Three days dissolve in a whirlwind of hurried preparations. Our urgency to outrun the next blizzard fills the confines of our cabin with thickening tension.

We move around one another with restless energy, our actions fueled by the need to be ready, to leave nothing to chance. Yet beneath it all, dread lingers, an unspoken fear of what can happen along thirty miles in the heart of an arctic winter.

The morning of our departure arrives with quiet reluctance. The workshop, once a frigid mausoleum of unfinished projects and frozen breaths, now maintains a bearable temperature, thanks to the coal that Leo and Frankie recovered.

Our packs are heavy with provisions, each item a preventive measure against the unknown. The thought of the pemmican waiting in the hunting cabin, potentially ravaged by animals, adds another pound of uncertainty to our already burdened shoulders.

I’ve made this hike countless times, but never this time of year. And never with Frankie. So I took our preparations to an excessive level.

I doubled, even tripled, our supplies of matches, bullets, and arrows, knowing the devastating consequence of a fire that won’t light or a weapon that can’t shoot. Each item was carefully waterproofed against the pervasive damp that seeps into everything.

The weight of our packs became a secondary concern to the assurance that we would have enough to survive. I packed extra bear meat, more than we need, just to ensure Frankie would have enough energy to sustain her through the demanding hike.

The thought of her going hungry, of her body succumbing to the cold because of a lack of nutrition, spurred me to add just one more piece of meat, one more pouch of nuts.

Even the clothing we wear was subjected to my over-preparation. I checked and double-checked the insulation, waterproofing, and stitching, making sure Frankie’s gear would offer her the utmost protection against the vicious wind. If she’s shivering in the cold, or if frostbite claims her fingers or toes, that’s on me. I won’t fucking allow it.

So I made lists. Checked them numerous times. Still, I’m not ready.

Have I forgotten something? Missed a vital detail?

If it were just Leo and me, we would already be on our way. But traveling with Frankie? It changes everything.

With her, I have zero tolerance for error.

In the glow of her ingenious tin lights, we linger at the door in the workshop, the time for saying goodbye hanging heavy between us.

A sense of foreboding mingles with the warmth from the coal stove, creating an atmosphere thick with emotion.

Leo breaks the silence first, his voice rough. “Take care of each other out there.”

His mercurial eyes linger on her, tinged with uncharacteristic vulnerability.

We share the same mind, he and I. A mind that spins with strategies and contingencies, each one centered around a single, unyielding priority.

Keeping Frankie safe.

Our love for her transcends the bounds of romance. It’s a fierce, protective force that drives us to extremes. Every step we take, every decision made, is filtered through this lens to the point of obsession.

In the nights leading up to our departure, with our woman asleep between us, Leo and I lay awake, going over every detail, ensuring nothing had been overlooked.

We became students of survival, poring over books and manuals, gleaning every tip, every trick to keep her alive. We went over the route a thousand times, recalling landmarks and potential shelters, should a blizzard overtake us. We argued about what-ifs, each scenario darker than the last, but we planned for them all the same.

Her medical training is invaluable. She already saved my life once. But if she becomes critically injured or unconscious, she can’t save herself.

So I practiced and rehearsed first aid, familiarizing myself with treatments for frostbite, hypothermia, and injuries from animal attacks. My mind is a catalog of survival techniques, each one earmarked for a possible future where her safety is threatened.

We weighed the merits of Leo going with us but decided against it. Someone needs to maintain the SOS signal when it snows. If that plane returns, we need someone here. There’s so much to do before the thaw. He needs to memorize the flight manual until he can recite it in his sleep. He also needs to hot-wire the plane. We never found the key.

She thinks we’re crazy, claiming that all our planning is over the top, the product of overactive imaginations. But out there, in the unforgiving Arctic, there’s a fine line between caution and recklessness, between survival and demise. Every extra bullet, every additional ounce of food, every redundant piece of gear is a parachute to keep her safe.

I’ll spend the rest of my life planning, preparing, and protecting her with a single-minded focus. Her safety is my responsibility, my burden, and my honor. I will do everything to ensure she returns from this journey unscathed.

Leo knows this. He trusts me with her life.

Stepping forward, he wraps his arms around me, his hug firm, the grip of a brother who’s seen too much, lost too much.

“Keep her safe, Kody.” A command sheathed in a plea.

I nod, the weight of his trust settling on my shoulders. “Always.”

Then it’s Frankie’s turn, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she faces him. The distance between them closes in a heartbeat, the rest of the world disappearing as she reaches up, her hands framing his face.

“We’ll come back to you.” A fierce whisper.

He pulls her into a tight embrace, his response too low for my ears. A private exchange that I pretend not to see. My heart twists at the intimacy of it. My stomach tightens with envy.

I don’t begrudge them or feel resentful, but I covet their familiarity, their closeness. I know Leo fucked her in that cave for five days. When they returned, his entire demeanor was calmer, lighter, glowing.

Not that I blame him. But I hate that I don’t know her in that way. It slithers into every thought and taunts me while I sleep.

I’ve waited months. Suffered her justified anger. Tried to earn back her trust. Bided my time.

When I think about how she was the one to kill Denver, I want to punch something. Like my own face.

I’ll never be a good man, but goddammit, I won’t stop trying to be a better one for her.

Still, my patience is fraying. I’m fucking starved for her.

While I’m not looking forward to this thirty-mile hike, I’m secretly, selfishly eager to have her alone for a month without my brother.

I haven’t stopped thinking about the shocking, squeezing heat of her cunt around my fingers. To sink my cock in that lush, slippery paradise…it’s unfathomable.

My dick swells in anticipation, and I have to mentally calm myself down. We have a long journey ahead. Weeks of walking, surviving, protecting her with my life, all the while keeping my senses on constant alert.

I can’t lose focus. No matter how beautiful she is or how alone we are, I won’t let my guard down.

Their whispering goodbyes melt into open-mouth kissing. It’s tender and desperate, filled with a reluctance to separate, a promise to reunite, and all the emotions in between.

I should look away, but I don’t. We’re together in this. Together in all things.

The kiss ends, but their foreheads remain connected as silent tears fall down her cheeks.

When they finally part, there’s a lingering touch, a longing look, each of them carrying the gravity of this moment, the fear of finality, the hope for forever.

It’s heart-wrenching to watch. I hate seeing vulnerability on my brother’s face, but it pales in comparison to the grit and determination that defines our existence.

She heaves on her pack and treads to the door.

I insisted she carry the lighter pack, redistributing the weight so that I bear the brunt of our supplies. My back will pay for it, but the pain is inconsequential compared to the peace of mind it’ll bring, knowing I’ve lightened her load even by a little.

As I turn to follow her, Leo grabs my arm and puts his strange, unmatched eyes right in front of mine.

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

I know what he’s holding back, the demands that burn in his throat.

Don’t touch her. Don’t fuck her. Don’t steal her. She’s mine.

His unspoken commands hit my chest and bounce off.

I twist my arm from his grip and grab his head with both hands. “She’s ours. That doesn’t mean she’s a possession, a toy to pass back and forth. She’s ours in a partnership. She doesn’t divide us. She multiplies us.” I bow my forehead to his, my voice hushed. “Claiming her is our vow to stand by her and cherish her. It leaves no room for jealousy, only pleasure. No space for division, only unity. We’re building a future with her, a life without boundaries, where we can thrive, share, grow, and fuck. The three of us together? We’re an unstoppable force. I know you know that. You want it. I see on your damn face. But it scares you. Fuck man, it scares me, too. Doesn’t change the fact that she’s ours. That means I will never take her from you. She loves you as much as I do. She’s ours, and I’m bringing her back.”

I lower my arms and scrub a hand over my mouth, stunned by how much just spilled from it.

He stares, blank-faced and mute.

“Say something, fuckhead,” I huff.

A muscle twitches in his cheek, another at the corner of his eye. Then he blinks.

“I think…” He sets his hands on his hips. “That was the most words you’ve ever strung together at one time. Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

“Did you hear anything I said?” My nostrils flare.

“Yeah.” He nods, scuffs his boot on the floor, and nods again. “I’m taking it to heart.” He leans in and squeezes my neck. “Especially the part about you bringing her back.”

“I swear it, Leo.”

“Okay, then.” He sniffs and steps back.

We turn toward the door and find Frankie watching us with tears in her eyes. She quickly spins away, pressing the heels of her gloved hands to her face.

Beautiful and compassionate. A deadly combination. She has no idea how alluring she is for men like us. Our need to protect and provide for her is impossible to resist.

“Ready?” I prowl toward her, prepared to carry her if she needs that.

She doesn’t.

Straightening her backbone, she opens the door.

With a final wave, we step into the cold, leaving Leo standing alone in the doorway.

“I hate this part.” She adjusts the straps of her pack and trudges through the snow.

“Which part?”

“Leaving. Leaving you, leaving him, it never gets easier.”

The miles ahead loom menacingly, but the promise of return, of reunion, gives credence to my response. “This is the last time.”

“What do you mean?”

“After this, the three of us never have to separate again.”

She considers that, squinting at her shuffling snowshoes. “I hope you’re right.”

Through hell and high water, I’ll make damn sure I am.

As quickly as a breath, the light of dawn comes and goes. In the return of darkness, we walk in silence.

The sharp morning air slaps our exposed cheeks and follows us like an uninvited companion. At least it’s not snowing. That mercy allows us to forgo the goggles.

The moment the cabin fades from view behind us, my senses sharpen, every nerve attuned to every possible danger and the precious cargo I’ve vowed to protect.

I position myself slightly ahead, setting a pace that’s brisk yet mindful of the physical demands on her. My eyes constantly scan the horizon, the snow-laden tundra, and the dense clusters of rocks that sporadically break the monotony of the white landscape. Every shadow, every change in the wind, is a potential threat, and I’m the barricade between that threat and her.

Despite the physical exertion of plowing through the snow, which at times reaches up to our knees, my mind never wanders from its primary task. As she focuses on maintaining her footing, I watch for signs of predators—wolves that see us as intruders or a bear displaced from hibernation.

As we approach a section where the snow appears packed enough to support our weight, I test it first. Offering her a hand to help her across, ensuring she doesn’t break through into a hidden crevice beneath.

My crossbow never leaves my grip, its weight a comfort and a reminder to remain focused. She carries a rifle strapped over her shoulder. I know she’s competent in its use and always aware of its presence, frequently adjusting the sling and checking the safety.

I love the way she moves. Even in the snowshoes, she walks with a determined grace, her vigilance an echo of my own, though tempered with an innate temerity that I find fascinating.

“You know,” she says after a mile of silence, “for someone who speaks in grunts, you’re pretty loud with your thoughts.”

I glance at her, the corners of my mouth twitching in what could be a smile.

“Hm,” I grunt, true to form.

She laughs, a sound too bright for the sunless sky. “What are you watching for? Wolves or bears?”

“Anything that sees us as a meal. I’ve fought every form of dangerous beast out here. I’d rather not do it again.”

She nods, her gaze on the dark horizon. “When I first arrived, I thought the biggest threat was you.”

“Why?” My eyebrows shoot to my hairline.

“Well, let’s see. You glowered and grunted and didn’t use words. You separated yourself from everyone, looking ten kinds of pissed off. You weren’t just physically distant from the others. You had this whole moody, detached vibe.” She waves her arms around, talking with her hands. “This murky, underworld air about you. All muscle and mystery. Totally unapproachable. Unquestionably lethal. I thought you were the scary one. The dark one. When I saw you the first time, leaning against the wall in the kitchen, I couldn’t breathe. Denver said not to worry. It would take you some time to warm up. Then Wolf started choking on a laugh like it was a private joke, and I was the punchline.”

Wolf.

Sometimes, I forget he’s gone. Then, like a sucker punch out of nowhere, his absence hits me in the chest, knocks the wind out of me, and burns my fucking eyes.

“I miss his laugh.” She swallows and looks away. “Even when I was the punchline.”

I should say something, soothe her with words, but I don’t have any. So I give her the response I’m good at.

I grunt.

She sucks in a breath that turns into a half-hiccup, half-laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Says no one ever.”

“Seriously, Kody.” She weaves closer, bumping my arm with her shoulder. “If we run into a bear, would you just give it one of your looks?”

“No.” I shoot her a look, not the one she’s suggesting. “I would protect us with my crossbow. Not a goddamn look.”

“I know that. I’ve seen you in action. But I’m not kidding. You would scare off the bear if you glared at it the way you glared at me that day in the kitchen. I mean, you scared me off for weeks.”

“I’m sorry.” My chest pinches. “I won’t make excuses for that. I was an ass and—”

“Stop it. I forgave you a long time ago. And given the circumstances, no apologies are needed.” She sighs. “I’m so glad we’re past that. Getting to know you guys was the hardest and best thing I’ve ever done.”

An inner fire unfurls inside me, radiating like a hearth.

For all the pain and trauma that Denver inflicted on us, he made up for it in one gloriously sinister action.

He gave us Frankie.