"Wow," James said.
"Yeah."
"Can we do that again?"
I laughed—really laughed, for the first time in what felt like weeks. "You need to rest. Your body is still recovering."
"Pretty sure kissing you is helping the recovery process."
"That's not how shifter healing works."
"Are you sure? Because I feel better already."
I shook my head, but I was smiling. He pulled me closer, settling me against his chest, and I let myself relax into his warmth. The bond hummed contentedly between us, and for the first time since I'd left Frosthaven, I felt something like peace.
"Tomorrow," I said quietly. "We'll reach the ridge tomorrow. And then..."
"And then we find him. And we bring him back."
I pressed my face into his neck, breathing in his scent—pine and sweat and something underneath that was purely James. "What if I can't?"
"You can." His arms tightened around me. "I've watched you for weeks, Lumi. The way you train, the way you prepare, the way you refuse to give up on anything. If anyone can reach him, it's you."
"You have a lot of faith in someone you've known for a month."
"I have a lot of faith in my mate."
The word sent a shiver through me. Mate. He said it so easily, like it was simple. Like it didn't carry the weight of centuries of supernatural tradition, of bonds that outlasted death, of a connection that would shape both our lives forever.
Maybe for him, it was simple. Maybe that was the gift he gave me—the ability to see the complicated as straightforward, the impossible as just another problem to solve.
"Sleep," I murmured. "We'll need our strength tomorrow."
"Mmm." His voice was already heavy, exhaustion finally catching up. "Stay close?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
I pressed a kiss to his collarbone. "Promise."
His breathing evened out within minutes. I lay there in the darkness, listening to his heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek.
Tomorrow, we'd climb.
Chapter eighteen
Iwoke to warmth.
Not the desperate, survival-level warmth of the night before—this was different. Comfortable. Safe. James's body curved around mine, his arm heavy across my waist, his breath slow and even against the back of my neck.
For a long moment, I didn't move. Just lay there, cataloging sensations. The solid weight of him. The steady thrum of the partial bond between us, stronger than before but still incomplete—a river finding its course but not yet reaching the sea. The surprising absence of pain in muscles I'd expected to be screaming.
Outside, the wind had died. Pale light filtered through the tent fabric—dawn, or close to it. We'd slept through the night without waking, which meant the storm had passed and nothing had tried to eat us.
Small victories.
James stirred behind me, his arm tightening reflexively. I felt the moment he woke—the slight catch in his breathing, the tension that entered his body before memory caught up with consciousness.
