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)
“Okay.” She stands taller, adjusts her pack, and shuts her eyes.
“What do you hear?”
The usual silence of the tundra, broken only by the crunch of our boots and the occasional distant crack of shifting ice, is now punctuated by a soft, consistent whisper in the distance. I have exceptional hearing, but if she focuses hard enough, she’ll hear it, too.
Her eyes pop open. “The river.”
“Good girl.”
Partially frozen over, it’s a sound that has guided me back on the darkest nights.
We still have miles to go, but I sense the familiarity of our surroundings tightening its grip around me, pulling my aching body forward.
As we trek onward, my legs feel leaden. The desire to simply stop, to collapse into the snow, wraps around my bones. My back aches from the burden of our supplies and the added weight of the pemmican. The constant pressure has become as familiar as my heartbeat. And the cold has seeped so deep that no amount of movement will shake it off.
Frankie’s ability to keep up astounds me, though her usual brisk pace has been replaced with a plodding stride, and the way she hunches under her pack announces the state of her fatigue.
The closer we get to the cabin, the lighter my chest feels. Not just at the thought of providing her with warmth and rest, but at the anticipation of seeing my brother, of witnessing the relief on his face. I imagine him pacing the empty rooms, casting anxious glances out the windows.
“Leo’s probably wondering if we ran away together.” I squint at the northern hills, my voice rough with tiredness.
“Because we have so many places to go.” She chuckles, gesturing at the nothingness surrounding us. “More likely he’s worried we’ve been eaten by a family of bears.”
“Just one bear.” I flash my teeth.
“Yeah, I’m wearing his bite marks all over my body.”
Despite the cold and exhaustion, my cock stirs. “I won’t apologize for that.”
“Don’t you dare.”
We share a look charged with tension and energy. A deep bond has formed between us. We were close before, but this journey, the reliance on each other for morale and survival, and the sex…Goddamn, the sex. The past month has brought us closer than I ever thought possible.
But I haven’t been inside her nearly as much as I hoped.
She rode my cock once on the journey back. A quick fuck in the tent with our clothes on. It was so painfully cold. We could barely move from sheer exhaustion, but we needed the connection, the intimacy, to get us through the rest of the trip.
“Leo better have that fire roaring.” I envision the warmth that awaits us, the comfort of family. “First thing I’m doing is stripping all this gear and face-planting by the hearth. For a week.”
“I’m claiming the first cup of whatever hot drink he’s managed to concoct. I hope there’s still coffee.”
“How about spiked coffee?”
“If only we had alcohol.”
“I might have a bottle of vodka stashed away.”
“Shut up!” She gasps and shoves me. “You said we ran out!”
“I was saving it.” I slow to a stop, cocking my head. “Look.”
She follows my gaze to the multitude of tracks stitched into the snow. “What in the world?”
The sheer volume of crisscrossing trails is jaw-dropping. Everywhere we look, the land shows signs of passage. Back and forth, side to side, the area is well-traveled, the snow compacted from countless journeys.
She crouches beside a large impression in the ground. “Is it a migration trail for a herd of animals?”
“No.” I sigh. “Just one animal.”
“One…?” Her eyes narrow, scanning the tracks, her voice dropping with realization. “Oh, no.”
Oh, yes. The well-worn route, made by the repetitive tread of boots and press of the snow machine, reveals precisely how Leo spent his time alone.
He’s been here daily, perhaps multiple times each day, keeping watch for us. The numerous grooves and indentations, evidence of hundreds of passes from boots and machinery, show his relentless commitment, his undying vigilance.
His neurotic obsession.
“This hurts my heart.” She rises, her gaze raking across the bleak stretch of hills to the North. “I’m surprised he’s not here now.”
“These are new.” I gesture at a fresh path of boot imprints. “He was here this morning.”
The older tracks were made by ski runners. The snow machine hasn’t been here in a while. He must’ve run out of fuel.
Yet he kept coming, his constant presence in this spot obvious in the worn snow, the paths beaten down by tireless pacing. In every footprint, I feel his concern, his anticipation, and his unwavering resolve to be here the moment we emerge.
I feel it because I went through the same damn thing when he and Frankie retrieved the coal.
It’s a symptom of the bond that tethers us.
As we resume walking, a figure materializes on the horizon, a distinct shape against the white hills.