Eli knew what he needed to do.
He also knew what it might look like, if anyone ever asked.
Still, nobody was here.
Just him.
Just the storm outside, pounding on the logs.
He reached for the buttons of her dress.
And her eyes flew open.
Wild fear.
Immediate.
She grabbed his wrist with surprising strength, fingers like iron despite the cold.
“No,” she whispered.
Her voice was thin and broken, but the word carried weight like a gunshot in the quiet room.
Eli froze.
He didn’t understand it at first—why a woman half-dead in the snow would be afraid of a man trying to get soaked cloth off her so she didn’t freeze from the inside out.
But the terror in her eyes was not confusion.
It was memory.
It was the kind of fear that lives in a body long after the danger passes.
It reminded him of his sister Sarah, and something in Eli softened painfully.
He lifted both hands, palms open.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay. I’m stopping.”
Her grip stayed tight for another heartbeat, like she was waiting for him to lie.
Then her fingers loosened, trembling.
Eli didn’t try again.
He didn’t argue.
He didn’t explain himself like he was owed understanding.
He pulled a dry blanket up around her shoulders and tucked it in tight, keeping the wet dress covered, sealing in what little heat the fire could give.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
