The imp was back in charge. Or if not in charge, at least active, whispering horrible, dangerous ideas into Kiernan’s ear and then cackling with excited glee. He said he wanted to be warmed up, didn’t he? And he’d welcome your attentions. He’s been looking at you like—

That was where things got a little awkward. Because the imp wanted Kiernan to believe Grif had been looking at him like he wanted to eat him for dinner, but Kiernan wasn’t convinced. Was it possible that Grif had been looking at him like he wanted to feed him dinner? Wanted to take care of him?

No. Absolute nonsense. Kiernan could still feel the bruise on his cheek from the brute’s backhand. There had been assault, robbery, death threats, a general disregard for Kiernan’s physical and emotional health.

Except for the rabbit.

But Grif had taken Kiernan’s food. Maybe Kiernan would have shared it with him if he’d had the chance, but he hadn’t been given that chance. Grif had taken it without asking.

And then he’d given the rabbit without being asked.

Oh, the gods were playing with Kiernan, that much was clear. The mission itself, the possible motivations behind it, those hadn’t been enough, apparently. The gods had seen fit to send an extra challenge, an extra source of confusion.

Grif was violent. Annoying. Dangerous. Handsome, in a rugged way. Physically imposing. Exciting.

Yes, all those things.

Do it, the imp whispered, and Kiernan let those words erase the doubts from his mind. He took a moment to smooth the canvas of the tent that was serving as their floor, then shook out the blankets. Then he took a deep breath and started taking off his clothes.

He’d been partly naked in the burrow before. For such a rough-seeming man, Grif was surprisingly interested in being clean, and they’d spent some of their time melting snow over the candle and bathing, one exposed body part at a time. And of course they’d built a little alcove at the back of the space where they could relieve themselves and then cover the leavings with snow. There had been delicate skin exposed during those operations.

Still, Kiernan hadn’t been naked, not right to the skin over his whole body, since he’d left home. Once he stripped down, he wrapped himself up in the blankets fairly quickly, then sat cross-legged on the ground and loosened the blankets around his torso, trying to picture what Grif would see when he returned to the burrow.

A whore. That was a new voice, not the imp and hopefully not his own, whispering doubts and ugliness. Someone perverted, pathetic, desperate, someone to pity, or someone to beat.

Kiernan closed his eyes and tried to will the thoughts away.

Someone daring, he told himself. Someone who wants to live life boldly and experience everything the world has to offer. Including rough sex with a brute of a man.

Except was Grif a brute, really? Kiernan’s cheek could testify that he wasn’t completely nonbrutish. But there was more to him, depths that Kiernan had begun to see as he’d heard Grif’s stories. Maybe Kiernan didn’t want rough, desperate— Well, yes, he did. But it didn’t have to be impersonal. Was it possible that Grif might be as Kiernan had originally imagined him? Dominant but gentle, passionate but controlled . . .

His cock hardened at the thought, and he wondered how long it would be before Grif was back, and how brave Kiernan could manage to be. If Grif crawled in and saw Kiernan, naked and hard, waiting for him—that would be an end to any uncertainties.

But when the time came, when Kiernan heard Grif shifting the snow blocks at the entrance and then crawling in, he wrapped the blanket around himself a little more snugly and made sure he was covered in all vital areas. Coward, the imp whispered, but Kiernan ignored it.

“I set the snares,” Grif said as his head emerged into the chamber. “Found a few good spots, a few I’m not sure about. Hopefully we’ll get something. I should try to make a bigger one—you can catch deer in a snare, if you make one big enough.”

Then Grif pulled his hat off, looked at Kiernan for the first time, and froze.

Well. That was a reaction, at least, but it was hard to be sure if it was the one Kiernan wanted. Still, he had to press on. “Do you need to warm up?” he asked, and he opened the blankets to expose his bare chest.

“Shit,” Grif said, which was absolutely not what Kiernan wanted to hear.

His nerve was shaken, but he stayed still, mostly because as bad as it was to maintain his offer, it would be even worse, even more humiliating to give up now. And, finally, the imp took over. “I’ve been waiting for you,” it said through Kiernan’s mouth, and then it used Kiernan’s hand to push the blankets further open, enough so the outline of Kiernan’s hard cock would surely be visible, even in the poor light.

“Fuck,” Grif said. Still not quite what Kiernan had hoped, but there was a breathiness, a shakiness in Grif’s voice that meant . . . something. Surely.

The imp said, “‘Fuck’? Is that an invitation?”

Another frozen, unbearable moment, and then everything happened fast. Grif scrambled forward, his hand on the back of Kiernan’s head, pulling him in, then holding him close while Grif’s mouth found Kiernan’s, just as hungry, just as rough as Kiernan’s fantasy. A clash of teeth, tongues, a battle for dominance with Kiernan surrendering immediately and Grif fighting on anyway. Grif pushed them over so he was lying on top, his cold clothing harsh against Kiernan’s tender skin. Then a hand, calloused and strong, wrapped around Kiernan’s cock and squeezed, the grip too tight but still absolutely perfect.

Kiernan found enough control to make himself useful, tugging at Grif’s clothing, undoing the ties of his jacket and shoving it off his broad shoulders, then tackling his tunic and his undershirt until they were bare chest to bare chest, a broad, hairy expanse covering Kiernan’s narrower, almost hairless torso.

More kissing, deep and complicated and needy, and Grif pulled his hands away from Kiernan long enough to undo his pants and leggings. Amazing how graceful a big man could be, even in cramped quarters; Grif somehow made the act of shedding his clothes look like a dance, albeit one more horizontal than Kiernan was used to.

Then they were naked together, exposed to each other, and Kiernan wanted to savor the moment, wanted to slow it down so he could look at Grif, inspect every inch of his hard, glorious body. But he also wanted exactly what he got, which was Grif taking charge.

Grif rolled Kiernan over, propped him up, exposed and defenseless on his knees and elbows. Kiernan let it all happen. It was such a relief to have someone else making the decisions, as long as he trusted the person, and, in the names of all the gods, he did trust Grif. He couldn’t say why, couldn’t defend his decision to himself, but he knew that it was true. So he surrendered.

His body trembled, quivered, anticipation and apprehension mixed in equal parts, and Grif rested a strong hand on his back.

“Steady,” Grif rumbled. Not the tenderness Kiernan had fantasized about, no. Not tenderness, but . . . understanding?

Stupid to pull so much significance out of one word, a few gestures, but Kiernan felt it anyway. Felt as if Grif knew him, at least in that moment. Grif knew what it was like to be vulnerable like this, to want—need—something that he could only get from another person. A person who could cause so much pain if he wasn’t careful, wasn’t kind—

The warm moisture of spit, a broad finger teasing and testing, and Kiernan’s body almost sagged in relief. Grif knew what he was doing; Kiernan had been right to trust him in this.

He let his body relax into the sensations. Let himself be infiltrated, invaded. Kiernan arched his back as the sweetness washed over him, asking for more, and more, and more.

Grif gave him everything. He drove Kiernan forward with every thrust but held him back with a hand on his hip, a grip in his hair. Later, Kiernan would find the tiny abrasions on his hands, on his cheek, where tender skin had grated against sharp, icy shards of snow, but in the moment, Kiernan felt none of it. There was only Grif, only Kiernan, only the places where they joined, the desperate sounds they made.

They rutted like animals, and they came together, finally, with shouts that might have been roars.

The shame washed over Kiernan before Grif had pulled out.

Like animals. But that wasn’t how it should be. Maybe for Grif, but Kiernan wasn’t like that. What he’d done with Vin hadn’t been right, or acceptable, but it had been understandable, because they’d loved each other. And it had been different—not as good, the traitorous imp whispered—because they’d stayed civilized, maintained propriety, given in to their urges but not allowed themselves to be completely lost in them.

With Grif?

Kiernan cringed. What had he been thinking?

But of course, that was the problem. There had been no thought. Only an imp, and Kiernan’s own weaknesses. And he’d lain with—he’d seduced—a brute of a man, an abusive criminal, a—

He gasped as a rough cloth pressed against his most sensitive skin.

“Still cold?” Grif sounded . . . apologetic? Or sympathetic. “I tried to warm it in my hands, but that’s not as good as a fire.”

And then he—he cleaned Kiernan. Had Vin ever considered— But, no, that wasn’t the same. Not at all. Because . . . because Kiernan had been with Vin in a civilized place, somewhere it had been easy for Kiernan to look after his own needs.

Would it be so difficult for you to look after yourself here? the imp asked, but Kiernan ignored him.

He closed his eyes, trying to will away all the confusion, the embarrassment, the turmoil. He became aware of his body, the scratches and aches, the fatigue. The relaxation, the sense of released tension. And, finally, the familiar comfort of a warm body slipping in behind him, pulling a blanket over them both, and then snugging a strong arm tight against Kiernan’s chest.

It was too much, and Kiernan’s body was too tired. He let himself drift to sleep; surely everything would be clear again when he woke up.

Grif had wanted to stay in the blankets with Kiernan, but he’d wanted something else even more, so at the first hint of daylight soaking through their snowy walls, he’d rolled away, pulled his clothes on, and crawled outside. Kiernan must have woken up; there wasn’t that much space, and how soundly would someone have to sleep to not notice another person putting on full outdoor gear next to them? But Kiernan didn’t open his eyes, and Grif didn’t push.

Instead, he crept out and walked the path of his snares. They’d only been set for a few hours, but he’d been right about animals being a bit careless after the storm: he had a rabbit and two squirrels to take home for—

No, wait. Not home, and not for anyone. Just back to camp. For himself. And he’d let Kiernan have some, but it wouldn’t be a big deal. Grif was excited because he was hungry. That was all.

He started back to camp. Hopefully Kiernan would have started a fire. They’d have to get moving soon, of course, but they could take time to eat, and get the camp packed up properly. They needed to move on. There was no way they were going to make it over the high pass until the snow was gone, but there would likely be a better campsite somewhere, a spot they chose for a reason other than desperation before a storm.

Yeah, they’d find somewhere better, and once they were safe and warm and had food, maybe there’d be time for a little more of what they’d done that morning. Or maybe a lot more of it, because, damn, Grif couldn’t imagine himself getting sick of what Kiernan had to offer, not if they were storm-stuck for a dozen winters.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Longreach. Just because he wanted it once, doesn’t mean he’ll ever want it again. Best not to count on anything. You know that.

Yeah, he knew it. Still, his step lightened as he headed back to camp despite the snow he was forced to wade through.

When he stepped out of the trees, there was no fire made, but Kiernan was up and about. He had— Ah. He had his pack resting by the opening to the shelter, and it looked significantly fuller than it had the day before. Yes, there was the tent strapped to the outside; Grif assumed the rest of the gear he’d taken had been similarly reclaimed.

Still, no need to have that fight, not yet.

“I’ve got breakfast,” Grif announced as he stepped into the area of flattened snow around the burrow. “And I’m hungry. We’re going to cook it before we leave. You can start a fire while I check for the rest of my gear and get packed up.”

“But we’re leaving?” Kiernan sounded cautious. “We’re heading out? If you show me how to use the snares, I can work my way back—”

“Start the fire.” Grif dropped the skinned, cleaned animals on the snow and crawled inside the shelter.

He didn’t really have any gear to collect—he was wearing everything he’d taken with him from Burtonsford, and Kiernan had clearly taken the rest—but he’d be damned if he’d crouch down out there and start the fire, not when he’d already fought his way through a couple of miles of chest-high snow to get the meat. Let the spoiled brat make a contribution for a damn change.

So Grif stretched out on the snow ledge that had been their bed—less comfortable without the tent as a floor, but still not bad—and waited. And while he waited, he tried to come up with a solution that didn’t involve clubbing the stubborn idiot over the head and keeping him chained to a tree for the rest of the winter.

By the time he smelled cooked meat, he had what passed for a plan. Actually, he kind of liked it, but that didn’t mean much; he’d liked plenty of stupid ideas in his time. Still, it was the best he had, so he crawled out of the burrow, trying not to think about the more pleasant times the two of them had spent in it, and found Kiernan standing by the fire, looking down at the roasting meat.

“Thanks for getting that started for me,” Grif said easily. “You may as well head out, though—you’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

Kiernan frowned at him. “It’s not cooked yet.”

“It’s not your meat. So, thanks for starting the cooking. Oh, and thanks for the fuck—that was good.” He waited, then said, “Do you need something else?”

“I— You— I need to learn how to use the snares.”

“You’d need to learn how to make them too. You’re definitely not taking mine. Unless— Oh, you wanted to trade?” Grif hunkered down by the fire and poked at the rabbit—his rabbit. “Okay, yeah. It’ll take some time, time I could have been spending on finding a better campsite and making myself comfortable. So it’s not going to be cheap. But, sure. We can trade.”

“What do you want to trade for?” Kiernan asked, but it was clear from his voice that he already knew.

Grif smiled at him. “Your gear. The tent, the axe, the cookpot. Oh, and your mitts. I like those mitts, with the pretty little beads on them.”

“I need my gear.”

“Not really. You’re heading off to die, and you can do that just as well without your gear as with. I could track along behind you and take it off your corpse, or obviously I could take it from you now, without asking—but we’ve already played that game. Let’s play a new one. I’ve got a skill I could share with you. I’m willing to do that, but I want something in return. And since you don’t have any skill, I guess you’re going to have to give me your gear. Unless you have an alternative you want to suggest?”

“You don’t understand. I need—”

“You need to go across the mountains. I understand fine. But you apparently don’t understand that it’s not. Going. To. Happen. Not until spring.” And then, because it was Kiernan, because there’d been good times and a good fuck and the kid had gotten under his skin somehow, Grif softened his tone. “You’ve been walking with me for a few days, now. I’m still weaker than I should be—getting half-froze takes life out of a man, and I need a decent rest and food to put it back in—but you know I’ve been pushing faster than you want to go. Trust me when I tell you that I was pushing that hard before we met up, and I’ve already told you it took me half a moon to get as far as I did. And that was before the snow fell.”

“I need—”

“You need to stay alive,” Grif said, letting his voice go back to harshness. “When I was a boy, a man killed my mother. Murdered her in front of me. So I needed to kill him. It was all I needed. But I was too small. I couldn’t do it, not right then, and he’d have killed me if I’d tried. So I ran away. But I remembered his face, and I got bigger and stronger and I never forgot who I needed to kill. Three years later, I stabbed him in the gut and left him to die in agony.” More than he’d wanted to say, to share, but at least it had caught Kiernan’s attention. “You don’t lose until you give up. You aren’t beaten until you’re dead. Staying alive is always the first job, and everything else comes after.”

It was hard to look at Kiernan’s face. Shit. So much for Grif’s damn plan. He was too weak to keep up the bluff.

“I’ll teach you,” he said. “If you decide you’re going to do this, I’ll teach you how to use the snares. And I’ll give you mine. All I want in return is a day.”

“A day?”

“I want you to try walking through this crap for a day. I want you to pretend I’m not here—you’ll have to stop in time to set the snares yourself, set up camp yourself, do everything you’d have to do if you were traveling on your own. And the whole time I want you to remember that we’re having nice weather right now, for as long as it lasts. To be safe, you’d want to have enough food stored in your pack for you to be able to hole up for a week or two with no hunting—that’s how long these mountain storms can last: a week or two. And I want you to figure out how far you’ve walked in that day compared to how far you walked in a day on the way up here, and then I want you to fucking think about it and realize that you can’t cross the mountains in the middle of winter. Then I want you to not kill yourself for no damn reason.” He stopped and exhaled, hoping his voice would be calmer when he continued. “But that last part is up to you. All you’ll owe me is a day, and your word that you’ll think about it.”

Kiernan stared at him. “You could just . . . you could take it. All of it. If you wanted.”

“I told you, we already played that game. This is a new one.”

“It’s honestly impossible to get through the mountains?” Kiernan asked in a smaller, more tentative voice.

Another trap to avoid. “No. That’s not the deal I offered. You need to figure it out for yourself—I don’t want you whining and complaining and making up some stupid story about me forcing you to wait for spring. The deal is: you give me the day, and then you decide for yourself.”

“And if I decide I have a chance? If I decide to go on?” Kiernan’s chin was high, and he was obviously trying to salvage some pride.

“If you give me the day, everything else is up to you. I’ll think you’re a fool, but I won’t stop you.”

“And you’ll let me have my equipment? All of it?”

“Do you really think you’re in a position to be driving a hard bargain?”

Then it came, the sudden sweet flash of a smile that was Grif’s reward for all his troubles. “To be honest, I’ve never been much good at choosing times for that.”

“You choose interesting times for other things, though.” And Grif got another reward in the coloring of Kiernan’s cheeks. “So, do we have a deal?”

Only a moment’s hesitation before Kiernan nodded. “Yes.” A longer pause, and then, “Thank you.”

As if the words hurt to say, as if Kiernan was humbling himself—humiliating himself—by saying them to Grif.

Because Grif was so far beneath him, so disgusting in Kiernan’s eyes, so worthless that it was an ordeal to acknowledge that Grif had a gift to give, one Kiernan couldn’t trade for in any meaningful way.

That was a good thing for Grif to remember. He was nothing, he was worthless, he was shit to be scraped off someone’s shoe at the earliest opportunity. Right.

“If you were on your own, you’d already be tired from having gone out for the snares,” Grif said. “But if you were on your own, you wouldn’t be sore from being fucked through the burrow wall last night, so we’ll call it a draw. We’ll split this breakfast, and then the game’s on.”

Kiernan looked startled, and Grif didn’t bother trying to figure out the exact cause. It wasn’t his damn business.

So they ate, and Grif didn’t let himself watch as Kiernan savored his first real meal in a couple of days. He didn’t let himself take pride in having provided. He ate his own share, said another silent thank-you to the animals as he dropped their bones into the remains of the fire, and then stood. “I don’t care which way we go as long as we aren’t taking the same path as the other day. If you want to go east, take the far side of the valley.”

Kiernan gave him a quizzical frown, but Grif didn’t bother to explain that he was searching for a better site for their winter camp. For his winter camp. Damn it, maybe it would be best if Kiernan wandered off into the cold and left Grif alone.

Alone with his guilt. Where had that emotion come from? It certainly wasn’t one Grif had felt for a long, long time. And not one he wanted to get in the habit of feeling. So he’d do what he could to keep Kiernan safe. But if the stubborn little bastard decided to leave anyway? Grif would let him go.