He ducked inside.
The familiar shadows swallowed him whole. The cold stone walls breathed out their icy silence. He sat heavily in his carved chair and stared at the fire he’d coaxed back to life, watching the flames twist and claw upward as if they, too, were restless.
The bond inside him felt torn wide open—a raw, bleeding wound. He could feel the faint echo of her pain, like distant thunder. He longed to go to her, to hold her, to promise she was wrong about herself. But daylight ruled outside, and she had made it clear she needed distance. Even now, he sensed madness creeping at the edges of his thoughts—dark whispering tendrilscurling through his mind, urging him to break, to shatter, to destroy anything within reach.
He clenched his fists until bone creaked.
Footsteps pounded outside the cave, snow crunching beneath great weight. He didn’t bother looking up.
“So this is where you’re hiding,” Ketill’s voice rumbled from the entrance.
“It’s my home. Not hiding,” Gunnar muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.
Ketill’s gaze swept the room before he settled into the second chair—her chair. Gunnar’s stomach twisted. Wren had only sat there once, but he had already claimed it for her in his head. Now it was empty, hollow. Maybe he should give it back to Ketill and Andrea. She had admired it every time she’d visited. A fitting gift for a family who had given him hope, even if that hope had crumbled.
“So,” Ketill said after a beat, “when are you going after her?”
Gunnar didn’t move. “I’m not. She made herself clear. I won’t push where I’m not wanted.”
Ketill leaned forward, frowning. “She doesn’t understand what she’s doing. She needs time, space. Humans struggle with the mate bond. The idea of forever is heavy for them.”
“Did your mate struggle with it?” Gunnar asked quietly.
A small, nostalgic smile softened Ketill’s face. “She did. And that was after knowing me most of her life. It’s overwhelming—changing countries, binding yourself to someone immortal, blending families. She hesitated too. But love made the difference.”
Gunnar made a low sound of agreement. Silence settled between them, punctuated only by the crackling fire. Finally, Gunnar exhaled.
“Wren believes she isn’t enough.”
Ketill’s eyes snapped to him, sharp and storm-dark. “She is a strong woman. She came alone to a foreign land to create her art. She had no promises and no guarantees, yet she came. Where did she get the idea she’s lacking? Do you think that?”
Shock jerked Gunnar upright. “No. Never. She is everything.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “But Mother was here.”
Ketill groaned. “Say no more. Gryla speaks far too much and understands far too little about humans.”
“But Wren doesn’t know that,” Gunnar whispered.
Ketill sighed and leaned back. “Give her time. She is your bonded mate. The connection will draw her back.”
Gunnar pressed a hand to his chest, wincing. “It feels like a blade twisting inside me. I feel her drifting farther every moment. And the darkness claws at me. I don’t know how long I can hold it at bay.”
Ketill leaned across and gripped his forearm, a grounding weight. “You must fight it, brother. I know this battle. I waged it myself. But I believe she will return. You must have faith.”
“I’m not sure I can,” Gunnar murmured. His gaze drifted toward the cave mouth, where pale light seeped along the floor. “Hope is slipping. And the sun calls to me.”
The silence that followed was thick as stone, pressing on the air.
Ketill’s voice dropped low. “The sun is almost down. Will you wait at least until tomorrow?”
Gunnar nodded, exhausted. “Will you stay with me, brother?”
Ketill squeezed his arm. “Until the end.”
Wren suspected her guardian angel was trying to send her the same tired message again—Life will keep giving you the same lesson until you learn it.
Though honestly, she wasn’t sure what the hell the lesson even was. Yet here she was, trudging after Andrea across a snow-dusted lava field, the jagged black rock biting through the thin crust of white. The land rose sharply into the mountain’s base, all fractured stone and wind-carved ridges, and they followed a narrow path upward where the cliff face hid every hint of an entrance.
“Are you sure they’re here?” Wren asked, huffing as her boots slipped on volcanic gravel.
