"Then what is?"
I hesitate, not knowing what I'm trying to say until the words stumble out. "You don't have to protect me every second."
Slowly, he rises. He moves like something carved from stone—heavy, deliberate, careful—obviously not wanting to frighten me.
"It’s not protection as much as it’s… awareness," he says, stepping closer. His voice drops lower, softer, like he's afraid of startling me.
"Awareness?”
"Yes." He stops a few feet from the bed with his hands at his sides, like he doesn't trust himself to come closer. "You breathe, and I hear it. You shiver, and I feel it. You shift in pain and my body answers." His brows draw tight, tension written in every line of his face. "It's… instinct."
Something flutters deep in my chest, dangerous and pulling. I sit up straighter, and the movement pulls on my ankle, but I don't care. "Instinct like what? Animal instinct?"
"No." His jaw flexes. "Something else.Thurok’hai.”
Thurok’hai.I have no idea what it means, or even what language it is, but the word sends a thrill through me.
Something is happening between us, I’m sure of it. And he knows more than he’s saying.
"Garruk," I whisper. “Why won’t you tell me what’s happening here?"
His breath leaves him like truth is being ripped from his ribs. His voice comes out deep and strained, like he's fighting to keep control. "Because you’ll have a choice to make, and when you do, I want you to make it freely. I don’t want you to feel trapped here.”
I shake my head. "I don't feel trapped."
His eyes open, and there's a flare in them—hot, bright, hungry for something he's afraid he shouldn't want. "You should," he says softly. "But you don't."
I shake my head. "No. I don't."
"Why?" he whispers.
Because you carried me like I mattered. Because you touched me like I was fragile and fierce all at once. Because accepting help from you doesn’t make me feelweak.Because you look at me like you would face down the mountain itself if it meant keeping me safe. I don't know how to say any of that without sounding unhinged, so I tell him the smallest truth.
"Because I feel safe here."
His breath stutters, and for a man his size, his reaction is so small, but the impact hits me square in the chest anyway.
"You shouldn't," he murmurs. "Ava. I'm not—"
"I know," I interrupt. "I know you're not human. That much is obvious."
His body goes perfectly still.
"I don't know what you are," I continue, holding his gaze. "But I'm not scared of you."
His hands flex slowly at his sides, like he wants to reach for me and is fighting the urge with everything he has. The cabin shifts with the wind, and Garruk's breath leaves him in a low, shuddering exhale. He steps closer—one step, then another—then stops right in front of me, towering but uncertain in a way that twists at something soft inside me.
"Ava," he says, shaping my name carefully like he's afraid of breaking it. "If you take one step toward me—just one—I won't have the strength to retreat again."
Heat rushes through me so fast I forget how to breathe. One step, that's all. But I can't stand, and my ankle laughs at the idea. So I do the only thing I can.
I reach out and place my hand over his.
His breath catches—actually catches—like I've punched the wind out of him. His hand is so big under mine, warm enough to melt the cold still clinging to my skin, and his fingers twitch like he's holding himself back by threads.
Slowly, painfully, he lifts his eyes to mine. "Ava…" he whispers, voice frayed.
"I'm not afraid," I whisper back.
