“You’re trespassing,” he called out, his voice carrying across the frozen expanse like the crack of breaking ice. The words held the weight of absolute authority.
The man froze, then slowly lowered the binoculars. Even at this distance, Korrak caught fragments of detail—tall build, lean muscle, movements that spoke of military or mercenary training. Someone accustomed to surveillance, to remaining unseen. The kind of professional who didn’t stumble into restricted territory by accident.
“Leave now,” Korrak continued, taking a deliberate step forward. “Or I’ll remove you from my land myself.”
The threat wasn’t empty. His polar bear strained against his control, demanding he shift and tear the intruder apart for daring to watch Winslet. The only thing holding him back was the code he’d established years ago—one warning. Every trespasser got one chance to retreat with their lives intact.
The man hesitated, and in that pause, Korrak read volumes. This wasn’t fear—it was calculation. Professional assessment of risk versus reward. The stranger was weighing his options, considering whether whatever he’d come to accomplish was worth facing down an enraged Alpha.
After a moment that stretched like pulled wire, the man backed away. No argument. No apology. No explanation. Just a smooth, practiced retreat that spoke of extensive training and careful planning.
That unsettled Korrak more than open defiance would have. A foolish human might have tried to bluff or negotiate. A lost researcher would have stammered explanations. But this professional silence, this calculated withdrawal—it reeked of something larger. More dangerous.
Korrak’s polar bear paced as he watched the figure disappear beyond the ridge, every instinct screaming that he should pursue, should hunt down this threat and eliminate itpermanently. His muscles coiled with barely restrained violence, the urge to protect his mate warring with the strategic mind that had kept him alive this long.
This wasn’t a coincidence. The timing gnawed at him—three days after the storm, right when his mate had finally begun to settle, when his own guard had been lowered by the distraction of fighting the bond. Someone had been testing boundaries, probing for weaknesses, and they’d found the perfect moment to strike.
The scent lingered in the air, foreign and wrong against the clean Arctic wind. Korrak committed it to memory, filing away every detail his enhanced senses could provide. Height, build, movement patterns, the particular blend of chemical traces that would allow him to identify this bastard if he ever showed his face again.
Because he would be back. Korrak knew it with the same certainty that told him Winslet was his mate. This had been reconnaissance, not a casual intrusion. And whatever the man had come to learn, Korrak had a sinking feeling it had everything to do with the beautiful, guarded woman currently locked inside the research outpost.
His jaw clenched as he began the trek back toward the outpost, his polar bear still snarling for blood beneath his skin. Someone was hunting his mate, and he’d been too busy wallowing in his own emotional cowardice to notice.
That ended now.
Korrak’s single knock on the outpost door echoed like a gunshot, and before the sound faded, the door flew open. Winslet stood framed in the doorway, her body coiled tight as a spring, tension radiating from every line of her frame. The relief that crashed across her features when she saw him hit deeper than any physical blow he’d ever taken.
His polar bear rumbled, recognizing the fear-scent clinging to her skin, and the way her breathing came too shallow and quick. She’d been waiting. Watching. Expecting the worst.
“There was a man,” Korrak said without preamble. “Watching from the ridge with binoculars.”
The color drained from her face so fast he thought she might collapse. Her hand gripped the doorframe.
“Did he give a name?” The words tumbled out too quickly.
Korrak’s eyes tracked every micro-expression, cataloging the way her pupils dilated and how her pulse jumped at her throat. “No,” he said carefully. “But he moved like someone used to being unnoticed.”
She swallowed hard, and he watched the movement ripple down her throat. “Viktor.”
The name landed between them like a blade, cutting through every pretense they’d maintained. Korrak felt something inside his chest lock into place—the final piece of a puzzle he hadn’t realized he’d been solving. The constant vigilance. The way she checked shadows. The careful way she never fully relaxed.
“So you know him.” Not a question. A statement flat as the Arctic ice.
She nodded, her shoulders drawing up around her ears like armor. The gesture made his polar bear snarl low in his chest, every protective instinct screaming at the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide.
Korrak didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t move closer. But something in his stillness sharpened. “You need to tell me what’s really going on here.”
Her green eyes darted past him toward the windows, scanning the endless white expanse beyond as if expecting shadows to materialize from the snow. When she spoke, her voice barely rose above a whisper.
“I don’t feel safe staying here at the outpost anymore.”
The vulnerability in those words made his polar bear growl low beneath his skin, demanding action. His hands clenched at his sides, his muscles coiling with the effort of remaining still when every instinct demanded he gather her up and carry her somewhere no threat could touch her.
“Then it’s decided.” His voice cut through her fear with the authority of absolute command. “You’re coming with me to my cabin. You will explain everything there.”
The drive back to his sanctuary felt endless, silence stretching between them like a held breath. She sat rigid in the passenger seat, pale as fresh snow and fear rolling off her in waves, making his polar bear restless beneath his skin. He wanted to reach across the space between them, wanted to cover her trembling hands with his own, but the careful distance she maintained warned him off.
Later,he told himself.When she’s safe. When she’s ready.
