"You should return to your people," I say, the words feeling like shards of ice in my throat. "Your life."
"And if I want to come back?"
"That would be... unwise."
"I'm not known for my wisdom." She steps closer still, fearless. "I think we've established that."
Her hands find my chest, warming me through the fabric of my shirt. I should step away. Should strengthen the storm and keep her safe from herself, from the madness of wanting to return to a creature of winter.
Instead, I find myself leaning down, drawn to her warmth like ice seeking the sun, knowing it means destruction but unable to resist.
Her lips meet mine, warm and soft and alive in ways I'd forgotten could exist. The kiss deepens, my restraint crumbling for the second time in less than a day. My glamour thins, antlers expanding slightly, frost racing across my skin in betrayal of my emotional state.
When we part, she's breathing harder, pupils dilated, her pulse a rapid flutter at her throat. "Tell me more about what you are," she whispers. "I want to understand."
So I do. As snow falls gently outside, as the day stretches into afternoon, I tell her of winter guardians and ancient pacts. Of the balance between seasons and the price of maintaining it. Of the slow transformation from human to other, and the loneliness that accompanies such change.
She listens with complete attention, asking questions that cut to the heart of matters I've avoided examining for centuries. When I speak of the bond that forms between guardians and those rare humans who can withstand their touch, her eyes widen.
"Is that what's happening between us?" she asks. "This bond?"
"Perhaps the beginning of one," I admit reluctantly. "But it requires choice. Intention. It's not something that happens by accident."
"And if we chose it? Intentionally?"
"It would change you," I warn. "Not fully, not as I am changed. But you would carry winter within you. Your life would lengthen, but not indefinitely. You would feel the seasons differently. Need cold as others need warmth."
"And you? What would it mean for you?"
I hesitate, unused to considering my own needs after centuries of duty. "Less solitude. More... humanity. A tether to the world of the living rather than just the realm of winter."
She absorbs this, expression thoughtful. "Have you ever bonded before?"
"No." The admission comes more easily than expected. "I've never met anyone who could withstand my cold. Until you."
"Lucky me," she says again, but the teasing tone has given way to something softer, more vulnerable.
"There's no need to decide anything now," I say, seeing the weight of possibility settling on her shoulders. "The bond is barely formed. It can fade if not strengthened."
Relief and something like disappointment cross her features. "How long do we have? To decide?"
"Days. Perhaps weeks." I glance toward the window, where the snow has thinned enough to see the mountains beyond. "But first, we must deal with more immediate concerns. The search parties will come soon."
She nods, practical once more. "And I need to go back, at least temporarily. Let them know I'm alive. Take care of things."
The thought of her leaving, even temporarily, creates a hollow sensation in my chest. The storm outside responds, winds picking up slightly before I regain control.
"Yes," I agree, the word emerging reluctantly. "You should return."
"But not yet," she says, her hand finding mine. Where our fingers twine, neither cold nor heat dominates—just that impossible balance we've somehow found.
"Not yet," I agree, allowing myself this moment of hope, this brief reprieve from solitude.
Outside, the snow continues to fall, gentler now but still insulating us from the world beyond. Time stretches differently here, in this space between human and other, between duty anddesire. For now, it's enough that she's here, warm against my cold, disrupting five centuries of perfect, empty winter.
For now, it's enough.
7
