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The mountain pass was a jagged maw of granite and ice, and as the convoy climbed higher, the temperature inside the truck's cab plummeted. The heater rattled, struggling against the thin, freezing air of the Alps.
Outside, the world was a swirling vortex of white and grey. Lexa stared through the windshield, her eyes straining against the thickening fog, until the lead truck's headlights illuminated a wall of debris.
"Stop!" she commanded, her voice sharp.
Killian slammed on the brakes, the massive tires of the transport hissing and skidding on the slush before coming to a dead halt inches from a massive pile of shattered rock and uprooted pines. Behind them, the other two trucks groaned to a stop, their air brakes echoing through the silent peaks.
"A rockslide?" Lexa muttered, her hand moving instinctively to the holster at her hip.
Killian leaned forward, his nostrils flaring as he scented the air through the vents. His amber eyes shifted, the pupils dilating into wide, obsidian circles. "No. This wasn't natural. Look at the edges of the trunks, they've been clawed through, not snapped. This was a Rogue roadblock. They wanted us to stop here."
Vincenzo's voice crackled over the radio. "Boss, we're sitting ducks out here. The thermal scanners are picking up movement in the tree line. Too many for a skirmish."
"There's a Romano safe house two miles back, tucked into the ridge," Lexa said, her mind switching into tactical overdrive. "It's a bunker built into the cliffside. We can't move the trucks through this mess until dawn when we can get the plow-gear out. We move the convoy back and dig in."
The retreat was a tense, slow-motion crawl. By the time they reached the hidden stone structure, the blizzard had turned into a screaming gale. The Romano soldiers scrambled to secure the trucks under the camouflaged overhang, while Lexa and Killian climbed the narrow stairs to the living quarters above the garage.
The safe house was a relic of the Cold War, concrete walls, a heavy steel door, and a single, central room designed for survival, not comfort. It was freezing.
"Vincenzo, take the first watch with the men in the garage," Lexa ordered, her breath blooming in a white cloud. "Killian and I will take the upper floor. If a single wolf breathes near that silver, I want to hear about it."
Vincenzo nodded, his eyes lingering on Killian with a warning glare before he descended the stairs.
The door clicked shut, leaving Lexa and Killian in a space that felt suddenly, agonizingly small.
The room contained a small wood-burning stove, a stack of dry pine, and a single, narrow bunk pushed against the far wall. There was no electricity, only the flickering orange glow of a battery-powered lantern Lexa had set on the table.
Killian went straight to the stove. He knelt, his large hands moving with efficient speed as he built a fire. Within minutes, the dry wood caught, and a soft, golden warmth began to bleed into the room.
"You're shivering," Killian said without looking back.
"I'm fine," Lexa snapped, though her teeth were nearly chattering. She stood by the crates of supplies, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
"Lexa. Pride won't keep you from getting pneumonia. Sit by the fire."
She wanted to refuse, but the cold was a physical ache in her bones. She walked over, sinking onto the small wooden bench near the stove. The heat felt like a miracle. As the ice in her veins began to thaw, the silence of the room became its own kind of pressure.
"The Rogues are getting bolder," Killian said, his voice low as he watched the flames. "They wouldn't have dared a roadblock this close to the border five years ago. My absence has cost the Pack more than just territory. It cost them their fear."
"Is that why you're so desperate to get back?" Lexa asked, her voice softening despite herself. "To be the big, bad Alpha again?"
Killian turned his head, looking at her over his shoulder. The firelight played across the jagged line of his jaw and the dark leather of the collar he still wore. "I'm not desperate for the throne, Lexa. I'm desperate for the debt to be paid. I left them vulnerable. I left you vulnerable. Every Rogue we saw today is a ghost of a mistake I made the night I let my ego win."
Lexa looked away, unable to hold his gaze. "You keep talking about mistakes. But you haven't seen the world I had to build because of them. Leo isn't a mistake. My Syndicate isn't a mistake."
"I never said he was," Killian stood up, moving toward her. The floorboards groaned under his weight. He stopped a few feet away, sensing the invisible wall she had built. "He is the best of us. But he shouldn't have had to grow up in a fortress, Lexa. And you shouldn't have had to become a woman who treats her own heart like an enemy."
"My heart is the enemy," she whispered, the firelight reflecting in the unshed tears in her eyes. "It's the only thing that can be used against me. The only thing that makes me weak."
"Is that what you felt in the med-bay? Weakness?"
Lexa's head snapped up, the old anger returning to shield her. "I told you not to mention that."
"I don't care what you told me," Killian said, taking the final step into her space. He sat on the bench beside her, his massive frame dwarfing hers. "You're trying to hate me because it's safer than remembering that you loved me. You're being cruel to me because you're terrified that if you're kind, I'll find a way to break you again."
"I am the Shadow Queen," she rasped, her voice trembling. "I don't break."
"Everyone breaks, Alessandra. Even stones."
He reached out, and this time, he didn't wait for permission. He draped a heavy wool blanket over her shoulders, his hands lingering on the fabric. The proximity was electric. The scent of the woodsmoke mixed with his musk, filling her senses until she couldn't think, couldn't calculate, couldn't be a Queen.
The wind howled against the stone walls, shaking the entire structure. Outside, the Rogues were waiting. Inside, the fire was dying down to a low, rhythmic pulse.
Lexa looked at the single bunk in the corner, then back at Killian. The tension from the truck, the embarrassment of the morning, and the fear of the mountains all converged into a single, sharp point of realization.
"There's only one bed," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Killian looked at the narrow cot, then back at her, his amber eyes burning with a promise he hadn't yet voiced. "I'll take the floor, Lexa. I've slept in worse places."
"No," she said, and the word surprised even her. She looked at him, the ice finally cracking in the heat of the fire. "It's too cold for the floor. And I... I don't want to be alone tonight."
She didn't look at him as she walked toward the bunk. She lay down, her back to the room, leaving exactly half the space for the man who had been her ruin and was now her only shield.
The bed dipped as Killian lay down behind her. He didn't touch her, not yet but the heat from his body rolled over her like a tide. For the first time in five years, the silence didn't feel like a cage.
"I'm still not yours, Killian," she whispered into the dark.
"I know," his voice rumbled against her back, a steady, grounding anchor. "But I'm yours. Whether you want me or not."