"Yes."
"You choose me?"
I slide my hands into his hair and pull him up into a kiss—soft and sure. "Yes," I breathe against his lips. "Forever, if you'll have me."
A sound rips from his chest, broken and reverent, and he gathers me against him with his arms around my waist and his forehead pressed to mine. "The mountain sent you," he whispers. "I didn't believe. I didn't dare. But you came."
"And I'm staying."
He kisses me then, slow, breathtaking, and grateful. When he finally pulls back, his eyes shine with something that looks suspiciously like tears.
"Then you're mine," he says softly. "And I'm yours."
Not just a claim. A vow.
I rest my forehead against his shoulder while relief and warmth and joy flood through me. "You're stuck with me now," I say.
His arms tighten. "Good."
Outside, another sheet of snow slides somewhere far up the ridge—not threatening, just shifting and settling, like the mountain itself is nodding in approval. And I realize I don't feel like Garruk’s visitor anymore.
I feel like I'm home.
Because I am.
Epilogue
Garruk
Springcomesearlythisyear.
Snow still clings to the highest ridges, stubborn and bright, but here—lower on the slope, tucked against the sheltering curve of ancient stone—the world wakes. The creek beside the cabin rushes louder now, swollen with meltwater, while green vegetation pushes up through the soil in defiant bursts. A pair of small birds argue in the branches outside our window, loud enough to wake Ava.
Not that I mind. Her laughter in the morning is worth any amount of noise.
She leans over the counter now, grinding herbs with steady hands and humming under her breath. Sunlight slips across her bare shoulder, warming the curve of her neck, and she looks at home here, hair pulled into a messy knot, soft shirt hanging off one shoulder, ankle brace long gone.
My mate. My Thurok'hai.
Quiet, grateful heat hums through me as I watch her, and I still can't look at her without feeling something in my chest loosen. A lifetime of solitude, undone by one woman with fierce eyes and a ranger's stubborn heart.
"You're staring," she says without turning.
"Yes."
Laughing, she turns to face me. "You look very proud of yourself, like a man who caught a fish with his bare hands."
"I have done that. Many times."
She rolls her eyes. "Of course you have."
I cross the room and wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her gently against me. She softens instantly, leaning into my chest as though she's always belonged there—and she has, we just didn't know it yet.
"Breakfast is almost ready," she says, tipping her head back enough to kiss my jaw.
"Good," I rumble. "You need strength."
"For our hike?"
