Tristan climbed into the wagon, but his tiger remained focused on the safe house behind him and the woman inside.
She’d survived iron cuffs and false accusations and six months of magical suppression.
But it was more than that. It had only happened once before, but this couldn’t be.
Was it even possible for a single shifter to have two mates in one lifetime?
8
MAREN
Despite the front she put on, Maren felt more exposed by leaving her home. And by only the second night, she had already wished she hadn’t left.
Maren watched through the safe house window as snow turned the world into a wall of white. Wind howled through the trees, bending branches until they groaned. The wards hummed against the onslaught, holding steady but strained.
She'd lit candles throughout the main room, their flames casting restless shadows that merged with her own. The fire in the hearth burned hot, but cold still crept through cracks in the shutters.
The patterned knock sounded at the door.
Maren opened it to find Tristan covered in snow, his dark hair white with it, ice-blue eyes sharp despite the storm battering him.
"You shouldn't be out in this," she said, stepping aside.
"Neither should you if something goes wrong." He stamped snow from his boots and entered, bringing cold air with him. "Safe house hasn't been used in over a year. Lots of assumptions that everything works properly."
"So you're staying."
"I'm staying."
Maren closed the door and threw the bolt, sealing them inside together while the storm raged outside.
Tristan shrugged off his coat, hanging it near the fire. His thermal shirt clung to broad shoulders, damp from melted snow. He moved to the hearth and crouched, adding wood with practiced efficiency.
"How long?" Maren asked.
"Storm? Could be all night." He straightened, scanning the cabin like he was cataloguing exits and weak points. "You have enough supplies?"
"For a few days at least." She moved to the kitchen, pulling down two mugs. "Coffee?"
"Yeah."
She prepared it in silence, hyper-aware of him in the small space. The cabin suddenly felt intimate with Tristan inside.
"Here." She handed him a mug.
Their fingers brushed. Heat sparked through the contact, sharp and unexpected.
Tristan's gaze flicked to hers, something unreadable passing through those ice-blue eyes before he looked away.
They sat at opposite ends of the small table, steam rising between them. Wind rattled the shutters. Snow hissed against glass.
"You don't have to stay," Maren said quietly. "I know how to handle storms."
"It's not the storm I'm worried about."
"What then?"
"Everything else. Vandals using the storm as cover. Magic destabilizing under pressure. You being alone if something goes wrong."
