“They never should have.”
“But they did. At first.” Her voice held no bitterness, only observation. “I brought danger to their home. Their Alpha got hurt protecting me.”
Korrak’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “You saved their Alpha. You delivered the killing blow when it mattered most. They see that now.”
She had. When his strength had failed, when Bracken’s grizzly form had him overpowered and bleeding, Winslet had moved without fear or hesitation. The memory of her driving that blade into Bracken’s throat still sent primal satisfaction coursing through him.
“Your parents understood your choice to stay here, in the end,” he said, switching subjects quickly as he knew Bracken was still a delicate topic for her.
“They saw how you looked at me.” She turned to look at him, and a radiant smile spread across her face. “How I looked at you. Hard to argue with that.”
Her father’s handshake had been firm yet assuring. Her mother’s gratitude was quiet but profound. Her uncle’s awe that his desperate gambit to save his niece had led to the best possible outcome. They had left knowing Winslet was exactly where she belonged.
The cabin came into view, solid and renewed against the ice and sky. Korrak’s chest tightened at the sight of it standing tall again. New windows caught the afternoon light, the reinforced door bore fresh timber, and the scent of reconstruction carried on the wind. It was not exactly as it had been before Bracken’s rogues had torn through it.
But neither was he.
“We’re finally home,” Winslet said, the words carrying weight.
They soon stepped inside to warmth and the subtle marks of rebuilding—new furniture replacing what had been destroyed, fresh beams where claws had gouged wood, evidence that violence had not won here. Winslet moved through the space slowly, her fingers trailing over surfaces as if committing them to memory.
When she turned to him, her smile was certain. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”
“The clan helped. Kol insisted on reinforcing everything twice over.”
“Smart man.” She headed toward the fireplace, already reaching for kindling. “Though I think we could survive anything now.”
We.The word settled deep in his bones like bedrock.
While Winslet coaxed flames to life, Korrak slipped away to the bedroom, his pulse quickening despite the calm he wore like armor. He knelt beside the old chest at the foot of the bed, his fingers brushing the worn wood before lifting the lid with reverent care.
Inside, wrapped in soft cloth that smelled faintly of his mother’s perfume, lay the ring. Simple silver, strong and unadorned, forged for a woman who had led with both ferocity and grace. He had carried it through years of solitude, never knowing who it was meant for.
Now, holding it, there was no doubt.
His mother had been his father’s fated mate, his equal in all things. She had ruled beside him, not behind him. The ring had been made for someone who would share burdens, not simply bear them. Someone who would stand and fight when the world tried to break what they had built.
Someone exactly like Winslet.
This was not a question born of obligation or victory or survival. It was a choice made in absolute clarity.
He closed his fist around the ring, grounding himself in its weight, then stood and turned back toward the life waiting in the next room.
Winslet sat curled on the couch, wrapped in the thick blanket she had claimed as her own, firelight painting gold along her dark hair. When he spoke her name, she looked up with the easy attention of someone completely at peace.
Then she saw him kneeling, and her breath caught.
“Winslet.” His voice was steady and certain. “My life is stronger with you in it. My home is not whole without you. I choose you—not because fate demands it, but because you are everything I never knew I needed.”
He opened his hand, revealing the ring that caught the firelight like a promise.
“Will you marry me?”
Her eyes shimmered, but her gaze never wavered. “Yes,” she said, immediate and certain. “Always yes.”
When he slid the ring onto her finger, it felt less like claiming and more like anchoring—two lives bound by intent, not fate alone. The perfect fit was just another confirmation of what he already knew.
She was his. And nothing in this frozen world would ever change that.
