I dragged snow up around the base, piling it high, sealing the edges as best I could. The flapping eased. Not gone—but reduced. Enough.
That would have to do.
I crawled back to James, grabbed him under the arms, and hauled him the last few feet.
"Inside," I told James. "Now. Before you lose any more heat."
He crawled through the flap without argument—another sign of how depleted he was. I followed with both packs, zipping us into the small space that would be our world for the next however many hours.
The tent cut the wind immediately. I could still hear it howling outside, but in here, the air was still. Quieter. Almost warm, just from blocking the worst of the elements.
James had collapsed against one wall, eyes closed, breathing shallow. I pulled out the sleeping bag and thermal blankets, then turned to assess him properly.
"I need to check your bandage."
He nodded without opening his eyes. I unwrapped the layers and examined the wound on his side. The bleeding had stopped entirely now, the edges already knitting together. Shifter healing was remarkable—what would have been a week of recovery for a human would be a day or two for him.
But the shift itself had taken a toll. First shifts always did. His body had burned through massive amounts of energy restructuring itself, and now it was demanding repayment.
"When did you last eat?" I asked.
"This morning. The energy bar."
"That's not enough. Not after what your body just did." I dug through my pack, pulling out freeze-dried meals and the small camp stove I'd packed. "I'm going to melt snow for water. You need to eat, and you need to hydrate. Your muscles are probably screaming."
"Everything's screaming," he mumbled. "Loudly."
I almost smiled. If he could joke, he wasn't dying.
The process of melting snow was meditative—pack the pot, light the stove, wait, repeat. James dozed against the tent wall while I worked, his breathing evening out into something closer to sleep than unconsciousness. Good. Sleep would help.
When I had enough water, I rehydrated two meals and pressed one into his hands. "Eat. All of it."
He ate mechanically, not tasting, just fueling. I did the same. The silence between us was heavy with everything unsaid, but I let it sit. He needed food and rest before he needed explanations.
When the meals were finished and the water bottles filled, I organized our space. Sleeping bag unzipped and spread flat,thermal blankets layered on top, both packs arranged as pillows and wind blocks. It wasn't comfortable, but it was functional.
"We should sleep," I said. "Your body needs time to recover."
James looked at the sleeping bag. Looked at me. Something shifted in his expression—vulnerability and want and a question he wasn't quite asking.
"Together?" His voice was rough.
"Body heat. Same as last night."
"Right." He was quiet for a moment. "Lumi, I... I need..."
He trailed off, jaw tightening like he was embarrassed to finish the sentence.
"What do you need?"
"You. Close." The words came out strained. "I know that sounds— I don't know how to explain it. But since I shifted, there's this... pull. Like something in my chest is reaching for you. And when you're not touching me, it hurts."
The bond. I'd felt it too—the way the partial connection had intensified since his shift, the hum now a constant presence rather than an intermittent flare. His wolf had woken up, and it wanted its mate.
So did mine, if I was being honest. Whatever part of me recognized him, it was screaming for contact.
"That's the mate bond," I said. "It gets stronger after a shift. Your wolf knows what I am to you, even if your human brain is still catching up."
