She seems to feel the same urgency, pulling me down onto the bed of snow that has formed beneath us, softer and warmer than it should be, responding to our mutual desire. Cold should be an enemy to human flesh, but she welcomes it, arches into it, her body adapting to receive mine in ways that still seem impossible.
When we join, the sensation is even more overwhelming than our first coupling. The time apart has intensified everything—the contrast of temperatures, the flood of sensation, the emotional resonance that transcends physical pleasure. Frost patterns spread across her skin from every point of contact, more elaborate and beautiful than before. Her eyes widen as she feels them forming, not just on the surface now but deeper, becoming part of her.
"I can feel you," she gasps, wonder in her voice. "Not just physically, but... everywhere. Like winter itself flowing through me."
"Yes," I manage, words difficult through the haze of sensation. "The connection... strengthens."
Her hands find my antlers, gripping their branches as if for stability in a world tilting off its axis. The touch sends shockwaves of pleasure through me, regions of sensitivity I'd forgotten existed. Snow whirls faster around us, creating a dome of white that insulates our private world from anything beyond this moment, this connection.
Our movement together lacks all restraint, all careful consideration. Primal need drives us, the separation having built a hunger too fierce for gentleness. My claws leave light marks on her skin, frost patterns following in their wake to soothe and enhance. Her nails dig into my shoulders hard enough that they would draw blood if my flesh were fully human.
The storm above us responds to our passion, snow and wind moving in rhythmic patterns that match our bodies' motion. The whole of my domain seems to pulse with awareness, winter itself celebrating the reunion of its guardian with the human who somehow carries its essence in her blood.
When release comes, it's simultaneous and overwhelming—a crashing wave of sensation that transcends the physical. For a moment, the boundaries between us blur completely. I feel what she feels—the exquisite blend of cold and heat, the human wonder at something beyond understanding. And she, I suspect, glimpses what it means to be a creature of winter, to feel the snow and ice as extensions of self, to exist in perfect harmony with the cold that kills ordinary mortals.
As we lie together afterward, her head on my chest, my arms cradling her against the snow that doesn't chill her human skin, I find myself contemplating the impossible. A future not spent in solitude. A connection that defies the boundaries between our worlds.
"I've been preparing a place for us," I tell her, the admission still strange to my own ears. "A new cabin, deeper in my territory."
She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at me with an expression somewhere between amusement and tenderness. "You were that certain I'd come back?"
"Not certain," I admit. "Hopeful."
Her expression softens further. "Show me."
We dress slowly, reluctantly, stealing kisses between layers, neither wanting to break contact for too long. When we're decent enough for travel, I lead her through the forest, creating a path through snow and trees that would normally be impassable to humans. She follows with complete trust, her hand in mine, occasional wonder crossing her face as she witnesses aspects of my domain invisible to ordinary eyes.
The cabin appears through the trees—larger than my previous dwelling, built from ancient pine and stone, windows glowing with the blue-white light I maintain effortlessly. As we approach, she slows, taking in the sight with a photographer's eye for detail.
"You built this? In a month?"
"Winter bends to my will," I remind her. "Stone and wood are simpler still."
She shakes her head, a small smile playing at her lips. "Of course. Why did I even ask?"
Inside, the space reveals all my preparations—the large bed covered in the softest furs, the hearth designed to warm the space without causing me discomfort, shelves built to hold her photography equipment, a desk positioned to catch the best natural light.
"You made space for my work," she says softly, running her fingers along the desk's smooth surface.
"You are a photographer," I reply simply. "It's part of who you are."
She turns to me, something like wonder in her expression. "How long have you been planning this?"
"Since the moment you left." The truth comes easily, without shame. "I didn't know if you would return, but I needed to be ready if you did."
"And if I hadn't come back?"
I consider this, the possibility that still exists—that she might change her mind, might choose her human world over this strange half-existence between realms.
"Then the forest would have reclaimed it," I say finally. "As it has many things over the centuries."
She crosses the room to me, her hands finding mine. Where our fingers twine, frost patterns form and fade in continuous cycles, the visual representation of our impossible connection.
"I don't know what this is between us," she says, honesty in every word. "I don't know how it works, or what it means long-term. But I do know I couldn't stay away."
"Nor I from you," I admit. "Even separated by an ocean, I felt you. Sensed you."
"So what happens now?"
