The morning began with an odd sense of suffocation for Emmett, a warmth he wasn’t used to enveloping him. Almost pleasant if not for the oppressive weight that came with it. Half-asleep, he muttered incoherently, shifting slightly, trying to roll away from whatever was pressed against him, but the warmth clung to him stubbornly. Something soft, something firm, something breathing. His brow furrowed as he slowly drifted out of sleep, the fog of unconsciousness lifting just enough for awareness to creep in.

  His eye cracked open, unfocused at first, adjusting to the dim light filtering into the shelter. White fur.

  For a split second, his mind failed to comprehend the sight before him. The pieces weren’t quite falling into place. But as he blinked, as his vision sharpened, realization dawned on him like a bucket of ice water.

  Eira.

  The she-wolf had curled against him in the night, her arm wrapped snugly over his torso, her face resting against his chest as if they were anything but enemies. His body went rigid, his breath catching in his throat as his mind finally caught up to what the hell was happening. His eye darted down, taking in the way she was against him, the slow, steady rise and fall of her breathing.

  A flare of anger burned through him, white-hot and immediate.

  What the hell is this?

  He told himself she just rolled over out of habit, same as every night before this.

  He hoped this was all it was.

  Emmett shifted again, this time with more force, prying himself free from her grasp. The moment her arm slipped away and he sat up, the cold hit him like a slap to the face, sharp and punishing. He shivered involuntarily, instinctively wanting to burrow back into the warmth, but the thought made his stomach turn.

  Not happening. No way in hell.

  Gritting his teeth, he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to shake off the frustration boiling in his gut. His fingers brushed against his face, feeling the deep scars running down the left side of his cheek.

  He reached for his eye patch, slipping it over his scarred socket in a practiced motion, trying to push the unwanted thoughts out of his head. But his gaze flicked back to Eira, his scowl deepening. She was still asleep, her wolfish features momentarily peaceful in the pale light of dawn. For once, her face wasn’t twisted in irritation or amusement or that smug condescension that made him want to wring her damn neck.

  She just looked... vulnerable.

  And it enraged him.

  Last night had been a mistake. Talking to her like that. Sharing with her. Letting his guard slip, even for a second. He had let the exhaustion, the warmth of the fire, the weight of the past lull him into something dangerously close to familiarity. With her, a creature that was not only his enemy but looked like something from a Hollywood horror flick.

  With an annoyed sigh, he shoved the tarp off the shelter in one brusque motion, letting the cold morning air rush in. The sudden chill and the exposure to the light startled Eira awake. She jerked upright with a sharp inhale, her blue eyes snapping open, immediately alert. Her hands shot to her belt, fingers wrapping around the grip of the pistol he had given her.

  “What… what’s happening?” she stammered, her accent thick from sleep, her voice still groggy. Her ears twitched as she quickly scanned their surroundings, eyes darting from tree to tree, searching for danger.

  Emmett barely spared her a glance. “Relax,” he muttered, rifling through his bag. “Nobody’s shooting at us… yet.”

  She blinked, her hands slowly lowering as the tension bled from her muscles. Her gaze settled on Emmett, watching as he began folding up the tarp and blanket together, his movements sharp and irritated. Eira didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched tighter than usual.

  “Figured it was time to move,” he continued, his tone clipped. “Shelter’s too exposed anyway.”

  Eira studied him for a moment, her ears flicking as she processed his words. But she wasn’t an idiot. There was something else there, something beneath the surface. He was acting differently. Stiffer. More Emmett than usual, if that was even possible.

  She didn’t say anything, didn’t argue. What was there to argue? They both knew what had happened last night. They both knew why it was different. She regretted in that moment sharing what she had with him. And she knew he regretted it too. With a sigh, she forced herself to her feet, shaking off the stiffness in her limbs.

  Emmett finished packing their supplies, pulled his bag over his shoulder, pulled on his snowshoes, and started trudging through the snow without another word.

  Eira lingered for a moment, arms wrapping around herself as the cold bit into her layers. She watched him, his broad back rigid as he stomped through the frost-covered terrain. He didn’t look back. Didn’t check if she was following. He was shutting her out completely.

  Her ears flattened in irritation.

  “Good morning to you too,” she muttered bitterly, her voice barely above a whisper.

  If Emmett heard her, he didn’t respond. He trudged forward, his snowshoes crunching heavily in the frost-laden snow, his breath puffing visibly in the frigid air. The straps of his pack bit into his shoulders, his body stiff from both the cold and the coiled tension simmering just beneath his skin. He finally checked over his shoulder, his single eye narrowing as he saw Eira lagging behind, her expression distant, lost in thought.

  “Hurry up,” he snapped flatly, his voice cutting through the brittle silence. “I want to get this shitshow over with.”

  Eira’s ears flattened at his words, her tail flicking once in irritation. She narrowed her eyes and picked up her pace, closing the distance between them in a few strides until she was beside him, her gaze burning holes into the side of his head.

  “Eager to drag me to your scientists, ja?” she growled, her tone dripping with venom.

  Emmett didn’t even slow down, didn’t so much as flinch at her anger. “Something like that,” he grunted, his tone completely indifferent.

  That indifference set her blood boiling. She reached out and grabbed his shoulder, yanking him to a stop. Emmett barely had time to react before he was turned to face her, his remaining eye flashing with fury.

  “You must fall asleep each night dreaming of me dissected like some lab rat!” she snarled, her sharp teeth bared, breath misting between them.

  His lips curled into a cruel grin. “Every night, Eira. Helps me sleep like a baby on its mother’s tit,” he sneered mockingly.

  Her fist trembled at her side, barely able to contain the rage coursing through her veins. She wanted to rip into him, to tear him apart with words, with claws. Anything to get him to feel something other than that smug goddamn arrogance. She wished in that moment she had gone through with her plan last night.

  Ending this.

  “You are a dreadful man,” she hissed, her voice shaking.

  “Yeah? And you’re no damn saint,” he snapped back, his tone sharp. “So what’s your grand plan when we hit the German lines, huh? You gonna bolt? Put a bullet in my skull? Stab me in the back when I'm not looking?”

  She glared at him, deliberately not answering.

  Emmett’s jaw clenched, his fingers flexing at his sides. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He scoffed, shaking his head before his scowl deepened. “All this mess? This is your fault.”

  Eira let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Mein fault?” she snapped. “You are the one who attacked me! You tranquilized me, you dragged me from my unit…”

  “Yeah, well, maybe your daddy Vollmer shouldn’t have played God.” His eye burned with hatred. “You’re a gawd damn dirty mutt cooked up in a test tube.”

  Eira’s ears pinned back, her tail lashing behind her like an angry whip. Her breathing grew heavier, her claws flexed, curling into fists so tight they ached.

  “You are a fool,” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. “And you…” she jabbed a clawed finger into his chest “…are the reason we are in this frozen wasteland. Not I! If you had just died on that plane like the rest of your team, we would not be here!”

  Emmett’s glare sharpened. “Your people started this war. If they hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here. You wanna blame someone? Look in the fuckin’ mirror.”

  She stepped closer, her fangs bared. “I am looking at the one to blame, Herr Granger. And I am eager for the moment I can finally kill you.”

  “Go ahead,” he murmured, his voice edged with challenge. “Let’s cut the suspense.”

  Her pupils slit, her body coiling like a spring. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to strike, to end this, to wipe that smug expression off his face forever.

  “You’re making it very tempting,” she snarled through gritted teeth, her claws just short of breaking skin.

  Emmett’s hand twitched at his knife. “Why wait?” he taunted, his voice laced with venom. “You want me dead so bad? Take your damn shot!”

  Her hands trembled, her claws flexing, her entire body on the verge of lunging at him.

  But then he smirked again.

  That cruel, bastard smirk that made her blood boil.

  She let out a guttural, furious scream, her fangs flashing as she finally snapped. “You are a bastard!” she roared. “A miserable, angry man who only finds joy in dragging others into his own fucking misery!”

  Her voice carried, ringing through the forest, cutting through the trees, shattering the silence of the snow-covered wasteland.

  The sudden crack of a rifle tore through the air. Both froze for half a heartbeat as the echo rolled off the trees, sharp and hollow. Then came the voices. Rapid, barking orders, unmistakably Russian.

  “Fuck!” Emmett spat, spinning on his heel and shouldering his shotgun in one fluid motion. He fired off both barrels toward the source of the voices, the twin booms deafening in the crisp winter air.

  “Fucking Move!” he snarled, already breaking into a sprint.

  Eira wasted no time, pushing off into the snow, her pistol drawn. They dove behind the cover of a massive, overturned tree, its roots jutting out from the frozen earth like skeletal fingers.

  Gunfire ripped through the branches, splinters and snow raining down.

  Emmett worked furiously, shoving two fresh shells into the shotgun with practiced efficiency. Eira popped up briefly, her sharp eyes scanning the treeline before firing two quick shots at the advancing figures. The Russians shouted louder, their voices nearing. Gunfire erupting from the woods and shredding the tree they used for cover.

  “What the hell are you doing!?” she barked as she saw Emmett fumbling in his jacket pocket instead of shooting back.

  “Getting us the hell out of here,” he snapped, unfolding the map as bullets chewed through the bark inches above his head. He barely had time to glance at it before shoving it back into his coat. “We need to go west!”

  Eira’s ears flicked, her instincts screaming at her.

  More voices. Too many voices.

  Emmett rose, aimed, and fired in one fluid motion. The shot blasted through the cold air, and a Russian soldier dropped like a sack of bricks.

  “Five shells left!” he barked, immediately loading another shell with quick, steady hands.

  The air erupted with the rattling tat-tat-tat of a Soviet machine gun from the ridge above. The distinct chugging roar sent both of them ducking low as bullets screamed overhead, kicking up snow and dirt. The machinegun fire cut out as the weapon either jammed or ran dry, followed by shouted orders.

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  “We gotta fucking move now!” he shouted. Pushing off the log as they tore down the hill.

  Gunfire erupted around them. Kicking up snow, and striking tree’s as they weaved through the forest.

  Eira turned to her left, and saw figures darting through the tree’s to her right.

  “They’re moving to flank!” she yelled, her legs pumping in desperate flight.

  “No shit!” Emmett barked, his eye scanning for an opening.

  More shouting. More boots crunching in the snow. The terrain began to dip, putting them out of sight of the machinegun, its furious chatter sending bullets screaming overhead. The forest thickened, enough that it slowed their progress, Emmett and Eira crashing through the brush and branches whipping past them as they ran.

  Eira spotted movement to her left. Two figures breaking through the tree line. They had gone wide, and the trap was closing. Her sharp eyes locked on the first one, just as he was raising his rifle. She fired three times, her pistol recoiling with a sharp snap with each shot. The Russian staggered mid-stride before dropping to his knees, a strangled gasp escaping him before he fell into the snow.

  The other barely had time to react before Emmett’s shotgun sent him sprawling with a single blast. The man’s arms flailed as he hit the ground, his rifle flying from his hands.

  Emmett grimaced, loading another shell. Snapping the action closed. “That’s four shells left!”

  More shots rang out from behind them, the voices growing in number. They weren’t just dealing with a patrol, this was a full squad, maybe more.

  “Schei?e.” Eira muttered, her breath coming fast. She ejected the magazine in her weapon and reloaded. Before them, the forest continued to descend into a slope.

  They took off down the incline, moving fast. Gunfire behind them cracked, the chatter of a submachinegun tearing into trees and sending splinters flying like deadly shrapnel. Emmett ducked his head, wincing away from the flying debris. Their feet kicked up snow and dirt as they barreled downhill, their feet struggling to find purchase in the icy snow.

  Then they stopped dead. The trail just… dropped. The incline broke off into an almost sheer drop, the hill’s side lined with rocks, and shrubs and fallen trees.

  Emmett risked a glance over his shoulder and felt his stomach lurch. More figures emerging. Silhouettes moving through the trees like wolves circling their prey.

  “Schei?e,” she muttered under her breath looking between the ledge and their pursuers.

  Emmett made a split-second decision, one he didn’t have time to second-guess.

  He slung his shotgun and turned sharply, grabbed Eira’s shoulder, yanking her toward him.

  She barely had time to react. “Was tust du…”

  “Tuck and roll,” Emmett barked before suddenly pulling both of them off the edge and down the slope.

  Eira barely had time to react before the ground was ripped out from under her. Her body tumbled downward, weightless for a terrifying moment before slamming into the frozen earth. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, her pistol flying from her hands, and then she was rolling. The jagged terrain sending her bouncing over rocks and hidden roots buried beneath the snow.

  The world turned into a violent, twisting hell.

  Her shoulder struck something hard, and a burst of pain shot through her arm as she flipped violently, head over heels. She barely had the sense to curl in on herself, arms covering her head, but it did little to stop the onslaught of punishment from the ground. Snow filled her nose and mouth, blinding her, suffocating her.

  A sharp crack sounded as her ribs collided with an unseen stump, and a strangled gasp of pain tore from her throat. Her uniform tore, snow and dirt grinding against her exposed fur.

  She reached out, trying to grab onto something… anything, to slow herself down. Her claws found only ice and dead branches that snapped uselessly under her grip.

  She caught a glimpse of Emmett tumbling beside her, his shotgun flung somewhere into the chaos, his pack snapping open as supplies scattered in all directions.

  He shouted something. Likely a curse, but the deafening roar of the wind, and crashing branches swallowed his words.

  Another impact. Pain flared through her thigh. Her vision blurred with white-hot agony. Every nerve in her body screaming as she hit the ground again, flipping once, twice.

  Then nothing…

  Everything stopped.

  Eira had come to a jarring, painful halt at the base of the hill. Her back colliding with a half-buried log. The impact sent shockwaves through her battered body, but at least she was no longer falling. For a moment, she simply lay there, panting, her chest heaving as she tried to force air into her lungs.

  The world spun in a sickening swirl. Her head throbbed, her ears rang, and every inch of her body burned from the abuse. Snow clung to her fur and uniform, mixing with dirt and blood. She winced as she forced her trembling limbs to move.

  Slowly, she pushed herself onto her hands and knees, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Pain lanced through her ribs, sharp and unforgiving. She grimaced, glancing down at her trembling hands which were scraped raw

  A groan caught her attention and her head snapped up, scanning the uneven ground. A few feet away, Emmett lay sprawled on his back, unmoving. His bag had burst open, supplies littering the snow around him. His shotgun, miraculously lying beside him.

  She staggered to her feet, nearly toppling again as her knee’s buckled beneath her. Biting back a curse, she stumbled toward him, dropping at his side.

  His face was pale beneath the grime, his single eye shut, chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths. The left side of his coat was blossoming red, and blood trickled from a gash along his left temple, stark against his skin.

  A groggy, pained mutter broke the silence. His eyelid fluttered halfway open, unfocused at first, staring up at the gray sky.

  A slow, pained smirk tugged at his cracked lips. “That fucking hurt,” he rasped.

  She suddenly felt a strange emotion she didn’t want to name. She swallowed hard, exhaling a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

  Eira hesitated a moment, she had moments to decide what to do next. She wanted to leave him, but…

  She grabbed the shotgun, slinging it across her back, and groaned as she reached for Emmett’s arm, slinging it over her shoulders. The weight of him nearly pulled her down, and she had to dig her boots into the snow just to stay upright. He wasn’t unconscious, but he might as well have been. His body sagged against hers, his legs barely cooperating.

  “You’re mad, Emmett,” she snarled, her voice strained as she struggled to stabilize them both. “I should leave you here.”

  He let out a breathy chuckle, but it was weak, barely more than a rasp in his throat. “Wouldn’t blame ya.” His head lolled slightly against her shoulder, his weight pressing against her more than she would have liked.

  They broke through the tree’s just as the Russians reached the top of the hill. Gunfire erupted and orders were barked as they tried to find a safe way down. Eira could hear distant boots crunching through the snow. A chill that had nothing to do with the winter air ran through her as she tightened her grip on Emmett.

  Her ribs screamed in protest, and her injured leg threatened to give out beneath her, but she gritted her teeth and pressed on. A gunshot struck a nearby tree, the gunshot echoing from the ledge behind them.

  “Keep moving, Eira,” Emmett rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.

  She didn’t bother responding, too focused on pushing forward, on ignoring the burning ache in her muscles, the tightness in her chest that made every breath painful.

  Then, suddenly, his full weight slumped against her.

  “Schei?e!” She shouted.

  Her knee buckled, and she nearly went down with him, her body protesting as she barely managed to keep them upright. Emmett’s head lolled against her, his breath shallow, his body unresponsive.

  She considered leaving him again. Just dropping him into the snow, turning, and running away. It would be easy. He was slowing her down. If she abandoned him now, she could disappear into the forest, make her way to German lines on her own terms. She wouldn’t have to face the inevitable fight that awaited them.

  Her ears twitched at the sound of voices cresting the ridge above them.

  Growling in frustration, she dropped to one knee, shifting his dead weight onto her back. With a strained gasp, she hoisted him over her shoulders, her muscles screaming in protest as she locked her stance and forced herself to her feet.

  “Verdammt.”

  She groaned as she took an unsteady step forward. The snow crunching beneath the sole, and she pressed on. Her heart pounding in her chest.

  Every step forward felt like wading through thick mud, the uneven ground making it nearly impossible to find stable footing. Her breath came in short, ragged bursts, and she could feel the deep, burning pull of exhaustion creeping in.

  Eira let out a pained gasp, almost loosing her balance, but managed to keep her footing. She began quickening her pace. Each step a little faster than the last, like a train picking up speed.

  Eira barely registered the weight of Emmett’s head lolling against her shoulder, her focus narrowed to the snow-covered ground in front of her, the rhythmic crunch of her own footfalls, the rasp of her breath burning in her chest. Her legs screamed in protest, her body aching from the weight she carried, but she didn’t slow down. The Russian voices behind them weren’t fading.

  Then, from the dead weight slung over her shoulder, came a rough, choked chuckle.

  At first, she thought she imagined it, her ears ringing from exertion. But then, Emmett’s hoarse voice cracked through the cold air, his words slurred, wavering somewhere between a muttered confession and the delirium of a dying man.

  “I’m a… damned hypocrite,” he croaked, his breath hot against her back.

  Eira grit her teeth, barely hearing him over her own ragged breathing. She wanted to tell him to shut up, to save his energy, but all her focus was on putting one foot in front of the other, her injured arm throbbing, her legs shaking beneath his weight.

  Emmett gasped suddenly as something shifted, his body tensing before falling limp again. He went quiet, and for a fleeting moment, Eira thought he’d passed out completely. Then, another strained chuckle, weaker than before.

  “I’m just as gawd-awful as the krauts… who killed…the people at that village.” His words trailed off into a harsh, wheezing breath, like speaking was taking more out of him than the wound itself.

  Eira’s ears twitched, but she barely processed what he was saying. Every part of her screamed to move faster, to push harder.

  Emmett’s voice came again, lower now, almost as if he wasn’t talking to her at all. “Didn’t realize what I’d done until it was too late…”

  Eira’s grip on him tightened, her breath hitching in her throat. The words lodging themselves deep in her thoughts, refusing to be ignored.

  Emmett sucked in another strained breath, his voice quieter now, barely audible over the wind.

  “I’m damned, Eira …”

  His head lolled against her back again, his body going limp in her grasp. Eira nearly tripped on a root, her heart hammering against her ribs as she adjusted her hold.

  A soft groan left him, and for a moment, she thought he might have finally lost consciousness. But then, in the faintest whisper, like a confession to himself, he muttered:

  “I’m not a good person… I’ve hurt people... people I cared about…”

  And then, silence.

  Eira gritted her teeth and forced her legs to move faster, ignoring the tight knot in her chest, the strange sensation creeping into her mind.

  What the hell was she supposed to do with that?

  Eira ran through the woods, her breath sharp and uneven, her body screaming to stop. Every step sent waves of pain through her battered frame, and Emmett, unconscious and slumped over her shoulder, was dead weight. His right arm flapped uselessly, clearly dislocated, and blood poured from multiple wounds. He was pale, his breaths shallow.

  Past the pain and the burning of her limbs, she once again considered leaving him there. Yet she kept moving, teeth gritted, legs trembling beneath her. Why do I care? she thought. She didn’t have an answer.

  As she stumbled to a stop, leaning heavily against a tree, the thought crept into her mind again.

  “Why does God hate me so??” she muttered in German, her voice hoarse and bitter.

  Her legs gave out, and she collapsed into the snow. Emmett landed with a heavy thud, letting out a faint, pained cry before falling silent again. Eira curled up in the ground, her body convulsing. Her breath came in ragged gasps, the cold biting through her clothes. She laid there a moment panting, before with a groan, she pushed herself to her knees. Her body protesting the action. She scanned her area, breathing hard as she took in her environment.

  That’s when she saw it. A dark shape against the stark white of the snow. A cave, just a short distance ahead. It wasn’t large, but it looked deep enough to offer shelter. Her sharp eyes scanned its entrance, half-expecting to see signs of an animal’s presence. She sniffed the air cautiously, but there was no trace of anything else.

  “Maybe God doesn’t hate me after all.” she murmured with a wry smirk.

  She turned back to Emmett, who lay motionless in the snow. His lips moved faintly, muttering something over-and-over. She knelt beside him, leaning close to hear.

  “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” he whispered, his voice slurred and weak. His eye darted under the closed lid, and his face twitched as if he were caught in some terrible dream.

  Eira gritted her teeth and hauled him back onto her shoulders, letting out a guttural groan as she staggered toward the cave. Her knees buckled with every step, and the incline of the cave’s entrance nearly defeated her. By the time she reached the interior, she was trembling violently, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She dropped Emmett to the ground unceremoniously, too weak to be gentle. He let out a sharp gasp but remained stubbornly unconscious.

  For a moment, she leaned against the cave wall, struggling to catch her breath. Emmett continued muttering, his voice barely audible. His face was pale, and his body twitched faintly with each exhalation. Eira forced herself to focus, shaking her head to clear the fog of exhaustion and pain. She dragged herself across the cave floor and as gently as she could, rolled him onto his side.

  She rummaged through what remained of his bag, her hands trembling. The supplies were pitiful. A blanket, two cans of food, the canteen on his belt, some candles, and a pouch of needles and thread. She cursed under her breath but was grateful for at least these meager scraps.

  She found his lighter in his jacket pocket and flicked it on, the small flame casting flickering shadows across the cave walls. The sight of Emmett’s injuries under the dim light made her stomach churn. His right arm hung limply at his side, grotesquely out of place. Blood soaked his clothes, staining the ground where he lay. A stick jutted from his side, and his thigh was slick with blood from a deep gash.

  Taking a deep breath, Eira steadied herself. She grabbed his dislocated arm, bracing it with her knee. With one sharp motion, she popped it back into place. Emmett let out a strangled cry, his body jerking in pain, but his unconsciousness held firm. Eira wasted no time cutting away parts of his clothes with her knife, exposing his injuries. She inspected the stick lodged in his side, noting how deeply it had penetrated. It had broken so it was mostly flush with his torso with only a small portion exposed.

  Fortunately for him, it seemed clear of his internal organs. With careful precision, she used a strip of cloth to get better purchase, then pulled it free in one clean motion. Blood welled up instantly, and Emmett convulsed, his lips parting in a weak groan.

  “Schei?e,” she hissed under her breath. She grabbed the needle and thread, her hands trembling as she stitched the wound shut. The thread was coarse, and her stitches were rough, but it would have to do. As she worked, her gaze caught on something else. A scar puckered and pale, just above the fresh injury. It was older, but only by a few years. She stared at it for a heartbeat, her brow furrowing. He had been shot before, close to where the stick had struck.

  Her jaw tightened, but she pushed the thought aside and went back to her work.

  She moved to the gash on his thigh, cleaning it as best she could with water from the canteen before stitching it shut. The cut across his shoulder receiving the same treatment.

  By the time she was finished, her raw hands were slick with his blood, and her own injuries were screaming for attention. She poured water over her arms, wincing as the icy liquid flushed dirt and grit from her cuts and scrapes. None of her wounds required stitches, though the pain in her ribs suggested at least one was cracked or broken and the gash in her thigh throbbed painfully. She ignored it and wrapped her torso tightly with strips of cloth torn from the blanket.

  The fire was next. Eira gathered bits of dry wood from just outside the cave and coaxed a flame to life. She gently blew on the kindling until it caught, adding to it until it grew to a comfortable size.

  She wrapped Emmett in the blanket and pulled him into her lap, his body heavy and limp. She held him close, staring into the flickering firelight. His face was pale, his breaths shallow but steady.

  “Why did you have to be such a stubborn bastard?” she muttered in German, her voice thick with exhaustion and frustration. Part of her wishing the fall had killed him. Everything would’ve been simpler. She rested her head against the cave wall. Despite everything, she felt an almost unwanted pang of sympathy for him. He was broken, battered, and utterly human.

  As the fire crackled softly, Eira’s eyes grew heavy. She tightened her grip on Emmett, letting the warmth of the flames and the steady rhythm of his breathing lull her into a restless sleep. The last thought that crossed her mind was the absurdity of their situation. It felt that they were beaten back to square one. And here she was, with the one-eyed bastard in her lap. As if they were anything but enemies.

  “This is a miserable Arrangement.” She said softly, exhaustion pulling her into a deep sleep.