Bronn's voice cuts through the charged atmosphere like a blade, making us spring apart with the guilty speed of people caught doing something forbidden. My heart pounds againstmy ribs as I try to process the interruption, the abrupt return to reality after floating in possibilities too dangerous for examination.
Kai's brother stands several feet away, his massive frame backlit by firelight and expression unreadable in the shadows. The timing of his appearance suggests either terrible luck or deliberate observation, though his immediate posture shifts into something resembling apologetic discomfort.
"Sorry," Bronn says, voice carrying genuine regret. "Didn't mean to... the patrol reports came in. Thought you should know immediately."
Kai runs a hand through his long black hair with movements that radiate frustration and embarrassment in equal measure. His ice-blue eyes find mine for a brief moment, carrying promises and apologies that words can't quite capture.
"Of course," he says with careful control. "What do they say?"
As Bronn launches into details about border movements and potential security concerns, I step back into shadows that provide merciful concealment for the heat still climbing my neck. The wooden wolf rests warm in my palm, physical evidence that the charged moment wasn't imagination or festival wine playing tricks on my perception.
Kai carved this for me. Chose to give me something that carries cultural weight and personal significance. Almost kissed me beside the fire while his entire clan celebrated around us.
The implications make my chest tight with emotions too complex for easy sorting—hope and terror and something that feels dangerously close to happiness despite every logical reason to guard against such feelings.
When the brothers finish their conversation, Kai returns to where I wait beside the fire pit with an expression that carries apology and frustration and heat that hasn't completely faded despite the interruption.
"I should walk you back," he says quietly.
The suggestion carries layers of meaning that have nothing to do with simple courtesy and everything to do with unfinished business between us. But also practical consideration—the night has grown late enough that most clan members are beginning to disperse toward their own homes, leaving the gathering area to those with strong tolerance for cold and alcohol.
"All right," I agree, voice carrying breathiness I can't quite suppress.
The walk to the longhouse passes in charged silence, both of us hyperaware of the space between us and the possibilities that Bronn's interruption postponed rather than eliminated. Our hands brush as we navigate the uneven ground, contact that sends electricity up my arm despite the casual nature of the touch.
Inside the longhouse, warmth from the banked fire creates an intimate atmosphere that makes the charged energy between us even more apparent. Kai moves to tend the flames while I stand uncertain in the main room, wooden wolf still clutched in my palm and paper valentine presumably safe in his pouch.
Exchange of gifts that mean more than either of us expected when the evening began.
"Saela," he says without turning from the fire, voice rough with everything we haven't said yet.
"I know," I reply, though I'm not entirely sure what I'm acknowledging.
He faces me then, ice-blue eyes reflecting firelight and carrying intensity that makes breathing difficult. The space between us feels charged with possibility and terror in equal measure, recognition that whatever's building here could change everything.
"Good night," he says finally, the words carrying weight that simple courtesy can't explain.
"Good night."
I retreat to my room with pulse still racing and the wooden wolf pressed against my palm like a talisman against uncertainty. Behind me, I hear Kai moving through evening routines with careful precision, banking fires and securing the longhouse against winter cold.
Normal sounds that feel anything but normal after everything that almost happened tonight.
In the darkness of my small room, I trace the carved wolf's details with fingertips that remember the warmth of Kai's attention, the careful reverence with which he accepted my simple paper valentine. Evidence that whatever's growing between us carries significance that extends far beyond political convenience or festival obligation.
Something real and fragile and terrifying in its implications.
Something worth protecting, even if I'm not sure yet what shape that protection should take.
11
SAELA
The days following the Valentine feast settle into a rhythm that feels dangerously close to normal. Kai and I move through routines that blur the lines between protection and companionship, training sessions that become conversations, shared meals that stretch longer than necessity requires.
This morning finds us in the practice clearing behind the longhouse, where frost covers the packed earth in crystalline patterns that crunch under our boots. Kai demonstrates defensive stances with patient precision, his massive frame moving through combat forms that look like deadly choreography when executed with his fluid control.
"Your weight's too far forward," he observes as I attempt to mirror his positioning. "If someone rushes you, you'll fall backward instead of deflecting the impact."
