Under the Northern Lights(58)

“Please, Michael. Everyone isn’t as bad as you think. There’s still hope in the world. Look at you and me.”

I smiled, offering him encouragement, but he only frowned. “Our relationship was doomed from the very start. How is that hope?”

His words, laced with razor-sharp truth, cut me to the bone. “Because we found each other. Literally, in the middle of nowhere, we found each other, and I refuse to accept that that means nothing. We saved each other . . . that means everything. And all over the world, that hope—that salvation—happens every day, every minute, every second. Have faith . . . God’s not done with us.”

A slow smile brightened his face. “Your optimism is truly remarkable. And inspiring.” His smile slipped. “I think I’ll miss that most of all.”

My eyes burned with forming tears. I still hadn’t changed his mind. “Kiss me,” I whispered, my heart cracking just as surely as the ice melting on the river.

He stared at me for long, silent seconds, and then ever so slowly, he lowered his lips to mine. When our mouths met, I reveled in the sweet bitterness of our tender touch. Every part of me, down to the very crevices in my soul, ached with joy and pain. How could this be over, when it was only just beginning?

The tears building in my eyes slowly dripped down my cheeks as our heartbreaking connection continued. When Michael finally pulled away, his eyes were as soft as his voice. “We should get going. That bear is still out there, somewhere.”

As if the grizzly had heard him say that, a growl cut the silence somewhere in the woods. It raised every hair on my arms and dried the tears still wanting to form. Something was out there, and it was starving. I wanted to clutch Michael’s arm, hold him tight, but I knew he needed freedom of movement in case the creature spotted us and charged.

We didn’t speak much the rest of the way back, but I dwelled on our conversation. With each step toward the cabin, it felt like we were drifting further apart. It tore at me, made me want to run the other way, foolish as that would be. Looking up at the sky, I prayed for snow, prayed for a storm, prayed for anything that might keep me here—keep me with him—longer. I’d always looked forward to spring before, but now I hoped it never arrived.

When we got back to the cabin, Michael did a quick check around it to make sure the bear hadn’t found a way in besides the front door. He was smiling when he returned to me. “Everything looks good. Why don’t you go inside? I’m going to go check the shed.”

Nodding, I watched him leave before I entered the cabin. The first thing I noticed when I stepped inside was my gun, exactly where I’d left it. God. Rookie move. Being unarmed out here wasn’t a good idea. Picking the gun up, I was just about to put it where it belonged when I heard a sound that chilled my blood. Shouting, followed by a gunshot. Michael.

Gun clenched firmly in my hand, I scrambled out the door and raced to the shed. I was running so fast I couldn’t stop myself when I got there, and I nearly fell on my ass as I slipped and slid on the ice. What I saw in front of the shed door stole my breath. Michael was lying there . . . and the snow around him was splattered in blood; it looked like a crime scene.

“Oh my God, Michael!” He didn’t move when I said his name, and for a minute, I was sure he was dead. No . . . he couldn’t be gone. As I slid to his side, he turned to look at me, and a shaky exhale of relief left me. Thank God, not dead.

“What happened?” I asked, frantically searching him for the source of the blood. When I found it, Michael inhaled through clenched teeth. Pulling my fingers away from his leg, I stopped to study the torn fabric; the cuts were distinctly claw shaped. “Oh my God,” I repeated.

Hissing again, Michael said, “Found the bear. It was trying to open the shed door.” He indicated the door, and I marveled at the long cuts down the thick wood. Jesus, that could have been Michael’s chest. As I folded back the rips in his pants to examine his skin, Michael flinched. “I nicked it, and it ran off. Lucky for me. Sometimes that just pisses them off.”

He laughed like this was funny, but I didn’t see anything humorous here. “Can you walk?” I asked him, swiveling my head to take in the bloody tracks leading away from the shed. “We should go inside in case it comes back.” He might have scared it off, but that didn’t mean it would stay scared. Food was a powerful motivator.

“Yeah.” Michael grunted, shifting his weight to stand. I helped him the best I could, but it was a challenge getting him to his feet.

Michael cried out in pain when he put weight on his leg, and I instantly sympathized; it wasn’t all that long ago when I’d been the one hobbling around. His pant leg was soaked, saturated with blood, and fear gave me the strength I needed to get him out of there. He had to be okay—he just had to be. He whimpered, holding back the extent of his pain, the entire time we trudged back to the cabin.

I nearly cursed out loud when I saw that the cabin door was swinging wide open. In my haste to get to Michael, I hadn’t closed and secured the latch. Well, I dared a wolf to be in there now. What I was afraid of at the moment had nothing to do with wild animals.

Supporting Michael’s weight as much as I could, I kicked in the door, yelling loudly in the process. If something was in here, I wanted it to know I was coming. Thankfully, the cabin was as empty as I’d left it. Michael made a pained laugh as we stumbled through the door. “Remind me . . . to not . . . make you mad,” he said in strained pants.