"They're taking the porch," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs as heavy boots crunched over the icy steps outside.
Rhys reached for his weapon, but a sharp wince caught in his throat. His face went deathly pale, the red stain on his bandage spreading rapidly under his torn coat.
"Don't move," I said, catching his good wrist before he could stand up. "You're going to bleed out if you try to take three armed men head-on."
"I am not letting them walk through that door, Vivienne," he gritted out, his jaw tight with pain.
"I know," I said. "So we make them regret picking this front entrance."
I scrambled back toward the small kitchen alcove, keeping my head below the level of the frosted windows. My mind raced through the darkened chalet. No heavy firearms, no armor, just wood
