He doesn't tense. Doesn't bristle. Just sets his shoulders back, calm and steady.
"When you're warm and rested, Ava. When you can choose whether to stay or go.”
I stare at him. "You think I'm going to scream and run when you tell me?"
"You can't run on that ankle. It’s injured."
"That's not the point."
He steps closer. Slowly. Giving me time to pull away.
I don't.
His voice lowers, gentle in a way that makes something flutter inside me.
"I don't want to frighten you."
My heart stutters.
Every survival instinct should be screaming. He's huge. Armed with tusks and muscles and a voice that rumbles like distant thunder.
But all I feel is warm. Sheltered. Like the storm is outside, and I'm inside with someone who would fight the wind itself to keep me safe.
"I'm not scared," I say softly.
His breath catches. Not loudly. Just a tiny sound in his throat.
"Good," he murmurs.
The silence stretches. Warm. Strange. Too intimate.
I clear my throat and gesture toward the wall of herbs and tools. "So, you're handy?"
He smirks. "Yes."
"I guess you hunt?"
"Of course."
"And cook?"
He raises an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’m starving.”
“You look like a God,” I mutter.
He steps closer. Slow. Deliberate. Watching me like he's checking every breath, every flinch, every signal.
I don't flinch.
"Ava." My name in his voice slides down my spine. "You're stubborn," he says quietly. "And brave."
Warmth blooms in my chest. Not embarrassment. Something else. Something dangerous andwanting.
I take another sip, if only to have something to do with my mouth.
He watches my throat as I swallow, then snaps his gaze away. "The storm will worsen before it gets better," he says, voice rougher now. "We'll be snowed in for a while."
We.
