My steak takes longer. I let it cook until the juices run clear, until the pink is mostly gone and the meat is tender all the way through. Not everyone’s preference, but it’s mine, and I’ve stopped apologizing for it.
The potatoes come out of the oven golden and perfect. I plate everything simply, his portion on one side of the table, mine on the other. Two glasses of water, because I doubt he has wine and I didn’t think to bring any.
It looks like a peace offering.
Maybe that’s exactly what it is.
I hear the rumble of his truck before I see the headlights. He’s back. The engine cuts off, a door slams, and heavy footsteps crunch through the snow toward the cabin.
My heart beats a little faster, and I hate that it does.
I’m not scared of him. I’m just... alert. Aware. Ready for whatever version of him walks through that door.
The handle turns.
Here we go.
7
TOLIN
The storm hits hard halfway to the clan’s storage shed.
Wind batters the truck from all sides, snow so thick a human wouldn’t be able to see the road. My bear’s vision cuts through it easily, picking out the path ahead even in the whiteout. Any human would have pulled over by now, waited it out. But I’m not human, and my clan needs this wood.
I grip the steering wheel harder and push through.
The shed is on the eastern edge of clan territory, a large structure built into the mountainside to protect it from exactly this kind of weather. I back the truck up to the entrance and start unloading, hauling armfuls of split logs through the swirling white.
It takes longer than it should. The wind fights me every step. But the shed is full now. Enough wood to keep every cabin in the clan warm through hibernation and beyond.
One task done. One more to go.
Mother’s cabin is a ten-minute drive from the shed, tucked into a sheltered hollow where the wind doesn’t biteas hard. I pull up outside and grab an armload of wood from the smaller stack I kept separate for her.
She opens the door before I reach the porch.
“Tolin.” Her voice carries that mix of warmth and exasperation that only mothers manage. “Get inside. You’re letting all the heat out.”
“Hello, Mother.” I stomp past her into the cabin, heading straight for the fireplace. “Just making sure you’re stocked up.”
Her home is the opposite of mine. Warm, tidy, full of small touches that make it feel lived in. Quilts on the furniture. Plants on the windowsills. The smell of something savory simmering on the stove.
I stack the wood by the hearth and check the fire, adding a few logs to build it up.
“Is there anything else you need?” I ask, straightening. “Enough food? Water? Candles in case the power goes out?”
“I’m fine.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Ronan was here this morning. He brought enough supplies to last me through spring.”
Of course he did. The dutiful Alpha, taking care of his mother while his wayward brother hides on a mountain.
I push the thought away before it can settle.
“Good.” I brush wood dust from my hands. “I should get back. Storm’s getting worse.”
“Wait.”
She’s standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, studying me with those sharp brown eyes. The ones that see everything. The ones I’ve never been able to hide from.
