Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“We’re going to clean up.” With a kiss on my nose, Leo climbs to his feet and straightens his pants. “Stay there.”
Kody clasps my waist and sets me away. When I cling to him, refusing to give up my Kody-shaped heating pad, he flips me onto my side and slaps my ass.
I laugh through a yelp and tiredly sink into the mattress.
They vanish into the bathroom, their voices soft and muffled.
What are they doing in there? Standing side by side at the sink, washing their dicks and talking about…? What could they be discussing during such an intimate task?
Then again, it can’t be more intimate than what the three of us just shared.
Lazily, I lift my thigh and smile at the hickeys peppering my skin. If I had a short skirt and somewhere to go, I would show off the marks with pride.
How will our unconventional relationship be received in the public eye? Two brothers sharing one woman? Will we be lambasted and shunned?
I don’t give a fuck what people think about me. But I’ll cut a bitch for talking shit on my guys.
Their conversation ebbs and flows in the bathroom and follows them back to me. As Kody presses a warm, damp cloth between my legs and cleans my come-streaked stomach, Leo towers over us.
What a striking image he makes.
Sculpted arms folded above a scarred abdomen. Shoulder-length hair pulled back in a braided knot. Stern features chiseled in brutality. Exotic eyes glinting in the firelight. The man looks like an honest-to-gods Viking king of the North, holding a position of authority over his merciless army.
There’s no smile on those cruel lips. No hint of softness in his deadly aura. He watches Kody wipe away the mess he made with a hardened expression, as if one wrong move will entice his violent, possessive side.
When Kody finishes, they bundle me up in the sharp curves of their shirtless bodies, enveloping me like a blanket.
A blanket of muscle and masculine heat.
Their discussion continues, shifting from practical plans to dreams about the future, each word building a life beyond the hills of shivers and shadows.
Leo’s strategy to own a private airport, Kody’s vision for manufacturing vodka, and my ability to work in any hospital in the country—their blueprint for our life together sounds so obtainable, so utterly perfect.
As I drift on the edge of sleep, I realize that this, a life with Leo and Kody, has always been my fate. We’re more than survivors. We’re a family.
In the heart of a relentless winter, with our bodies entangled beside the fire, our survival entwines like the twisted limbs of ancient pines. Every battle, every blizzard, has led us to discover a strength within ourselves and in one another.
As much as I dread the hike to the hunting cabin, I know that it, too, will make us stronger.
“We’ll take our time and do it right,” Kody murmurs, his voice growing groggy. “The wilderness is unforgiving. We have to respect its power.”
Leo nods. “We’ve overcome worse. We’ll do it again.”
They circle back to more planning, detailing the specifics of our departure, the supplies we’ll need, and the route we’ll take.
As sleep finally claims me, I find a profound peace, swaddled in the love of the two men who have become my forever.
Three days dissolve in a whirlwind of hurried preparations. Our urgency to outrun the next blizzard fills the confines of our cabin with thickening tension.
We move around one another with restless energy, our actions fueled by the need to be ready, to leave nothing to chance. Yet beneath it all, dread lingers, an unspoken fear of what can happen along thirty miles in the heart of an arctic winter.
The morning of our departure arrives with quiet reluctance. The workshop, once a frigid mausoleum of unfinished projects and frozen breaths, now maintains a bearable temperature, thanks to the coal that Leo and Frankie recovered.
Our packs are heavy with provisions, each item a preventive measure against the unknown. The thought of the pemmican waiting in the hunting cabin, potentially ravaged by animals, adds another pound of uncertainty to our already burdened shoulders.
I’ve made this hike countless times, but never this time of year. And never with Frankie. So I took our preparations to an excessive level.
I doubled, even tripled, our supplies of matches, bullets, and arrows, knowing the devastating consequence of a fire that won’t light or a weapon that can’t shoot. Each item was carefully waterproofed against the pervasive damp that seeps into everything.
The weight of our packs became a secondary concern to the assurance that we would have enough to survive. I packed extra bear meat, more than we need, just to ensure Frankie would have enough energy to sustain her through the demanding hike.
The thought of her going hungry, of her body succumbing to the cold because of a lack of nutrition, spurred me to add just one more piece of meat, one more pouch of nuts.