Kiernan had forgotten how much work it was to carry a full pack, and he’d never imagined the effort required to wade through chest-deep snow. Every stumbling step he took, every reminder from Grif to test his footing to be sure the snow wasn’t hiding a crevasse or other hazard, every time he looked toward the tree he’d chosen as a tool to measure his progress and realized it was almost exactly as distant as it had been when he’d started this horrific hike—it all made it clear that Grif had been right. It wasn’t going to be possible to travel through the mountains until spring, not for any significant distance.

And the realization brought with it a bewildering sense of relief.

He had failed. Vin had sent him on an important mission, and Kiernan had not carried it out. Kiernan’s friend, his lover, his tsarn-to-be, had needed something done, and Kiernan hadn’t done it. Couldn’t do it. He should be crushed. But instead of a weight on his shoulders, he felt as if one had been lifted off.

Metaphorically, at least. The damn pack on his damn back was still too damn heavy. But his mind was light.

He didn’t have to die. Staying alive was his first job. He didn’t have to force himself into the harsh wilderness, brave the biting cold and the horrible, endless snow. He didn’t have to be alone. He didn’t have to leave Grif behind.

No, not that last bit. That wasn’t part of it. Except in so far as Grif was, ostensibly, a human being, and humans craved the company of other humans. There was nothing special about Grif, not in any positive way.

“Turn left,” came an order from behind Kiernan, and he stopped walking and turned all the way around, starting to the right.

“You said I could go anywhere I wanted.”

“And now you want to turn left.”

Kiernan bit back his irritation. “Why?”

Grif sighed as if he was the reasonable person dealing with a petulant child. “You’re interested by that dark spot on the cliff over there. You think it might be a cave.”

“A cave?” Kiernan squinted into the glare of sun on snow. Grif had a strip of leather with slits cut in it for his eyes that he said was a good shield from the light, but when he’d offered to make another, using rabbit hide, Kiernan had refused because he’d thought the strap on Grif’s face looked stupid. What an idiot he was.

“A cave,” Grif confirmed. He waited, then said, “You think a cave might be a good place to spend the winter. You might need to use snow to build up the front wall, but if the roof slopes in the right direction, you might be—”

“Enough ‘you.’ I haven’t decided whether I’m going to be staying here for the winter. I’m still weighing my options.”

“Of course you are.”

“I am.”

“As I said.”

How did it happen? How did Kiernan find himself bickering like a child with this man? And even worse, how did he find himself almost enjoying it?

“So you would like to go and investigate that dark spot on the cliff. But you’ve already made a deal that I’m in charge of where we go today. So we need a new deal.”

Grif raised an eyebrow, and Kiernan’s heart raced. Playing this way with Grif was like toying with a bear, teasing it in a game that could go horribly wrong the moment the bear decided it wasn’t having fun anymore. It made Kiernan feel vulnerable, and excited, and alive.

“I’ll turn left,” Kiernan said calmly. “But we’ll take a break first, and while we’re taking this break, you’ll make me one of those eye-protector strips.”

“I offered to make you one for free the other day.”

“Since I refused then, I can’t imagine you’d be willing to extend the same offer again. Therefore I have devised a new offer.”

“Because you’d hate for the gods to see you actually owing me a favor,” Grif said. There was something in his tone, something more bitter than Kiernan had expected. But before Kiernan had time to puzzle that through, Grif continued. “Fine. I accept. And will we take our break now, Master of the Day, or later?”

“Now is fine.” Then Kiernan was distracted by the pain in his knotted shoulders as he shrugged his pack to the ground, and didn’t have any energy left to worry about Grif.

But apparently that didn’t mean Grif had no energy to worry about Kiernan, because as Kiernan eased his shoulders into tiny, tentative rolls, Grif’s hands fell on the exact spots the straps had bitten into and massaged through the thickness of Kiernan’s clothing.

Kiernan gasped at the perfect mix of pain and pleasure. Even though he knew massage was therapeutic, not sexual, even though he himself had performed similar actions on many of the healer’s patients—there was a stirring of interest in his cock. And that got a little worse when Grif leaned his head in so his lips were next to Kiernan’s ear.

“If you were all alone, there’d be no one to do this for you,” Grif whispered, his warm breath raising goose bumps on Kiernan’s cheek. He kept massaging, working through the knotted muscles with surprising skill, and Kiernan let his body sag back against Grif’s. His head found a resting spot on Grif’s shoulder, and his burning eyes drifted shut, the sun now a welcome source of warmth instead of glaring light.

And it felt just as natural, just as perfect, when Grif’s hands left Kiernan’s shoulders, one to wrap around his chest, the other to wander lower and then work its way inside Kiernan’s layers of clothing.

Allowing this invasion was more wanton behavior, more shameful self-indulgence, but Kiernan didn’t care. Grif’s rough grip on his cock was right, the cool air on his overheated skin was right, the steadiness of Grif’s body as Kiernan leaned into him, the scratchiness of Grif’s beard against Kiernan’s ear as he whispered words of encouragement—as if Kiernan needed them—everything about everything was right. He turned his head as his release approached and found Grif’s lips like a newborn puppy nuzzling for its mother’s teat.

He lost himself for a few breaths as he came, and he let it happen because he knew Grif was there, standing with him, holding him up, taking care of him.

Then, exactly as he had the night before, he returned to himself with a flush of shame. Had he really let that happen? Out in the open, when he should have been saving his energy for survival, for finding a way to do his duty, he’d given in to temptation instead. He was weak and stupid, and Vin had been a fool to trust him with an important task.

He stumbled away from Grif, and Grif let him go without protest. A few handfuls of snow rubbed in his face helped him get control of himself, and he made sure his clothing was arranged, everything tucked in and tidy, before he turned around and forced a smile. “So. The dark spot. I suppose we’ve had our break, now, so perhaps you can make the sun shield this evening, or—”

But Grif slowly reached up and untied his own strip of leather, then stretched out his hand, offering it to Kiernan.

“Oh, no, that’s yours. I shouldn’t—”

“I’m fine. We’ll be heading away from the sun anyway. You’ve already done some damage to your eyes, and it can be pretty serious if you don’t take care of it. So you should wear the shade for now. You don’t need to add ‘snow blind’ to the list of reasons you can’t take care of yourself in the mountains.”

That was a little harsher than Kiernan might have liked, but it was hard to argue with the general idea. “Thank you,” he muttered.

Grif snorted, then jerked his head toward the cliff. “Let’s go.” He waited, watching Kiernan expectantly. Then he snorted again. “You go first. It’s a lot harder to break the path than it is to follow in someone else’s steps, and you should be doing the hard work because that’s what you’ll have to do if you’re on your own. If you’ve already decided you can’t make the trip, let me know and I’ll take over—it’d be nice to get there before dark, and I’m not sure we will, the rate you’ve been moving. But if you haven’t decided yet, then you need to stay in the lead.”

Kiernan had decided, but he’d be damned if he’d admit it yet. So he tied the strip of leather over his eyes, then reached for his pack, muscles aching as he moved.

“I can carry the pack too,” Grif said from somewhere behind him. “Once you’ve decided.”

Kiernan wasn’t sure how long his pride would give him the strength to resist temptation, but he managed to at least get his burden repositioned and then make a start toward the cliff. He’d keep going for as long as he could. Then, when he couldn’t go anymore, Grif would be there. Grif would take over, and take care of him.

The man’s strength was maddening, and it seduced Kiernan into doing things he shouldn’t. Feeling things he shouldn’t.

And Kiernan was going to have to live with the smug bastard for the whole damn winter.

The cave was perfect. “Look,” Grif said, pointing to dark marks on the ceiling. “Smoke. Someone’s used it for this before. It’s a pain to get up to it, but we’ll be here long enough— Oh, sorry, I’ll be here long enough, so I’ll be able to build a ladder. Then we can bring in wood, and have the fire near the back so we keep most of the heat in the walls, and build a snow wall at the front, far enough from the fire that it won’t melt, and we’ll—I’ll be snug all winter long. I’ll bring in branches and strip the needles off to make a bed. And I can hear water running somewhere—once I track that down, I’ll be set.”

“Snow is made of water,” Kiernan said. “Is there a reason we—you need to find other water as well?”

“Not many fish in snow. But if that water’s deep enough, or if it leads to a lake that’s not too far away? I can build fish traps. It’s good to have a bunch of different food sources, so if one doesn’t work, the others might. Might even be able to dig for cattail roots or other plants to eat.” Grif stretched his arms out—he could almost but not quite reach the cave walls in either direction. “Not too big, so we’ll be able to trap some heat. We might set your tent up in here for a little extra insulation during the first couple days while we’re trying to get a stash of firewood and food built up.” He stopped. “But that’s an extra. If you decide to go, I’ll be fine without the tent.”

Because no, he wouldn’t let the kid use him as an excuse for staying behind. It wouldn’t be Oh, Grif needed my tent so I had to stay. Hells, no. Let the kid admit he’d been wrong, admit Grif had been right. Long-distance travel wasn’t possible through the mountains in the winter. It was common damn knowledge, but Kiernan hadn’t believed it, and now Grif wanted to hear him say it.

Petty? Maybe. But Grif was fine with that.

“So. I’m going to set up camp here. I’ll go set the snares before dark—you should come along, I guess, if you want to learn how to do it. We’ll gather firewood on the way back. No dinner, but hopefully we’ll have breakfast. And now that I’m camped in one spot, I’ll be able to set up more snares and build up a supply of food. Especially if there’s only me eating it. So, ready to go?”

Kiernan was clearly tired. Exhausted, maybe even, and a big part of Grif wanted to tell the kid not to worry about the snares. Grif would set them, Grif would get the firewood, Grif would go check the snares in the morning—Grif would keep on letting Kiernan think it was easy to survive in the mountains in the wintertime, and Kiernan would go off on his own and die of starvation or exposure or some nasty combination of the two. No. So Grif said, “Move it. We’ve only got a couple hours before dark.”

And Kiernan, to his credit, moved. Slowly and stiffly, but without complaint.

They climbed down the cliff face and set out into the forest below, Grif explaining as they went. How to set the snares, the best places to catch small animals, how often to move them—not that it’d be a problem for someone who was traveling—and everything else he could think of. He even started to explain about having to leave an offering and thanks for the forest animals, but he stopped himself. He didn’t think Kiernan would laugh or be dismissive, but there was no way to be sure, and it wasn’t a chance he wanted to take. If Kiernan laughed at Grif’s mother’s teachings, it would have been pretty damn hard to stay patient with the little bastard.

Not that Grif was being patient as it was. Not exactly. But he hadn’t clubbed Kiernan over the head yet, so he was giving himself some credit.

They found a fallen tree not far from camp, dry but not yet rotting, and took turns hacking chunks off it and dragging them back to the cave. Most of the trees at this elevation were conifers, so they’d burn easily but wouldn’t last too long. Maybe Grif would find enough stones to build a hearth to keep the fire contained, and they—he—could warm their blankets with the stones as well. It would be a pleasant winter, if they managed to avoid starvation.

They had the fire lit by the time it was fully dark, and they sat there together, staring into the flames, not talking about their empty bellies or the cold wind blowing in through the open cave mouth. They also didn’t talk about what they’d gotten up to together the night before, or that afternoon, even though Grif would have liked to point out that by any civilized measure, he was owed a little physical attention. But he didn’t want Kiernan’s attentions as a debt to be repaid; he wanted Kiernan to want to touch him.

He was a fool, of course, but that was nothing new.

“We should set the tent up,” he finally said. They’d have to anchor the ties with rocks rather than driving spikes into the mountainside, but that was no different than it had been on the frozen ground. “It’ll keep the wind off. That’s something.”

“You said you didn’t need the tent.”

“I won’t need it by tomorrow night; I’ll have a wall built over the front of the cave by then. But for tonight—” Except he didn’t want to give Kiernan the satisfaction. “I’ll be fine without it. Maybe I’ll get started building the wall—there’s a good moon, so I could see what I’d be doing. If you’ve decided to stay, I’ll want your help, but if you’re leaving, there’s no need. You’d be wise to save your strength.”

Kiernan just stared, the firelight dancing across his face and casting his eye sockets into shadows. Like a damn skull, as if the stubborn fool had already ventured into the mountains, already died and rotted and now was back to haunt the man who hadn’t saved him from his own stupidity.

That was an unpleasant little vision. No need for any more of it, so Grif pushed himself to his feet. He was tired, but he could still work, and he hadn’t been lying about the moon being bright enough to see by. It might make sense to work through the cold of the night, especially since he wasn’t going to get much sleep with the wind sweeping the heat of the fire away before it had a chance to do any good.

“We can put up the tent,” Kiernan said. His voice was rushed, as if he was saying something he didn’t want to, or something he did want to but was ashamed of, or . . . or something else. Grif was tired of trying to figure Kiernan out. “I think I’ll stay here, at least for a while. We can build the snow wall tomorrow.”

Because he was exhausted and didn’t want to build it right then. Grif should make Kiernan admit it. Humiliate him, remind him of his own weakness, make him less likely to challenge Grif in the future. It was the only sensible approach. But Grif had already won: Kiernan had said he was staying. The at least for a while part was simply another attempt to save face.

Which Grif should have crushed. Instead, he nodded. “Tent tonight; wall tomorrow.”

They set up the tent with only grunts and gestures for communication. While Grif built up the fire, Kiernan crawled inside. Grif found him there minutes later, curled in a ball, shivering under the blankets. He’d worked too hard on too little food, and his body didn’t have enough energy left to keep him warm.

So there was nothing sexual in Grif’s actions as he opened his coat and slid under the blanket, then pulled Kiernan close against his chest. They would share warmth and stay alive through the night. The next day would be a new beginning. Full of new opportunities for everything to go all the way to the deepest hell.