"Mine," he murmurs against my hair, the possessiveness in his tone offset by tenderness that makes my chest tight with emotion. "My choice. My love. Mine."
The words settle into my bones with warmth that has nothing to do with physical pleasure and everything to do with belonging I've never experienced before. For the first time in my life, being claimed feels like freedom rather than trap, safety rather than surrender.
"Yours," I agree, pressing closer until there's no space left between us. "Always yours."
20
KAI
The morning of the final Valentine feast arrives with crystalline winter air that makes every breath visible and sharp enough to sting the lungs. Two weeks have passed since Saela and I made our choice by that frozen stream—two weeks of watching Bronn's increasing agitation as he waited for us to formalize what the entire clan already knows to be true. I could have ended his suffering sooner, but there's something deeply satisfying about making my brother sweat after he forced this situation on us in the first place.
Not that I'm complaining about the outcome. The woman currently pressed against my side beneath the heavy furs radiates contentment in a way that makes my chest tight with protective satisfaction. Her breathing remains even with sleep, but I can tell she's starting to wake by the subtle shift in her posture, the way her fingers flex against my ribs where her hand rests.
"Morning," she murmurs against my shoulder, voice rough with sleep and carrying warmth that never fails to undo something vital inside my chest. The word vibrates through my skin where her lips brush against it, casual intimacy that stillfeels miraculous after weeks of believing I'd never have this again.
"The feast begins soon," I tell her, though I make no move to extract myself from the tangle of limbs and blankets that has become our preferred sleeping arrangement. These quiet moments before the day demands our attention have become precious to me—stolen time where she's soft and unguarded and wholly mine in ways that still feel too good to be entirely real.
She lifts her head to study my face with those gray-green eyes that see too much, reading something in my expression that makes her smile with satisfaction that carries the edge of mischief. "You're looking forward to this, aren't you? To making it official and watching Bronn finally relax."
The accuracy of her observation makes me chuckle, a low rumble that vibrates through both of us. She's learned to read me with unsettling precision over these past weeks, picking up on thoughts and feelings I thought I kept well-hidden. It should be alarming, this transparency she's created between us. Instead, it feels like relief I didn't know I needed.
"He deserves to suffer a little for forcing this situation," I admit, letting my hand slide down her spine to settle at the small of her back. "Though I suppose I should thank him eventually. His meddling gave me something I didn't know I was missing."
Her response is a soft sound of contentment that makes warmth pool in my chest, followed by a kiss pressed to the hollow of my throat that sends heat shooting through my veins despite the early hour. The way she touches me now—confident and claiming and free of the hesitation that marked our early interactions—never fails to undo my carefully maintained control.
"I have something for you," she says, pulling back to look at me with an expression that mixes excitement with nervousness. "For today. Another valentine."
The admission makes my eyebrows rise with surprise and curiosity in equal measure. Her first gift—that carefully folded paper heart with its honest words—sits in place of honor on my bedside table, proof of the moment when everything began to shift between us. The idea that she's made me something else, something to mark this formal beginning, sends satisfaction coursing through me that has nothing to do with the physical gifts and everything to do with the thought behind them.
She disentangles herself from my arms with reluctance I can feel in every movement, padding across the cold floor to retrieve something from her pack with unconscious grace that makes me grateful for the view. When she returns, she carries a small object wrapped in scrap of red cloth that must be remnant from one of the Valentine decorations.
"Ursik helped me," she says, settling back into bed beside me with cheeks pink from cold and something that might be embarrassment. "Well, he taught me the technique. But I did the actual work myself."
The confession makes warmth bloom in my chest, affection for my friend mixing with deeper emotion for the woman who asked him to teach her something she thought would please me. I unwrap the cloth carefully, revealing a carved wooden pendant that makes my breath catch in my throat with recognition and wonder.
It's a Frostfang wolf, but not the simple symbol we usually carve for talismans and markers. This one shows intricate detail that speaks to hours of careful work—individual fur lines etched into the wood, eyes that seem almost alive in their carved depths, expression that captures both fierceness and protection in perfect balance. The craftsmanship rivals work done by our most skilled artisans, remarkable for someone who learned the technique weeks ago.
"Ursik said wolves mate for life," she explains, voice soft with vulnerability that tells me how much this gesture means to her. "That they choose their pack and defend it with everything they have. It seemed... appropriate."
It makes my throat tight with emotion I'm not entirely equipped to handle. She's given me representation of everything she's learned about my clan, my people, my values—but more than that, she's used it to tell me what I mean to her. Pack. Mate. Chosen family worth defending.
"Saela," I manage, voice rough. "This is?—"
"Do you like it?" The uncertainty in her question cuts through my struggling words, reminding me that she's still learning to trust in her place here, still waiting for confirmation that her gestures are welcome and valued.
Instead of answering with words, I pull her against me with a kiss that carries all the gratitude and love and desperate appreciation I can't seem to articulate properly. She melts into the contact with a soft sound of satisfaction, hands fisting in my hair as she kisses me back with enthusiasm that makes coherent thought increasingly difficult.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, I press my forehead against hers with care not to let my tusks catch her skin. "I love it," I tell her, meaning evident in every syllable. "And I have something for you as well."
Her eyes widen with surprise and curiosity as I reach for the small leather pouch I've kept hidden in the drawer of my bedside table for the past week. The contents represent hours of careful work in the forge, consultation with Drogath about proper symbols and meanings, determination to give her something worthy of what she's offered me.
I pull out the bracelet slowly, watching her expression change from curiosity to wonder as she takes in the intricately woven bands of silver and copper that catch the morninglight filtering through our window. The metals intertwine in a pattern that speaks to unity and equality, two separate elements becoming stronger together than they ever were apart.
"It's a vow bracelet," I explain, holding it up so she can see the detailed work more clearly. "Not a claiming mark or symbol of ownership. It represents a chosen partnership. Equal bond."
Her intake of breath tells me she understands the significance, the way this differs from traditional orc bonding jewelry that marks possession rather than mutual commitment. Her fingers trace the metal with reverence that makes my chest tight with satisfaction.
"The silver represents your strength," I continue, needing her to understand every layer of meaning I've built into this gift. "Your resilience, the way you shine even when everything around you is dark. The copper is warmth, life, the way you've brought both back to places in me I thought were dead."
