“Never apologize for your fear,” he said firmly. “Never to me, not to fate, not to anyone. Fear keeps you alive.”
“But I hurt you.”
“You protected yourself. That’s what survivors do.” Korrak’s voice carried steel beneath the gentleness. “Bracken taught you that love requires fear. He was wrong.”
Winslet’s breath hitched at the name, fresh panic flickering across her features.
“Bracken offered control masquerading as love,” Korrak continued, his tone dropping to something colder, more dangerous. “What exists between us—the mate bond—isn’t ownership or obligation. It’s partnership. Trust. Safety. Two souls becoming one solid force.”
“I don’t know how to trust that,” she whispered. “Not after?—“
“Then learn. Here, with me, where no one can touch you without going through me first.” Korrak’s eyes held hers with unwavering certainty. “The mate bond doesn’t make you just mine, Winslet. It makes us each other’s.”
The distinction settled between them, heavy with promise and possibility. Winslet’s trembling hands reached for his, her fingers intertwining with his larger ones.
“I was so scared I’d never see you again,” she admitted. “That he’d take me back to California, force me to—“ She shuddered. “What did he want with me?”
“Viktor will tell us.” Korrak’s voice carried lethal promise. “Kol has him secured. We’ll get answers.”
“And then?”
“Then Bracken learns what happens when someone threatens my territory and my mate.” Korrak lifted their joined hands, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “But first, you need food and warmth. Can you manage some soup?”
Winslet nodded, allowing him to help her from the bed. Her legs wobbled slightly, the sedative still affecting her coordination, but she leaned into his strength without hesitation.
In the kitchen, Korrak ladled steaming soup into a bowl, the rich broth carrying herbs that would help flush the chemicals from her system. He set it before her along with the mug of tea, honey within easy reach.
“Eat,” he commanded gently. “Your body needs fuel to process what Viktor gave you.”
Winslet obeyed, her first spoonful tentative before hunger took over. Color began returning to her cheeks as the warmth spread through her, grounding her in the present instead of the terror of what might have been.
Korrak watched her eat with the focused intensity of a predator guarding its mate, his mind already shifting toward the interrogation to come. Viktor would talk—about Bracken’s plans, his resources, and his next move.
Because once Bracken learned his tracker had failed, escalation was inevitable.
And Korrak Volkov would be ready.
THIRTEEN
WINSLET
The empty soup bowl sat forgotten on the table as Winslet pushed herself upright, testing legs that felt foreign and unsteady beneath her. The sedative’s lingering effects made every movement feel deliberate, like walking through water.
“Easy.” Korrak’s voice carried quiet authority as he moved to her side. “The chemicals need time to clear your system.”
Winslet accepted his steadying presence, allowing him to guide her from the dining table to the living room. The couch beckoned—deep leather worn soft with age, positioned to catch the fire’s warmth. She sank into the cushions with relief, her body finally admitting its exhaustion.
Korrak draped a heavy wool blanket around her shoulders, the fabric carrying his scent and making her pulse quicken despite everything. His fingers brushed her collar as he adjusted the covering, the brief contact sending heat racing through her veins.
“Thank you.” The words felt insufficient for everything he’d done—the soup, the rescue, the careful way he moved around her like she might shatter. “For taking care of me. For making sure I recovered properly after?—“
“Don’t.” His jaw tightened as he retrieved her tea, the mug steaming in his large hands. “You don’t thank someone for doing what they should have done from the beginning.”
The self-recrimination in his voice made her chest ache. He blamed himself for leaving her alone, she realized. For giving her the space she’d demanded when fear had overwhelmed her understanding of what the mate bond truly meant.
Korrak placed the tea within easy reach, then moved to the window overlooking his territory. His shoulders carried tension like armor, every line of his body radiating controlled alertness as he checked the locks on the reinforced glass. Even here, in his own sanctuary, he couldn’t fully relax.
Winslet curled deeper into the couch, her hands wrapping around the warm ceramic mug, and watched him move through his cabin with predatory grace. Each window received careful inspection. Every door lock turned with deliberate precision. His ice-blue eyes swept the perimeter visible through the glass, cataloging shadows and movement with the focus of a man who’d learned that vigilance meant survival.
