“It does not matter if I was asleep.” His voice is firm. “The responsibility is mine. I will make this right.”
“How?”
“I saved your life,” he says simply. “Now it is my duty to keep you safe. To honor you. To ensure no further harm comes to you while you are in my care.”
Duty.
The word sits strange. Like we’ve time-traveled to some era where men swore oaths and protected women not because they had to, but because honor demanded it.
“K.” I step closer. Too close, maybe. Close enough to see his cock jump at my proximity. “I’m not angry with you.”
“You should be.”
“Well, I’m not.” I reach out before I can stop myself, fingertips touching his jaw. His skin burns against my palm—not uncomfortable, but unnaturally warm. Like touching sun-heated stone. “I was confused yesterday. And hurt. But not because you kissed me.”
His eyes search mine. “Then why?”
The truth tries to claw its way out. Because you pulled away as if I disgusted you. Because you’ve been cold and distant ever since. Because that kiss was the first time in years someone touched me like I mattered, and then you looked at me with horror.
“Because I’ve spent my whole life being temporary,” I hear myself say.
The admission shocks me. I don’t do “emotional.” Don’t expose the raw parts.
But something about K—about the way he’s staring at me like my forgiveness is important to him—makes the words spill out.
“Temporary homes. Relationships that don’t stick. Friends who drift away. I’m always the one people leave behind. And yesterday morning, when you kissed me and then looked at me like I was a mistake—” I stop. Swallow hard. “It just confirmed what I already knew. That I’m not the kind of person people want to keep.”
K goes very still.
Then his hand comes up, covering mine where it rests against his jaw. His palm is so warm it almost burns, but I don’t pull away.
The heat seeps into my skin, into my bones, chasing away the mountain cold and something deeper. Something that’s been frozen inside me for years.
“You are not unwanted,” he says, voice low and fierce. “You are brave. Strong. Sharp-minded. You survived impossible injury and still climb mountains. You face danger without flinching. You are—”
He stops, something shifting in his expression. His grip on my hand tightens fractionally, and I feel the tremor run through him. Not from cold. Something else.
His gaze drops to my mouth. The gold in his eyes brightens, pupils dilating.
The air between us shifts—charged, electric. Like the moment before lightning strikes.
“You are not a mistake, Mara.” The words come out rough, strained. “Never think that.”
His thumb traces my cheekbone, and I feel the heat of him everywhere. Not just his hand on mine, but radiating from his whole body.
Old blood runs hot, the woman said.
She wasn’t kidding.
I should step back. Should preserve whatever dignity I have left.
I don’t.
“K,” I whisper, and it sounds right on my tongue.
Something flares in his eyes, bright as flame, gone in a blink. His free hand slides to cup the back of my neck, fingers twining into my hair.
He’s still holding back. I feel it in the tension coiled through his body, in the careful way he touches me. As if he’s afraid of his own strength. His own heat.
