Scarlet

Scarlet cried out, the momentum of the jump sending her spinning away from him toward the ledge. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders but his shirt ripped out from beneath her and then she was falling, the world tumbling around her.

A hand gripped her wrist, her fall stopped with a painful yank on her shoulder. She screamed, thrashing her feet as the ground whipped by beneath her. Blinded by the wind-thrown hair in her face, she flailed her free hand up toward him and grasped on to his forearm, squeezing as desperately as she could with slick fingers.

She heard his grunt—bordering on a roar—and felt herself being hauled up. She beat her feet against the train’s side, struggling for any traction, before she was heaved onto the roof. Wolf rolled her away from the edge, landing on top of her. His hands hastily brushed the curls from her face, gripped her shoulders, rubbed her bruised wrist, every ounce of his frenetic energy devoted to checking that she was there. That she was all right.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I lost focus, I slipped—I’m sorry. Scarlet. Are you all right?”

Her breaths shuddered. The world slowly stopped spinning, but every nerve hummed with the rush of adrenaline, every bit of her trembling down to her core. Gaping up at Wolf, she wrapped her fingers around his, stilling them. “I’m all right,” she panted, attempting a weary smile. He didn’t return the look. His eyes were full of horror. “I may have pulled something in my shoulder, but—” She paused, noting a splotch of red on Wolf’s bandage. He’d caught her with his injured arm, reopening the wound. “You’re bleeding.”

She reached for the bandage, but he caught her hand, gripping it almost too tight. Scarlet found herself pinned beneath his gaze, intense and terrified. He was still breathing hard. She was still shaking, couldn’t stop shaking.

Her mind emptied of everything but the gusting wind and how fragile Wolf looked in that heartbeat, like one movement could break him open.

“I’m all right,” she assured him again, wrapping her free arm around his back and pulling him toward her until she could curl up beneath the shelter of his body, burying her head against his neck. She felt his gulp, then his arms were around her, crushing her against his chest.

The train angled toward the west, the forest blurring on either side of them. It seemed ages before the adrenaline drained out of Scarlet’s limbs, before she could breathe without her lungs hiccupping at the effort. Wolf’s embrace never relaxed. The sensation of his breath against her ear the only proof he was living flesh, not stone.

When finally she had stopped trembling, Scarlet peeled herself away from him. The vice of his arms reluctantly let her go and she dared to meet his gaze again.

The shocked horror had left him, replaced with heat and longing and uncertainty. And fear, so much fear, but she didn’t think it had anything to do with her nearly falling off the train.

Lips tingling, she arched her neck toward him.

But then he was pulling away from her, the space between them filling with harsh, cold wind. “We need to get down before we run into any tunnels,” he said, his voice shaky and rough.

Scarlet sat up, heat rushing to her face as she was struck with an almost irresistible yearning to crawl toward him—not to get off the train’s roof, but to be wrapped up against him again. To feel warm and safe and content, just for another moment.

She smashed the desire down into her gut. Wolf wasn’t looking at her, and she knew he was right. They weren’t safe up here.

Not trusting herself to stand, she half slid, half crawled toward the front of the car, adjusting to the subtle movements of the train. Wolf hovered by her side, not touching her, but never too far to grab her should she get too close to the ledge.

When they reached the end, Wolf swung himself down onto the platform between the cars. Scarlet peered down after him and spotted the bag at his feet. She’d all but forgotten it, but now a surprised laugh fell out of her. His aim had been perfect.

And perhaps if she hadn’t kissed his cheek right before the jump, his balance would have been too.

Her nerves fluttered at the thought, wondering if she had been the cause of his distraction.

She sat down with her legs dangling over the side. “Showoff,” she said, reaching out and letting him catch her as she jumped down. His hands were achingly gentle as he lowered her to the platform, and lingered a second too long after her feet were firmly planted, or not nearly long enough.

His expression had become haunted and confused, his brow tense. Without meeting her gaze, he grabbed the bag and disappeared into the car.

Scarlet gaped at the doorway, waiting for the gusting wind to take down her temperature, burningly aware of the memory of his hands on her waist, her shoulders, her wrists. Her head was too full of the memory, the too-recent agony of wanting to kiss him.