“There we go,” he says, ducking his head to look inside while he scratches both wolves behind the ears. “This will be good.”
“You want to sleep in there?” I cringe. “We don’t know what lives in there.”
He chuckles. “Abriella, child of Mab, killer of the false king, and future queen of the shadow court, scared of a little cave.”
“I’m not scared. I’m . . . cautious.” I roll back my shoulders. “Do you truly think no creature has made this place their home? Just because nothing is in there now doesn’t mean it won’t return later.”
His gaze slides over me. “I promise to keep you safe,” he says softly.
Something shimmies low in my belly. His gaze seems to be promising something else entirely.
Something much more exciting than simple protection. “Right after you,” I say.
He laughs again and ducks inside. I follow, thanking the gods for my ability to see in the dark.
Though the opening is low to the ground, the cave is tall enough that I barely have to stoop as I make my way toward the back. I scan for signs that we’re stealing a creature’s home for the night, but find none.
Finn stays crouched as he drops his pack and unfolds his bedroll on the ground. He grabs mine and puts it in the only spot it will fit—right next to his.
“Would it be safe to build a fire?” I ask, shivering.
Finn scans the rocks above us and shakes his head. “Not in here. That much direct heat can cause the limestone to expand, and then the rock can crack and fall.” He nods toward the entrance. “If I build it right out front, the cave should trap some of the heat.”
“The snow will likely snuff it out before morning,” I say, watching the heavy sheets fall.
“I’ll keep you warm,” he says.
My stomach flips, but before I can think of a response, he leaves the cave and begins gathering wood for a fire.
I peel off my soggy clothing and replace it with dry, clean layers. By the time I’m done, I can feel my toes again and there’s a fire crackling just beyond the cave entrance.
Finn stands at the edge of the cave mouth, staring out at the fire and the blowing wind beyond.
“I’m surprised the wood wasn’t too wet,” I say, already feeling the warmth trickle into the cave.
“Lantern oil,” he says. “Next best thing to magic for starting fires.” A little smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“What’s that smile about?” I ask, moving to join him. I pause for a beat, wondering what it would be like to wrap my arms around him from behind, to press my cheek to the middle of his back and feel his strength. Instead, I step up beside him and keep my hands to myself.
But Finn doesn’t seem to share my trepidation about touching. He immediately turns and pulls me into his arms. On a sigh, my whole body goes loose. I fit here. We fit. In so many ways we haven’t let ourselves explore.
He tucks my head under his chin and strokes my back. “This feels like a gift,” he says roughly.
I pull back and look up at him. “What’s that?”
“A night here.” He searches my face, then traces the line of my jaw with his thumb. “A night with you. Where I don’t have to share.”
He dips his head and brushes his mouth against mine. It’s not much as far as kisses go. Could even be deemed as innocent. Friendly. But I recognize it as the prelude it is, and it sends my heart racing.
“A gift,” he repeats.
I shiver. The sun is going down, and my fingers are numb from standing here only a minute.
“Come on.” He takes my cold hand in his warm one and leads me back inside.
I sit on our bed, my arms wrapped around my knees, and he shucks his damp outermost layers before settling down onto the bedroll. “May I?” he asks, extending one arm as if he’s about to wrap it around me.
I shiver harder this time, my teeth chattering. “It would be suicide to refuse,” I say, but I’m not kidding either of us. We both know I want his arms around me for reasons that have nothing to do with the cold.
We lie down beside each other, and he pulls the blankets over us before wrapping his arm over my stomach and pulling my back against his chest. My muscles relax against his heat, loosening.
“I never thought I’d be glad to be visiting the Underworld,” he says, his voice gruff as he strokes his thumb across my stomach. “But I’m grateful . . . to be alone. Without him. Where I can pretend you’re mine.”
My heart stutters. I roll so I can see his face. “And pretend you’re mine?” I ask.