The rain beat down in relentless, icy sheets, turning the forest floor into a churning channel of black mud and floating pine needles. High above, the ancient cedar trees groaned against the gale, their thick branches whipping violently against a bruised, ink-black sky.
Grayson's grip on Mailah's waist was absolute. Every time her boot slid on a slick root or buried stone, his arm tightened instantly, absorbing her weight before her knees could even bend. He moved through the storm with a terrifying, fluid grace that seemed to defy the slippery terrain, his boots biting into the mud with effortless stability. His body radiated a deep, steady heat that created a small, warm haven against the freezing mountain wind.
"Grayson, over there!" Mailah called out, her voice nearly swallowed by the roar of the wind. She pointed her flashlight beam toward the small wooden feeding station near the ridge line where the ranger post's stray animals often sheltered. "The shelter!"
