“He’s waking up,” she said, the words barely a breath.
She didn’t wait for a response. She moved back to the bedroom, her parents and uncle following slowly, leaning on each other. They hovered in the doorway, a silent, anxious audience.
Korrak stirred on the narrow bed. A low groan escaped him, and his lashes fluttered. Those piercing ice-blue eyes opened, fogged with pain and disorientation. They swept the room, taking in the unfamiliar, crowded space, and the strange human faces watching him. Confusion knitted his brows.
Then his gaze found Winslet.
Everything in his face changed. The confusion melted, and the pain receded behind a wave of pure, unguarded relief. It was a look so intimate, so tender, that Winslet felt her breath catch. He reached for her hand, his fingers closing around hers with a strength that belied his condition.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice a rough scrape of sound. “For saving me.”
Before she could reply, before she could even squeeze his hand back, he spoke again. “I love you, Winslet.”
The declaration landed in the quiet room not as a whisper, but a vow. Solid. Unbreakable. Meant for her, but unashamed of any other ears.
She brought his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles. “I love you too, Korrak,” she said, her voice clear and sure.
Her parents stared, their expressions a mix of shock, concern, and dawning understanding. They saw the way he looked at their daughter—not as a possession, but as his absolute center. They saw the way she looked back—not with fear or submission, but with devotion.
Winslet took a deep, steadying breath. It was time. She turned to face them, still holding Korrak’s hand like an anchor.
“I need to tell you everything,” she began. “Why I left. Why I disappeared.”
She told them about the documents in Bracken’s office, the chilling realization of what he was, the terror of the six months that followed. She spoke of the constant fear, the texts, the feeling of being hunted. She didn’t soften the edges. She let them see the raw truth of her flight.
Then she turned slightly, her gaze sweeping to Korrak, who watched her with unwavering intensity. “And then I came here. And I met him.” She squeezed his hand. “Korrak. He’s… he’s my fated mate. For shifters, it’s like… a soulmate. But deeper than that.” She stumbled over the explanation. “He’s the reason I’m safe. He’s the reason we’re all standing here now. He protected me when I had nowhere else to go.” She took a deep breath. “This is my home now.”
Her parents listened, their initial shock softening into a profound, weary relief. Her father nodded slowly, his bruised face solemn. “We always knew Bracken was wrong for you, Winslet. We just… we didn’t know how wrong.” He turned his gaze to Korrak, who met it steadily. “Thank you,” her father said, the words heavy with emotion. “For keeping our daughter safe.”
Her mother simply reached out and touched Winslet’s cheek, her eyes shimmering. “You look… you look like yourself again. Not the ghost you became.”
Then her uncle, Sergei, cleared his throat, the sound painful. All eyes turned to him. “This is my fault,” he said, his voice thick with remorse. “I introduced you to Bracken. I was blind to what he was. When you ran… I knew I had to get you as far away as possible. I called in every favor, contacted every connection.” He looked at Winslet, his good eye pleading for understanding. “I found Gerri Wilder. I didn’t know what she was, only that she could make people vanish. I sent you to her. I am so sorry it led to this… to all of this danger. But seeing you now…” His gaze drifted to Korrak, to the way Winslet sat beside him, strong and unbroken. “I am only grateful.”
Winslet looked from her family’s faces to Korrak and realized the future stretched before her not as a dark corridor of threats, but as an open expanse. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.
It was hers.
TWENTY-FOUR
KORRAK
Seven days after fire and violence had torn through his territory, the research outpost felt like a cage built for smaller predators. Korrak moved carefully through the cramped space, his ribs protesting with each deliberate step, though the pain had dulled from agony to mere annoyance. The healing was nearly complete—shifter blood ran thick with resilience—but his body still carried the memory of Bracken’s claws.
He paused in the doorway, watching Winslet fold the last of her clothes into one of two modest suitcases. The sight of her belongings—so few, so carefully maintained—tightened something in his chest. She deserved more than what could fit in luggage meant for running.
“I’ll get you a proper wardrobe once we’re settled,” he said softly. “Whatever you want.”
She looked up, her green eyes bright with something that hadn’t been there a week ago—total peace. The constant tension that had lived in her shoulders was gone, replaced by the fluid grace of someone who no longer expected ambush.
“I don’t need much,” she said, zipping the case with a decisive sound. “Just you.”
Her words hit him like a physical force. This woman had walked through hell and emerged stronger, not broken. She had saved his life with a hunter’s blade and steady hands, had stood beside him when the world tried to tear them apart.
They headed out of the outpost and loaded the Jeep in comfortable silence, the Arctic air sharp and clean in their lungs. When Winslet settled into the passenger seat and her hand found his without hesitation, Korrak felt something fundamental click into place. Not the mate bond—that had been sealed in blood and choice—but something quieter. Fulfillment.
The engine turned over with a steady rumble, and Northland Bay stretched before them, scarred but unbroken. The road wound through his territory that bore recent wounds. To the north, where the main warehouse had stood, only twisted metal and ash remained. Snow had tried to erase the violence, but the land remembered. His clan had already begun rebuilding—not just structures, but trust in the idea that the nightmare was truly over.
“They don’t blame me anymore,” Winslet said quietly, watching the landscape roll past.
