But his voice carried a tremor of something that sounded dangerously like hope.
Wren smiled faintly into her mug, heart pounding as warmth spread through her—not from the chocolate, but from the man—no, troll—sitting beside her, shoulders hunched as he steadfastly refused to look at her.
And for the first time in her life, Wren Taylor thought that maybe, just maybe, she’d stumbled into exactly where she was meant to be.
For the first time in all his long years on earth, Gunnar had someonelivingin his cave.
He never tolerated company. Not his brothers—gods knew they were disasters waiting to happen—certainly not ahuman. His brothers could visit, bring their noise and chaos, but he always sent them away after a day or two. He preferred his quiet, his solitude, the peace carved into the rhythm of his days.
But Wren was different.
She didn’t just exist in a space—she filled it.
She moved like a spark catching on dry kindling, darting from one end of the cave to the other, touching everything, talking to herself, humming. She left trails of sound and scent wherever she went. Sweet, warm, a mix of berries and cream and something softer beneath—like wildflowers caught in sunlight.
She was a whirlwind. And he’d never realized until now how desperately he needed a little wind in his life.
Damn Gryla.
When he held Wren earlier—her small body pressed to his, the curve of her spine fitting perfectly into the cradle of his arm—it had taken everything in him not to kiss her. He’d felt her tremble against him, not in fear, but with something alive and electric. And he’d wanted to follow that current, to find where it led.
But he was a troll. Trolls and humans did not mix. Not really.
Even now, after all these centuries, most humans barely tolerated them. The legends of the Yule Lads still lingered in whispers—Gryla’s monstrous sons who once stole naughty children. People liked to pretend those stories had faded, but the old ones still eyed him with suspicion whenever he walked through the village market.
He made a living selling his carvings, trading woodwork and furniture for supplies, and retreating back here. Alone. Always alone.
Until her.
Wren was nothing like he imagined a human mate might be. She was softer and louder, full of motion and light. And somehow, she already belonged to the space as if she’d beenborn from it. The sight of her in his shirt—his shirt—made something inside him tighten painfully. The hem brushed her thighs, the neckline wide enough to reveal a sliver of pale skin and the shadow of her collarbone. The firelight gilded her hair, turning the strands a golden red as she curled near the flames.
He feared what that meant. He feared she was his fated one—the human who could break his curse.
And if she rejected him? He’d do as Uncle Eirik had done. Walk into the sun and let it turn him to stone.
He remembered his uncle—gentle, quiet, kind. Eirik had fallen for a human woman who hadn’t returned his love. The morning she refused him, he’d gone out at dawn and stood until the light devoured him. Gunnar still visited the stone figure sometimes, half buried in moss and snow.
He would not let himself suffer the same fate. And yet… he wasn’t sure he had a choice anymore.
The wind outside rose to a howl, rattling the furs covering the entrance. The temperature dropped sharply, the kind of cold that sank deep into the bone.
Wren shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, his shirt slipping off one shoulder. “Is it getting colder?”
He frowned, rising to check the door covering. “The storm is intensifying.” He could taste the magic in it now, faint and metallic. “My mother must have started something she can’t quite control.”
“Should we be worried?” She asked, her voice small in the vastness of the cave.
“Not unless you count freezing,” he muttered. Then, softer, “You should get under the furs. Warm up.”
“Where will you sleep?”
He hesitated. She must have seen it in his expression because she shook her head with a small, resigned laugh. “Right. We’ll have to share.”
The wordsharedid strange things to him.
It was a reasonable decision, logical even. He didn’t have another bed or room for one, but every nerve in his body reacted as if she’d whispered something scandalous.
“I’ll stoke the fire and bring more wood,” he said, his voice rougher than he meant. He turned away before she could see the heat in his eyes.
