Her Last Protector

He had shot holes in it, of course—too far away, too tough to access, not enough natural resources—but had also conceded that it would be a damned good hiding place if one could get to it.

Drew watched Mirie for outward signs of exhaustion. She trudged along with her head bowed against the weather, the weather cloak snapping around her as the winds picked up.

Their luck had held until now, but Drew finally abandoned the effort to cover their trail. Instead he motioned Mirie to grab the other side of the branch. Together they lifted it high enough to create a sort of windshield to block the falling snow and give him some visibility.

He couldn’t miss the outcroppings that would signal the entrance of the gorge. They were close. He could sense it even though he hadn’t been in these mountains in six years. And when they finally came upon it, Drew very nearly stumbled in. The snow concealed the sharp slope, and he took a step into nothingness. His feet shot out from underneath him and the branch went flying, jerked from Mirie’s grip. She gasped his name, and he would have dragged her over with him, if not for the tree limbs he managed to catch himself on.

“Grab the branches,” he shouted. “We have to climb down.”

Unfortunately, climbing down also meant dislodging snow. The snow seeped into the hood of his poncho like frigid fingers of ice. And they had to keep climbing until he could locate the cave ledge, which ran a good seven meters along the ridge. He had a strong sense of how far down it was, and when he caught the edge of it with his boots, he was relieved to discover that they had come down practically in the middle.

“Step down, but don’t let go of those branches,” he instructed Mirie.

She clung to the boughs until he cleared the cave access, digging and kicking through hard-packed snow. When he could finally scramble inside, he used a laser for a cursory check of the interior, relieved to find the cave was empty and dry.

“Come on.” He helped Mirie disentangle herself from the branches and crawl safely across the ledge.

The access was low, and he crawled in behind her, paying attention to her movements, looking for signs of exposure.

She seemed to be moving normally as she sank back on her haunches and asked, “How on earth did you find this place?”

“Dumb luck.” Drew directed the light so he could see her face. “Everything wet has to come off right now.”

She nodded, her skin translucent, her lips pale. She was freezing. He reached for her hand, tugged off first one glove then the other before digging through his pockets for the last of the heat packets.

“Wet clothes off first. Then activate these. They’ll help until I get a fire going.” He searched her gaze. “Understand?”

“Yes.”

Drew headed outside to search for spruce branches his boot knife could handle. Mirie had called him prepared, but he wasn’t. He carried basic survival items necessary in these mountains and a few extras—training from growing up on a lot of acreage with several generations of Canadys.

“Drew boy, you never know what to expect. Life’s always throwing surprises at you, so be prepared,” his great-grandfather had told him back in his other life.

That early training had come in handy in the Marines Special Forces and as an agent stationed in a mountainous region, and Drew didn’t take long to shave the branches into kindling he could light with the fire striker he kept on his key ring. The sap from the spruce would burn despite the wet wood.

He returned to find Mirie sitting with her back against the wall. She had removed only her hat and cloak and was fumbling with her boots. Even in the dark, he could see that her pants were wet all the way to midthigh. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her efforts sluggish. Her body temperature was dropping, and he had to get this fire going fast.

“Get those clothes off,” he barked more harshly than he’d intended. “Unless you want my help.”

She growled impatiently in reply and tugged off a boot with what appeared to be monumental effort.

Drew set down the kindling, ditched his outerwear and fished out the remaining weather cloak.

“Wrap this around you. I’ll have the fire going soon.”

They were deep enough into the gorge that the smoke should dissipate before reaching the top of the ridge. The storm should be grounding any aircraft. Even that transport copter. He was risking a fire regardless. If he didn’t get Mirie thawed out, he wouldn’t have a princess to keep safe until the NRPG came after them.

The fire took some coaxing, repeated efforts with wet branches that would only burn because of the sap.

“You doing okay?” he asked, prompting Mirie while he willed the flames to ignite. They needed heat and light fast.

Only when he had coaxed a small blaze to steady life did he dare turn his attention away. “Come on. Get warm.”

“Okay,” Mirie said, but made no move to get up. So Drew went to her and found her fists still wrapped around the heat packets. Her boots were off, but she hadn’t even removed the cloak from the packaging.

“Let me help.” He made quick work of the poncho, then began the exquisite torture of helping her undress.

“I can do it.” She resisted as he peeled a sock away.

“I know,” he said mildly, massaging her slim foot between his fire-warmed hands, feeling the smooth skin, watching her reaction. “But humor me. How does that feel? Any pain?”

She shook her head, but he didn’t believe her and shifted to view her foot in the firelight. Her skin was red and icy.

“We can handle frostnip, Your Royal Highness. Let’s get these wet pants off. Trust me, you’ll feel better.”

She struggled to keep her eyes open, and made a few fumbling efforts to unfasten her waistband.

Drew couldn’t wait. He moved in to help, and she didn’t resist this time, which told him everything he needed to know about her condition. He unfastened the hook, then worked the pants over her hips, dragging her thermals along for the ride. She made several halfhearted attempts to assist by lifting her hips, but Drew barely noticed. Not when his fingers brushed her sleek skin as he peeled away the fabric, revealing a barely there thong and never-ending pale legs.

His breath galvanized in his chest at the sight of her nearly naked from the waist down, and ended that particular torture fast by draping the cloak over her middle.

With a hand behind her shoulder, he urged her to lean forward. “The coat now.”

“Okay, okay.” She swatted at his hands.

Her impatience should have been a good sign, but he knew Mirie. She would have to be unconscious to accept help without resistance. And sure enough, she leaned forward and practically melted into his arms, boneless. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by her, the feel of her body against him, the scent of her with his every sharp breath, the awareness of her bare legs so pale in the firelight.

Only knowledge of her weakness helped him focus on survival right now. Her collar was as wet as his own, so he tortured himself by dragging the shirt over her head, exposing the swell of her breasts and the sleek terrain of bare skin, her hair falling around her shoulders.

“Come on. Let’s get you closer to the fire. You’ll warm up. I promise.”

She only nodded, her teeth chattering audibly, so he sat back on his haunches and lifted her against him. Dragging the cloak around her, he carried her to the fire. She curled up in the warm glow, and he watched her, unsure how much of her sleepiness was exposure or shock.

He made quick work of his own wet clothes. Everything had to go. Thermals. Shirt. Pants. The lining of his coat was in fairly decent shape, so he kept that on. Mirie might not care now, but she would come back to life when she warmed up. He didn’t want their relationship to get weird. He counted on the professionalism between them. A lot.

After setting up a blockade of stripped branches at the cave’s entrance, he was content that they would be alerted to any disturbance. Then he went back to the fire.

Mirie was still curled in a pathetic ball, her teeth rattling louder than the crackling fire.

No, he hadn’t been adequately prepared, no matter what she thought. Not when all he had to protect her was a poncho and a small fire and himself. Not when all he could do was sit down beside her and say, “Let me in.”

He pulled her into his arms and curled his body around hers. She sighed, nestling against the meager warmth he offered, resting her head against his shoulder, burying her face in his throat. He dragged the cloak around them, tucked her fingers into his armpits and willed himself with every fiber of his considerable self-control not to react to the feel of this near-naked woman in his arms. No other woman would test him this way, only this woman. But he would not react.

Even if it killed him.

And with the feel of her soft curves against him, the scent of her hair filtering through him with every breath he took, Drew thought it probably would.

They had come to Alba Luncă for a funeral.