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I step onto the root beside him, bringing me almost eye-level with his chin. “Holt?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

His ears shoot straight up. “Wren⁠—”

I cup his face with both hands and kiss him.

For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move. Then he makes a sound low in his chest, a deep, rough hum that I feel right through my own ribs. His hands close around my waist, and he kisses me back.

Oh. Oh, wow.

His mouth is hot and careful at first, as if he’s afraid he’ll break me. I don’t want careful. I slide my fingers along his jaw, my thumb brushing the smooth curve of his tusk.

He shudders. His whole body shakes, his fingers dig into my hips, and the hum in his chest gets louder.

I pull back an inch and look at him. His eyes have gone almost gold. He’s breathing hard.

“Did you like that?” I whisper.

“Wren.” It comes out like a warning, but his hands don’t let go.

So I do it again, slower. I run my thumb up the curve of his tusk from root to tip, and he groans into my mouth, low and helpless, hauling me up against him until my boots leave the ground.

He isn’t careful now. He kisses me deep and hungry, like he’s been wanting this as much as I have. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him right back.

The moths swirl around us in clouds of green light. I’m utterly lost in him.

Far off, past the ridge, thunder rumbles. A flash of lightning shows white through the canopy.

Holt lifts his head. He listens. Then he sets me back down on the ground, his chest still heaving.

“That’s the front,” he says, rough and low. “If it hits before we’re out, the creek will flood, and we’ll be stuck up here with no way down.”

He takes my hand. His fingers swallow mine.

“Come on, little bird,” he says. “We need to move.”

CHAPTER 6

CARRY-ON LUGGAGE

HOLT

I lead Wren out of the bowl via the back way, over the second stile and down through the laurel. The storm is right behind us. I can smell ozone and wet stone, and the creek below is already starting to roar.

The old fire tower is a mile downstream on the far bank. It has a roof, a woodstove, and a radio. That’s the closest safe place, and the only one we’re going to reach before dark.

“Stay close,” I tell her.

“I’m practically in your pocket.”

She’s right behind me, her boots in my prints. My mouth still tastes like her. Every few steps, I check over my shoulder. She’s there every time. I want to stop and kiss her again, but I keep walking.

The road drops down to the creek in a long, muddy bend. On the outside of the curve, the bank has gone soft as pudding from the rain.

“Inside edge,” I say. “Stay off the⁠—”