the cold, I don’t want to chase down what’s at the root of it. And I have memories, real memories that frighten me, and that I don’t want to revisit—a memory of Lucifer cutting these symbols into me. The memory of that Guardian looking at me. When I do think of them, I’ll shake a little. But when I think about the cold . . . I feel like if I ever reach the end of that memory, if I ever remember why it’s familiar, I’ll start screaming and screaming and I’ll never, never stop—”
Her voice cracked. God. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to go to her, hold her. He didn’t trust himself to.
“Ash?”
Shaking her head, she pushed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. Wearing it, even inside. She always wore it, he suddenly realized. Despite the T-shirt beneath, despite the heat of the room and her own body. She took off her jacket sometimes, and he would see it tossed over the back of a chair, but then it would disappear until the next time he saw her wearing it again.
Hell, she was always fully dressed. Except for the time she’d stripped off in front of him, he’d never seen her boots come off. Like her jeans, they seemed to change now and then, especially if she’d ripped them during their training or they’d been soaked in melted snow or mud. She didn’t launder them; they simply became new.
Maybe because they were familiar, too. And comforting, unlike the cold.
“Anyway,” she said. “We train outside all day, and I make myself ignore that feeling as much as possible. But it’s always there. So at night, I keep warm.”
He could keep her warm. She didn’t sleep, but she could read in the dark. The bed wasn’t all that big. If she slid in right next to him, he’d keep her warm all night.
And she’d be hot. So fucking hot next to him. He could discover how hot she became, how wet, how loud when he buried himself inside all of that heat.
Or he could chop some damn wood, bring it in, and let it start drying out.
“Was she that bad?”
“Who?” Confused, Nicholas followed the direction of her gaze, realized she was finally seeing him naked. Or half-naked, at least.
And that he was just fine with that.
“Madelyn. Your wrists.”
Oh. He couldn’t remember why it had seemed so important to hide those scars from her.
“Yes,” he said. “She was.”
Her gaze returned to his face. A fierce emotion lit her eyes. “I’d help you find her even without the bargain.”
She would help him find Madelyn just by being here, because Madelyn had some use for her. That was good enough. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to release her, and risk having her leave or running straight into the Guardians again. Or maybe even chasing after Madelyn, if she discovered anything about Steve Johnson’s ghost—which she would discover, as soon as she returned to make his life hell.
No. There wasn’t a chance he was letting her go. “You’re not getting away that easily, demon.”
She smiled, and he drank in the sight of it before realizing that he was about two seconds from asking her to return to the bed with him. Jesus, what was he thinking? He needed to sleep this off.
Her voice caught him as he turned away. “Nicholas?”
He stopped, waited.
“What I said before, about like and dislike—I didn’t lie. It was true then, they didn’t matter. But they do now.”
She’d also claimed that she liked him. That shouldn’t matter to him. And so that’s what he said.
“Whether you do or not doesn’t make any difference to me.”
But goddammit, it did. Too much.
Had she always been this stupid? Ash couldn’t remember.
The slender tree top swayed beneath her weight. Maybe she shouldn’t have climbed so near the top, but she’d wanted to have the longest drop possible, the longest time for her reflexes to kick in. She’d learned to use her speed that way; she’d also learn to fly.
She gripped the trunk tighter when a breeze slid through the firs, bending the tree top toward the ground. If it broke, the end result wouldn’t be any different than what she’d planned, but Ash preferred to control when she fell. It might be the only thing she controlled in this experiment.
As soon as she got up the courage. Until then, she could at least enjoy the view.
She’d chosen the tallest tree at the edge of the clearing that surrounded the cabin. In the distance, the mountains rose against a clear blue sky. Gorgeous. The sun shone from directly overhead. The cold never felt familiar with the heat of the sun against her skin, and she lifted her face to it, soaking in the warmth.
The birds must have been enjoying the sunshine, as well. Though usually quiet, today they were twittering away in the trees around her. Grizzly bears inhabited this area, but she hadn’t seen one yet—she supposed they were all in hibernation at this time of year. Ash was almost sorry for that. She’d have liked to have heard one, as she often heard the wolves.
A continuous, almost rhythmic thud was coming from beside the shed—Nicholas, chopping wood. Ash had volunteered to do it instead. She didn’t tire, and strong as she was, the effort would go more quickly, but he’d grunted something that apparently passed for words in man-chops-wood language, looking disgruntled and almost offended, and so Ash had left him to it. From her vantage point, she could only see his back. He hadn’t turned around yet, hadn’t seen her climb the tree. Probably a good thing.