Here it comes.The catch. The condition. The price.
“You’re my fated mate.”
Korrak’s confession hit her sideways, landing in a place she hadn’t armored against. His ice-blue eyes searched her face, watching her reaction with the intensity of a man who’d just handed over the keys to his soul.
“I didn’t plan for this,” he continued, his voice steady but careful, as if he were approaching a wounded animal. “Didn’t askfor it. But it’s real, Winslet. Undeniable. Gerri must have known—she always does about these things.”
Fated mate.
The phrase rolled around in her mind like a foreign object she couldn’t quite make out but couldn’t dislodge either. It sounded mystical, romantic even, but something about the weight he gave it made her skin crawl with unease.
Why would Gerri leave out this critical piece of information?
“You’re safe here because I’m here,” Korrak said, his hands cupping her face with devastating gentleness. “Because you’re mine.”
Mine. Oh, I see now.
Possession disguised as protection. Ownership wrapped in the language of destiny. Every red flag she’d learned to recognize in two years with Bracken unfurled in her chest, screaming warnings she couldn’t ignore.
Korrak must have sensed her retreat because his expression shifted, becoming more careful and deliberate. “Let me explain what this means,” he said softly. “A fated mate bond isn’t about ownership, Winslet. It’s about connection deeper than choice or logic, but meaningless without consent.”
He spoke slowly, watching her face, his words measured like he was defusing a bomb. “There’s marking involved—a permanent claim that completes the mate bond and binds us forever. But only if you choose it. Only if you want it.”
Forever.
The word scraped against every raw place inside her. Being tied to a man for life—even one as steady and protective as Korrak—sent panic flaring through her chest. Forever meant no escape. Forever meant surrender. Forever meant becoming someone’s possession, no matter how prettily they dressed it up.
“I need space,” she gasped, pulling back from his embrace like his touch had burned her. Her heart hammered, each beat echoing with the rhythm oftrapped, trapped, trapped. “This is too much.”
Hurt flickered across Korrak’s features—a brief crack in his controlled facade that she might have missed if she hadn’t been watching so closely. But he didn’t argue, didn’t try to convince her, or pull her back into his arms. Instead, he nodded once, sharp and decisive.
“The snow’s lightening up,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “I can take you to the outpost. Give you the day to process this.”
“Yes,” she said quickly, relief and regret warring in her chest. “I need to clear my head. Away from you.”
The words came out harsher than she’d intended, and she watched them land like physical blows. Korrak’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but he simply nodded again and moved toward his bedroom to retrieve a shirt. She followed a careful distance behind and retrieved her own discarded clothes on the floor.
Minutes later, the drive to the outpost passed in suffocating silence. Winslet stared out the window at the endless white landscape, her thoughts churning. Every stolen glance at Korrak’s profile—stoic, controlled, and hurt—made her chest tighten with guilt she didn’t want to feel.
When they reached the outpost, she couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye. Couldn’t risk looking into those ice-blue eyes and seeing the disappointment there. Instead, she mumbled a quick thanks and fled into the building like a coward.
Ellie took one look at her face and set down her research notes.
“What happened?”
The words tumbled out in a rush—fated mates, bonds, marking, forever. All of it spilling across the small space like poison she needed to purge from her system.
“It’s not a bad thing,” Ellie said when Winslet finally ran out of words. “Just a frightening one. Sometimes the universe doesn’t ask permission before offering miracles.”
“Miracles?” Winslet laughed, but it came out bitter. “It sounds like a cage with prettier bars.”
“You don’t have to decide anything today,” Ellie continued gently. “Only listen to yourself. Your heart will know what’s right.”
My heart.
Winslet wanted to laugh again. Her heart had betrayed her before—had led her straight into Bracken’s trap, had convinced her his control was love, and his possession was protection. She didn’t trust her instincts anymore. They felt cracked, unreliable, damaged beyond repair.
The sound that shattered her spiraling thoughts was sharp and violent—metal rattling against metal, the unmistakable noise of someone forcing entry. Both women froze, the color draining from Ellie’s face as the banging grew more insistent.
