The Weight of Cold Ash

The orange glow of the safe house was long gone, reduced to a heap of smoldering charcoal six miles behind me. I waited until I hit the twenty-mile mark before I dared to stop. My legs felt like leaden weights, and the wind had begun a low, mournful whistle through the skeletal branches of the pine forest. The temperature was plummeting, that sharp, biting cold that doesn't just touch your skin but settles deep into the marrow of your bones.

I found a dry log, cleared a dusting of frost, and slumped down. My breath came in ragged, silver plumes. First, I jammed a wool hat over my ears, then I reached for the burner phone, sliding the battery back into its slot with numb fingers.

I popped a can of SPAM with a metallic snick. It was salty, processed, and arguably gray, but in this cold, calories were the only currency that mattered. I forced myself to chew slowly, rationing every bite while staring into the darkening woods. Thirty-four miles to go. Thirty-four miles of uphill terrain with a blizzard breathing down my neck.

"Please let there be wood at the cabin," I whispered to the empty air. I couldn't bet on it. The grifters I’d allowed to stay at the next site were sloppy; they’d likely burned the furniture if we ran out of logs.

I stood up, my joints popping like dry kindling, and dumped my bag to take a proper inventory. A leather belt, a coil of twine, and a small, silver-backed tarp. An idea formed—a desperate, heavy idea. I threaded the twine through the tarp's grommets, fashioned a sturdy loop, and slid my belt through it. Then, I began to gather. I hunted for fallen oak and seasoned pine, stacking it onto the tarp until I had a fifty-pound hoard. I cinched the belt around my waist, feeling the drag immediately.

I was about to step back onto the trail when the burner phone vibrated against my thigh. The screen displayed a string of digits I didn't recognize. My heart hammered against my ribs—a rhythmic, panicked thud. We had a rule, Serafina and I: always answer the unknown, because if you miss the window, the caller vanishes forever.

I pressed the phone to my ear. "Allo," I said, my Russian thick and guarded.

"It’s me," Sera’s voice crackled through the line, sounding smaller than usual. "There’s another blizzard on its way, Deppgrl. A bad one. I know you told me not to track your signal to closely, but I couldn't just sit here. I don't want to lose my only friend to a snowbank."

"Thank you, friend," I replied, my voice rasping. "But I am managing. I’m looking for a lean-to, maybe an old hunter's tent."

"Don't be a fool," she snapped, the fire returning to her tone. "A lean-to won't save you from twenty below and fifty-knot winds. Neither will those rags you're wearing. Listen to me—I would come myself, I would pull you out of there right now, but I’m being watched. I'm sending someone else. They have a fortified house. They’ll bring you in from the cold."

I looked down at the fifty pounds of wood dragging behind me, then back toward the path where the first flakes of snow were beginning to swirl.

"Sera, look at where we are," I said, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous level. "Right now, I can't trust anyone. And if we’re being honest? We don't even fully trust each other."

"Trust is a luxury for people who aren't about to freeze to death," she countered. "Deppgrl, please. Just this once."

"How will I know that the person I see is the person you sent?" I asked.

"You'll just have to trust me," she said. "I know you don't trust anyone, nor can you right now. I beg of you, please trust me on this. Once they see you, I’ll call you again, but the phone will only ring once. After it rings, delete that number and every other number I’ve called you from."

"I'll try my best," I said quietly, my knuckles white as I gripped the phone. "But you know what'll happen if they aren't the one you sent."

"You'll be the last person they ever see," she finished for me. "I’ve sent a text to my contacts in your area. I haven't heard back yet, but if you stay put, you'll freeze. Keep moving to stay warm."

The line went dead. I pocketed the phone and leaned forward, the belt digging into my hips as I began to haul the tarp and its fifty-pound burden through the deepening snow.

I began to deeply regret that I hadn't brought a windbreaker jacket and windbreaker pants. The wool I wore was warm in still air, but it was porous; the rising gale sliced right through the weave, stripping away my body heat. The wind was a physical blade, and I was unprotected. The only thing keeping the blood flowing was the sheer, agonizing exertion of the trek. I lost track of the miles, the world shrinking down to the rhythmic crunch of snow and the heavy, resisting pull of the wood behind me. My eyes stayed glued to the horizon, waiting for a shadow that shouldn't be there, and my ears strained for that single, sharp ring.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. Movement in the woods to my left.

I froze, the weight of the wood pulling at my waist. Through the curtain of horizontal snow and the tangled silhouettes of the pines, a dark shape shifted. It was too large for a wolf and too deliberate for a swaying branch.

I saw the gun before I heard it get fired—the silhouette of the barrel leveling in the dim light. I dropped face-first into the snow just as the muzzle flashed. A deafening crack shattered the silence, and I heard the distinct sound of the bullet tearing through the air exactly where I had been standing a second before.

My fingers, stiff with cold, fumbled for the knife in my back pocket. I found the hilt, drew it, and cut the twine off my belt with a single, desperate stroke. I rolled hard, my body heavy in the wool, until I was tucked behind the wood.

The fifty pounds of oak and pine were my primary shield, but I knew the other elements were working for me too. The brutal cold air, the screaming wind, and the thickening snow created a chaotic veil between me and the shooter, offering a layer of protection that the wood alone couldn't provide. It wasn't complete protection, but it was enough to buy me time.

As I lay face down in the snow, I remembered the dagger tucked deep in my bag. I discretely reached back, digging through the frost-dusted fabric until my fingers brushed the cold steel. It took barely a second to pull it out and unsheathe it. Moving with a sudden, desperate burst of energy, I got to my feet, spotted the shape of the person who had shot at me, and hurled the dagger toward them. I prayed it would find its mark as I dove back down, hiding behind the wood again.

The wind was a howling wall; I couldn't hear a thing. I waited for several agonizing minutes, my own body heat melting the snow beneath me until the moisture began to penetrate my wool clothes, chilling me to the core.

Finally, I carefully got to my feet. I picked up the knife I’d used to cut the twine and began a slow, cautious approach toward the spot where the shooter had been. When I found the body, the air left my lungs. It was Javi. My former lover and C’s cousin.

"Oh, fuck!" I whispered to the trees.

My phone rang once then stopped ringing. I knew it was Sera. I deleted that number and the others that she called me from. With numb fingers, I put the phone back in my pocket.

I reached down, gripped the hilt, and pulled the dagger out of his chest. Blood, dark and steaming in the frozen air, stained the snow and unknowingly, the clothes that I was wearing. I turned and headed back to my wood and my bag, my hands shaking. I needed to clean the blade. As I began pouring whiskey over the dagger, a voice cut through the storm—heavily accented and painfully familiar.

"Amore."

The whiskey bottle and the dagger slipped from my hands, thudding into the snow. I spun around, my heart stopping. It was Vic. I knew it instantly. I knew every single freckle on his face. I knew it wasn’t anyone pretending to be him. The world around us—the blizzard, the body in the woods, the biting wind—all of it vanished. I ran to him and was in his arms in seconds.

"Oh my god, amore," he whispered into my ear, his breath warm against my freezing skin. "I've missed you so much."

I clung to him, my fingers bunching the fabric of his coat. For a heartbeat, the cold didn't matter. The fact that Javi was lying dead fifty yards away didn't matter. But then the wind let out a particularly vicious shriek, reminding me that we were still standing in the middle of a kill zone in a worsening storm.

I pulled back just enough to look at him, my eyes searching his. "Vic," I rasped, my voice barely working. "How did you find me here?"

He reached up, his thumb brushing a stray, frozen hair from my forehead. "Serafina," he said simply. "She reached out to the only person she knew would never stop looking for you. But we can’t stay here. Javi wasn’t alone, and this storm... it will swallow us both if we do not move."

I looked back at my pile of wood and my bag. I was soaked through, the melted snow from my body heat turned to ice now that I was standing. "I have wood," I said, pointing to the tarp. "I killed Javi."

"I know," Vic’s expression darkened as he looked toward the body, then back to me. "We move fast."

I grabbed my bag and he reached for the twine still hanging onto the tarp. I followed him through the trees to where he had hidden his ATV. He worked with practiced speed, attaching the wood-laden tarp to the back of the vehicle. We both scrambled on, the engine roaring to life and cutting through the howl of the wind.

We drove for several hours, the tires churning through deep drifts as we headed closer to my second safe house. Before I could even find the breath to ask how he knew where I was going, he spoke up over the engine’s whine. He told me I talked in my sleep—that I’d whispered about this particular safe house more than once. Rather than head to it, he decided to take us to a fortified house he was aware of, an hour away from my original destination.

By the time we reached the cabin, my adrenaline had bottomed out, leaving me shivering violently. We stumbled off the ATV and he ushered me inside. The air was dead and freezing, but still—warmer than it was outside.

"Amore, we need to get you out of those wet clothes," Vic told me gently. "Strip and get under the blankets while I get the fire started."

Seeing I was frozen in place, Vic walked over. He helped me out of my soaked, porous wool layers, his hands steady as he worked. He carried me to the bed, pulled back the heavy sheets, and helped me in. He took my clothes, heavy with melted snow and Javi’s blood, and placed them into the fireplace.

Vic stepped back outside just long enough to bring the wood from the tarp in. He built the fire quickly, the first sparks catching and beginning to cast a dancing light on the walls. Once the flames were roaring, he washed his hands and pulled an electric blanket from a storage chest. He spread it over the bedding and set it to medium.

"I’m sure that you’d love a hot bath or shower right now but that wouldn’t be good for you," he said softly. "If I had you outside any longer, you would’ve had frost bite. Do you mind if I join you?"

"I would be offended if you didn't," I managed to say with my still chattering teeth. "I’d kill for a hot shower right now but I’ll definitely lay next to you for now."

"So, I’m second best to a shower now?" Vic murmured before kissing me softly. "You already did but you need to warm up first."

"It all depends on the plan, Papa," I said as I kissed him back. "Don’t remind me now."

"I plan on warming you up myself," he said as he slid his hand between my legs.

"Care to tell me more than that?" I asked, already knowing what his plan was as I reached for his hardening dick.

"No, but I ‘plan’ on showing you," he whispered as he bit my earlobe and began to finger my pussy.

He softly moaned as I began to stroke his dick, the heat of him a stark contrast to the lingering chill in my bones. My skin was still hypersensitive, every touch from his calloused hand feeling like a jolt of electricity under the hum of the electric blanket.

"You're still so cold, amore," he murmured against my neck, his voice thick with a mix of concern and desire. He moved his thumb in a slow, agonizing circle, finding my sensitive clit.

"Then fix it," I breathed, my head falling back against the pillow. I increased the pace of my hand, feeling the rhythmic weight of his dick in my hand.

Vic pulled me closer, his chest pressing against mine, the fire crackling in the hearth behind him. The smell of burning wool and Javi's blood was fading, replaced by the scent of pine and Vic’s own familiar musk.

"I told you," he whispered, his two fingers dipping deeper and his thumb still rubbing my clit. "I would never stop looking. Focus on this."

I let out a shaky breath, my moan catching in my throat as he hit the right spot. The shivering was finally stopping, replaced by a different kind of trembling. "Vic... please."

"I have you," he promised, his voice a low growl of possession. "I have you now."

Vic rolled on top of me, his weight anchoring me to the mattress, a solid shield against the storm still raging outside. He pushed his dick deep inside of my wet and waiting pussy. I winced at the intensity of it, my muscles still tight and sore. "Why did I let you go?" I whispered, digging my nails into his shoulders. "I kept thinking you during my travels."

"You don't have to think about losing me again," he rasped, his eyes fixed on mine. He began to move with a heavy, deliberate pace that forced me to focus on him. "I found you and that’s all that matters."

"My god, Vic," I gasped, my fingers tracing the familiar lines of his face. "Don’t ever leave me.”

"I won’t, amore," he said, his voice dropping as he increased the rhythm. " He leaned down, his mouth catching mine in a kiss that tasted of whiskey and the relief of being alive. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him in as if I could absorb the heat directly from his skin. The cold was a world away now, buried under the weight and friction of him.

We moved together in a frantic, desperate rhythm, each thrust a confirmation that we had both made it out of the woods. The silence of the cabin was filled only by our ragged breathing and the snap of the logs in the hearth. When we both came, it was a total collapse of the walls I’d kept up all day. I clung to him as the tremors took over, my face buried in the crook of his neck. He shot his come in hard and fast, screaming my name.

He didn't pull away; he stayed buried deep inside me, his hand push my hair off his face and his other was pinching my nipples.

“We’ll be here for a few days,” Vic whispered as he pinched my nipples with both of his hands.

“We’re not leaving this cabin,” I said.