Why was it so cold?
The wind was howling, blowing sand into Jack’s eyes and mouth through the open windows, and he spat uselessly. But the air was freezing, even with the sun beating down, sending shimmers of heat off the cracked black tarmac. They jolted over a crater in the road, the G-Wagon gears grinding as the corporal behind the wheel navigated the treacherous road. Jack reached for the A/C controls, but couldn’t stop the cold. Couldn’t roll up the windows either.
They took a bound over a crest in the road, and the landscape came into sickening, familiar focus, the long valley stretching out before them. Jack shuddered, his body shaking as he choked on the sand whirling into the vehicle now. But it was still so fucking cold, and Grant’s voice was loud in his ear.
“Is that a kid?”
Gasping, Jack opened his eyes. He stayed rigid, blinking into the darkness, his heart thumping painfully. Where the fuck…? He tried to move, but he was trapped, something binding him. Was he tied? Jesus Christ, did some sand rats get him? He could barely move his arms, and it was so cold, and he was fucking blind. He couldn’t stop the pathetic whine low in his throat, and he thrashed uselessly.
There was movement somewhere close by, and someone touched his shoulder.
“Get the fuck away from me!”
In the blackness, there was a soft voice. “Jack. It’s all right.”
He panted harsh and fast, and as light filled the space, he could see the puffs of his breath in the frigid air. Carsen kneeled beside him, sitting back on his heels after lighting the lantern hanging from the top of the tent. His sleeping bag was cast aside in a heap, and he wore his red sweatshirt and uniform pants with his fur slippers. He reached for a white pelt and pulled it around himself.
“It’s me. Kin. You’re not… You’re in the Arctic. Remember?”
“Kin?” Jack’s voice was hoarse, his throat raw. “Fuck.”
Kin reached into his discarded sleeping bag and pulled out a bottle of water. “Here.”
Jack’s fingers felt numb, and he struggled in his gloves with the damn zipper on his bag again, but got it down. Sitting up, he took the bottle in both hands so he didn’t drop it, and gulped gratefully. He shivered. “Sorry about that.”
Kin watched him. “No need.” He glanced around as the wind gusted loudly. “Finish the water. I’ll melt more.” He crawled to the door of the tent.
Jack’s pulse still raced, and he concentrated on breathing evenly and sipping the water. He remembered he had his own bottle in his sleeping bag, but he’d almost finished Kin’s anyway. He closed his eyes.
“Shit.”
“What?” Jack tensed. He squinted at the door, but could only make out the white polar bear fur around Kin’s shoulders as Kin blocked the entry.
“Blizzard.”
That explained the wind. Keeping himself wrapped tightly in his bag, Jack crawled over and peeked past Kin. He had the impression of movement, and could feel the stinging slaps of snow. “I don’t see anything.”
With quick movements, Kin zipped shut the outer and inner doors. “That’s the problem. It might pass by sunrise.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Kin shrugged. “Then we wait.” He checked his watch. “It’s almost seven. I’ll make breakfast.”
“Okay. I…thank you.” He held up the bottle and added lamely, “For the water.”
With a nod, Kin went to work. Jack watched him light the stove, shivering. The tent shook as a gust of wind shrieked. “Aren’t you cold in just your relish suit?”
Kin’s brows drew together. “My what?”
“It’s what we call the CADPAT.” Jack pointed to the camo pants. “Do you have anything on underneath?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he cringed. “I mean…it’s just that I’m cold in mine. Long johns don’t seem to do much up here. Gloves either.” He rubbed his gloved hands together. “Feels so much colder than it was the first night.”
“That’s because it is. Here.” Kin was in front of him again, and he was peeling off Jack’s gloves. “Thought your fingers got cold last night because you weren’t wearing these. The army should give you proper cold weather gear. These gloves are for shit.”
“They’re Thinsulate. They’re supposed to…” He lost track of what he was saying as Kin took his hands. Jesus, was he going to suck Jack’s fingers again? Here in the light? Jack knew he should stop him, but speaking was beyond him.
“You can borrow my spare pair of bear mitts. It’s best to wear cotton work gloves underneath. Works better than anything else I’ve tried. But your gloves will do as long as you put the mitts on top.” He started rubbing.
Jack’s hands were soon deliciously warm, and he had the strange thought as Kin chafed them that they’d burst into flames, like pieces of wood rubbed together. When Jack looked up, his pulse jumped. Kin was watching him with those intense steel eyes.
“You look like a dog,” Jack blurted.
The movement of Kin’s hands stuttered, and his eyebrows arched.
Jack’s tongue felt thick. “No, I mean…your eyes. They remind me of a husky’s. Jesus, I’m sorry. My brain isn’t working right now. I feel like I’m still sleeping.”
“You’re not used to being out in these temperatures. It’s called ‘cold stupid.’ It happens.” Kin started rubbing again. “And yes, my grandfather calls me Qimmiq. It’s our word for a dog. He means it fondly, of course.”
“Does your name mean anything? Kin…”
“Kinguyakkii. It means northern lights. Since my last name is Scottish, my mother wanted to give me an Inuktitut name.”
“It’s nice.” The haze wrapped around Jack’s head began to dissipate. Kin’s rough hands felt good against his. He had long fingers, and as a new heat pooled in his belly, Jack wondered again what they’d feel like—
Jack jerked his hands away. “It’s boiling.” He nodded to the stove, where the small pot of ice simmered, filling the tent with delicious warmth.
Kin watched him for a moment before attending to the stove, and Jack lectured himself on the inappropriateness of getting turned on by what amounted to first aid from a subordinate. That didn’t stop you before. He cast about for something to say. “The Inuit didn’t traditionally use surnames, did they?”
“No.” Kin opened a tin of what looked like flour, mixing it in the frying pan with some water. “The government used numbers at first. The missionaries had already changed many first names. My mother is Lutaaq. That’s her ancient name, but the missionaries called her Ruth. The government gave her a number: E7119. The ‘e’ meant east. We were either east or west.”
“I can’t imagine that. Having my identity taken away.”
Kin stirred the mixture in the pan. “Me either. In the late sixties an Inuk man went to every Inuit family in the north and asked them to pick a name. They usually chose the name of a respected family member or friend. That’s why our first and last names are interchangeable. And some people still have English names.”
The smell of baking bannock filled Jack’s nose, and he breathed deeply. “Is that still the influence of the missionaries?”
Kin nodded. “TV too. A mix of worlds.” He poured boiling water into mugs for tea. “Like me.”
“Was that difficult here?” Jack nodded his thanks for the tea and wrapped his hands around it gratefully.
After a long moment, Kin said, “Yes and no. There are a fair number of white people in Nunavut, and no one cared that I was half. But my dad left when I was young, and I guess I felt like there was something missing. That’s why I was dying to go away to school.”
“You went to the University of Alberta?”
He nodded.
“Is your father back in Edmonton?”
“He’s mining in South America. Never stays in one place for long.”
“And when you went to school, did you find what was missing?”
Kin’s smile was brittle and brief. “Nope. Realized there was too much of me rooted here. I’m not built to be a nomad like my father. My family’s here. This is my home.”
Jack wanted to ask about Kin’s brother, but held his tongue. He was liable to say exactly the wrong thing. Instead he listened to the frigid wind whipping around the tent. It had to be gusting at fifty kilometers at least. “How long do you think it’ll last?”
“No way to tell. We’ll just have to wait and see.” Kin leaned over and rooted around in his pack, pulling out a deck of cards. He held them up with a raised eyebrow.
“Sure. What’s your game?”
“Strip Jack Naked.”
Jack sputtered and choked on his mouthful of tea. Disbelief and a flare of desire warred in him. He tried for a light tone. “Might be a little cold for that.”
Kin was shaking his head, mortification etched on his flushed face. “It’s a game my father taught me. I think it’s also called Beggar My Neighbor?”
Not sure whether to be disappointed or not, Jack smiled. “I think my brain is sufficiently thawed to handle that. The stove really makes a difference, huh?”
“Yes.” Kin gave him an awkward smile before ducking his head.
There was something in his eyes. Was it an answering hunger? Jack had assumed Kin was straight, but the air in the tent felt electric—new. Perhaps it was just the storm, or charged particles from the northern lights that lingered somehow. Yet while Kin cut the fresh bannock into chunks, Jack dealt the cards and wondered what kind of game they were really playing.
“Still SUSFU?”
Kin snorted. “I’m going to assume that means something negative. In which case, yes.” He leaned away from the opening of the tent.
The icy air sent a shock over Jack’s skin as he crawled over. The world was a blank slate. Somewhere above them the sun was up, but when he extended his arm, his fur mitt completely disappeared into the white. He quickly zipped up the two shells of the tent and joined Kin by the stove. They sat side-by-side on the hides and wrapped furs around themselves, their toques pulled low over their ears. “Must be what, minus forty with the windchill?”
“About that.”
“Guess we’re stuck.”
“Or SUSFU, as you would say.”
He laughed. “Sorry, I don’t realize how often I speak in acronyms until I’m with civvies. Situation unchanged; still fucked up.” He thought about what he’d said and quickly added, “Not that you’re a civvie.”
Kin hitched a shoulder. “Being a reservist isn’t the same as serving. I know that.”
“It’s still important. You’re protecting our sovereignty in the Arctic.” Jack took off his mitts and gloves underneath before wrapping his hands around his hot metal tea mug again. He’d have to piss very soon if he kept drinking. “Sorry, I sound like a brochure. So tell me, what’s your favorite part of being a Ranger?”
“You really want to hear this?”
“I do.” He liked listening to Kin talk. There was something soothing about the low rumble of his voice. “But if you don’t want to talk about it—”
“No, I do.” He smiled softly. “I love being a Ranger. It’s one of the best choices I’ve ever made.”
Jack found himself smiling back. “Have you ever spotted a rogue sub?”
“No.” Kin laughed. “My cousin in Pond Inlet did a couple of years ago. Reported it right away, and they sent a plane to track it. I found a downed satellite once. Chinese writing on it. Ottawa sent someone to take it away. Most of the time we don’t see anything suspicious. Which is a good thing, I suppose. My brother—” He glanced away, suddenly rigid.
For a few moments, Jack didn’t say anything. But they were going to be stuck here together for God knew how long, and curiosity won out. Curiosity and an undeniable need to know more about what had caused Kin so much obvious pain. Pain Jack wanted to ease. “Was he older or younger?”
Kin was silent for so long that Jack was about to change the subject and ask about the first thing that popped into his mind—the benefits of tents versus igloos.
“Younger.” Kin took a gulp of tea, his eyes on his mug. “By eight years. We had different fathers. His stuck around and married our mother. They’re still married now. He’s a good man. Always treated me like his own.”
Jack watched Kin’s profile. His eyelashes fanned out over his cheek as he stared down.
“When my brother was born he screamed so loudly they named him Maguyuk. Howler.” Kin smiled fondly. “He was always getting into trouble the way little brothers do.”
Jack smiled tentatively. “I’m sure my older sister would have some stories to tell.”
“He was always an adventurer. He loved the army cadets program, and he couldn’t wait to join the Rangers when he turned eighteen. He had no intention of going south like I did. He was a great hunter. He stayed away from moonshine and all the shit kids can get sucked into. He’d always rather be out on the land than playing video games and huffing gas.” Kin was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant. “Me, I dreamed of going away to school. I wanted to live in the city and get to know my father. I couldn’t wait to go.”
The wind howled, and Jack shivered. He waited for Kin to continue with a growing sensation of dread in the pit of his stomach.
“Do you know how people die in a crevasse?”
Jack blinked. “I…well, they fall.”
Kin’s gaze was still unfocused. “Yes, sometimes people die from the fall itself. It depends on how deep the crevasse is. Other people survive the fall, but die from the cold. But there’s another way.”
Jack realized he was holding his breath. His tea had gone lukewarm, and he pulled his gloves and borrowed fur mitts back on. He waited.
“A crevasse is wider at the top. It narrows down as it goes.” Kin took off his furry gloves and held his hands up in a V, the heels of his hands pressed together. “People can get wedged in at the bottom. Their legs go through, but then the rest of them is too wide. So they’re stuck.”
The hair on Jack’s neck stood up. “Stuck,” he repeated, shuddering.
Kin put his gloves back on and brought his knees to his chest. “With every inhale and exhale, they slip down. Inch by inch, each breath crushes their lungs a bit more. Finally they can’t breathe at all.”
Although he’d seen some horrible fucking ways to die in the desert, the thought of slowly suffocating in an icy grave made bile rise in Jack’s throat. “God. I’m sorry.” He wanted to reach for Kin and draw him near, but he didn’t.
“Maguyuk was seventeen. Never did get his Rangers sweatshirt. They tried to save him—his friends. But they were too late.” Kin inhaled sharply. “If I’d been here…”
“It’s not your fault.” Jack knew the words were empty, but he didn’t have any others. Memories of the steaming desert road crashed through his mind, and his scars itched fiercely. He bared his right hand and scratched at the back of his neck and shoulder, wishing he could reach lower.
“I might have saved him. Or at least…been there. Not two thousand kilometers away.”
“Being there isn’t always better,” Jack said quietly.
Kin looked at him now, his pale eyes intent and sorrowful. “Maybe not, but I’ll never know.”
Jack did reach for him then, just a hand on Kin’s shoulder through all their layers. The moment stretched out, and Jack hadn’t wanted to kiss someone so badly in as long as he could remember. He wanted to kiss away the sadness and make Kin smile again. His gaze dropped to Kin’s mouth. Kin’s lips were lush and slightly chapped at the corners. Only inches separated them, and he would just have to lean over to taste—
Kin shot to his feet, stooping over in the confines of the tent as he dropped his fur and spun around to rummage in a box. “I should call Donald. Let him know we’re stuck.”
“Uh-huh.” Jack concentrated on breathing and keeping his tone normal. The air was thick with a new tension that had descended on them as swiftly as the blizzard. He cleared his throat awkwardly and asked, “You have a shortwave radio, right?”
Kin didn’t look at him. “Yes, but I bring my own sat phone. The radio can be unreliable.”
He dialed, and a minute later he was speaking Inuktitut, presumably to Donald. Jack felt like an idiot just sitting there. He had to piss, and maybe the frigid conditions would whip some sense back into him. He put on his parka, and was unzipping the outer shell of the tent when Kin grabbed his arm.
“What are you doing?”
“Just going for a piss.”
Kin said something else in Inuktitut into the phone and turned it off. “You can’t go out alone.”
Unreasonable irritation spiked in Jack. “I think I’m capable to going to the bathroom by myself. Been doing it since I was three.” He pulled his arm free, the urge to kiss Kin still raring in him like a revving engine going nowhere. He needed a minute to himself to get his head—and dick—back under control.
“You could get disoriented in two steps. That’s all it takes.” Kin jerked him back from the tent entrance by his arm. “You’re not getting lost out there on my watch.”
The contrary part of Jack wanted to charge outside anyway, but obviously Kin was right. “So what do I do?”
Kin rooted around in a box and held up a two-liter bottle. “Our very own portable outhouse.”
Jack took the bottle, afraid to ask what the procedure was for taking a dump. He made his way through his layers and relieved himself in the bottle on his knees, turning into the corner, the sound of his stream of urine loud in the tent. He ached to stand up and stretch his legs. The tent felt smaller and smaller with each passing hour. “Did Donald know when the weather will clear?”
“By tomorrow, he thinks. It’s not as bad up there. All we can do is wait.”
“Terrific,” Jack muttered. “This mission was a jug fuck from the get-go.”
“It’s not like I’m having the time of my life stuck here with you either,” Kin snapped.
Jack zipped up and screwed on the lid of the plastic bottle. Turning, he saw Kin was shutting off the stove. “It’s too cold in here without that.”
“We don’t know how long we’ll be here. Have to conserve fuel. Bundle up.” Kin picked up the urine bottle and went to the corner.
The fact that Kin was once again right didn’t dampen Jack’s irritation. He huffed a little as he sat cross-legged on his sleeping bag. His nerves were rubbed raw with not only the cold—but the stubborn heat coiled low in his belly. Just touching his dick to piss had him twitching and on edge. If he was alone he’d jerk off hard and fast. “Why the fuck would anyone live up here,” he muttered.
“If you don’t want to be here, why did you come?” Kin’s eyes flashed as he whipped around. He was on his knees a few feet away, his jaw tight as he zipped his camo pants.
“I don’t want to be anywhere!” Jack yelled, and as the words hung in the cold air, something cracked open inside him, brittle and jagged.
I don’t want to be anywhere.
Blinking, Kin sat on his heels.
The fissure widened, and Jack sucked in a breath, words tripping out, slicing his tongue. “The years I was in Afghanistan, I usually wanted to be anywhere else. And now it’s over, and what? We won? We lost? What was the point? What changed? Why the fuck did we bother?”
Kin watched him silently.
He wanted to stop them, but the words didn’t. “I spent a month in the hospital before I could come home, and when I did, nothing was the same. It was, but it wasn’t. My parents still live in the same house in Kanata, but instead of cornfields out back there’s another subdivision. Bill and Carol still play rummy every Thursday night with the neighbors down the street, but the Johnsons next door moved out west a few years ago.”
Jack scrubbed his face with his fur mitts. He needed to stop rambling, but he couldn’t. “My folks kept saying how good it was to have me home. My old room is a generic guest room now, but I laid there staring at the same ceiling I did when I was a dumb kid trying to figure out why I didn’t like girls the way my friends did. It was all I could do. Lie there and wonder why the fuck I was still alive and he wasn’t.”
Jack shuddered, struggling to breathe as he was bombarded with flashes of Grant—smile, laugh, kisses, resigned sigh.
Kin still waited with sad eyes.
“It wasn’t any better once I went back to my condo downtown in Ottawa. My friends were all glad to have me home, and every weekend they wanted to go out for drinks and dinner in the Market. I went a few times before I started making up excuses. It was easier to stay home with Neville. Dogs don’t ask questions.” He laughed bitterly. “Grant was allergic to dogs. He wanted to buy a house together when our tour was up, and I used Neville as an excuse every chance I got. Nice, huh?”
Kin opened his mouth, but closed it again without saying anything.
Jack realized he was trembling, and wrapped his arms around himself. “The brass gave me the desk job, and I thought it would be a good change after the sand box. But I hate it. I’m no good at it. They know it and I know it. The colonel sent me here to give me another chance. He shouldn’t have bothered. Nothing works anymore. It’s all fucked. I’m fucked.”
The wind shrieked as if in agreement, and the tent shook. Jack squeezed his eyes shut against Kin’s sympathetic gaze. I’m pathetic. Did I just say all that out loud? Fuck me. Fucking fuck. He scrambled to his knees. “I need to get out of here. I need air. I need—”
His eyes popped open as Kin’s arms went around him. Rigid, his breath frozen in his lungs, Jack didn’t move. Through their bulky layers, Kin held him, his arms strong and secure. Jack sucked in a breath, pressing his face to Kin’s throat. It was warm and rough with stubble, and he gripped Kin’s sides, breathing hard.
For a long while, Kin held him and murmured something in Inuktitut, and Jack’s pulse slowed as he listened to the rumble of Kin’s voice and the rhythm of the words. They had turned off the lantern since the sun was up, but with the driving snow the tent was dim. He closed his eyes.
Stranded on the barren tundra, countless miles from anything except deadly ice and polar bears, he felt safe.
Kin must have taken off his gloves, because Jack felt those long fingers against his head, stealing under his toque and rubbing through his short hair. Jack pulled off his hat, eager for more contact, turning into Kin’s touch like Neville when he wanted a tummy scratch. Stop before this goes too far. He’s only being kind. He doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want you.
Every instinct screamed at him to stay put, but Jack leaned back. He was an army captain—he couldn’t cross the line with a subordinate. He met Kin’s gaze, and a jolt blazed through him at the darkness in Kin’s eyes.
“I want to touch you,” Kin said. “If you—”
Jack lunged for Kin’s mouth, swallowing the rest of his words with a moan as their lips met and parted, tongues already seeking and exploring. Kin tasted like tea and the iron of the raw seal meat they’d eaten a few hours ago, and Jack reveled in it, his blood stirring as he stroked Kin’s tongue with his own.
The stubble on their cheeks rasped together, and Jack yanked off his mitts and Kin’s hat so he could tangle his fingers in Kin’s short, thick hair.
They were wearing far too many clothes, and Jack tugged and struggled to touch flesh. He growled as he encountered another layer, and Kin broke the kiss, laughing. His eyes were alight, and he held Jack’s face in his hands to kiss him again soundly.
He whispered against Jack’s lips. “Best way to stay warm is skin to skin.”
Jack wanted to say something clever, but all he could manage was, “Yes.” He licked across Kin’s lower lip.
Getting their clothes off took a frustratingly long time, and when Jack reached his final thermal shirt, he hesitated. His fingers gripped the hem, and he didn’t move. The light was murky enough that Kin probably wouldn’t even see, but his heart still skipped. He was naked from the waist down, and he needed to just rip off the shirt and get under the blankets.
Kin was naked, and he was zipping their sleeping bags together and good God. Jack forgot about his scars and everything else as he took in Kin’s gorgeous body. Under his Ranger uniform he was lean and muscular, and a dark trail of hair led down from his bellybutton to his thick, uncut cock. It was hard, and Jack’s mouth watered at the thought of filling his mouth with it as it swelled.
“Jack?”
Blinking, he realized Kin was frowning at him. Likely because Jack was still wearing his shirt, and was clutching the hem so tightly the material had ripped. He flushed to the tips of his ears at the thought of Kin seeing how ugly he was when Kin was so breathtaking. “I…” Might as well spit it out. “There are scars. It’s fine.” With a deep breath, he shrugged out of the shirt and shimmied beneath Kin into their joint sleeping bag.
Then they were naked together, the pelts and furs under them soft against Jack’s head. The marks that rained down Jack’s back were hidden from sight, and he let himself stop worrying as he tasted Kin’s mouth again, Kin a welcome weight on top of him.
The air felt wet in their cocoon as they kissed and rutted together, skin getting slick. Jack had started getting hard the moment their lips first met, and now he was straining against his belly, a jolt of fire sparking through him every time his cock rubbed against Kin’s throbbing flesh. After being so cold, now Jack couldn’t imagine it, his body thrumming with fever.
He bit back a moan as Kin ducked down to lick and suck Jack’s nipples. Neither of them had much hair on their chests, and Jack ran his hands over Kin’s smooth skin, touching everywhere he could reach as he bucked up against Kin’s hips.
Kin groaned. “Good,” he muttered. “Good.”
Their harsh pants were loud, and Jack barely recognized his own needy cries. He was leaking, and he needed release. Wrapping one leg around Kin’s hip, he arched up. “Please,” he croaked.
As Kin licked his palm and took Jack’s cock in his hand, Jack thought he might come right there. His toes curled, his muscles clenching. He kissed Kin messily, their teeth clashing. Their pants filled his ears in the cocoon of sleeping bags and furs, and Kin was shadowed above him, holding himself up on his elbow as he jerked Jack with a firm grip, his thumb sliding over the slit.
“You’re cut,” he muttered. “I was wondering. I like it.”
Jack stared into Kin’s silvery eyes in the murky light, gasping and thrusting up into his hand. The wind and the storm and the rest of the world was gone, and this was everything—the touch of Kin’s hand and the warmth of his breath as he murmured encouragement.
With a gasp, Jack came in long spurts. He opened his mouth, shuddering with each pulse, the release so intense that colors swam before his eyes the way they did when they lit up the Arctic sky.