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.
Slumping against the rail, she tucked her hair into the hood. She dimly tried to tell herself it was a good thing Wolf had pulled away. She was always rushing into things without thinking them through, and it always got her into trouble. This was just one more example of her emotions carrying her away, all over a guy she’d known for only … she strained to count back and realized with some shock they’d barely known each other for a day.
Only a day. Could that be right? Had that awful street fight happened just the night before? Had her father’s fit in the hangar been only that morning?
But even knowing it, her feelings didn’t change. Her skin didn’t cool. The fantasy of being tucked in his arms didn’t fade.
She’d wanted him to kiss her. She still did.
She let out a sigh and, when her legs were solid again, ducked into the car.
It was a storage car, wide-open and stacked with plastic shipping crates. A square of moonlight fell in through the open doorway. Wolf had climbed onto a stack of crates and was busy shuffling them around to make more room.
Scarlet climbed up to join him. Though the silence was painful, anything she could think to say sounded trite and artificial. Instead, she pulled a comb out of her bag and started picking the knots out of her windblown curls. Finally Wolf stopped shifting crates and sat down beside her. Legs folded. Hands gripped in his lap. Shoulders hunched. Not touching her.
Scarlet scrutinized him from the corner of her eye, tempted to close the gap between them, even just to rest her head on his shoulder. Instead, she reached out and traced a finger across the tattoo that she could make out in the dimness. He went rigid.
“Was Ran telling the truth? Do you think they’ll kill you for leaving them?”
A momentary silence had her pulse pounding in her fingertip against his arm.
“No,” he said finally. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
She trailed her finger down a long scar that had once been a gash from wrist to elbow. “I’ll stop worrying when this is all over. When we’re all safely away from them.”
His eyes flicked to hers, then down to the scar and her fingers resting on his wrist.