Good.
I zip my jeans, the adrenaline fading into a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion. But it’s a good tired. The kind you get after building something that’s going to last forever.
"Can you walk?" I ask, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.
She tests her legs, wincing slightly as she shifts on the bench. "Maybe. If you catch me."
"Always."
I scoop her up into my arms again, lifting her off the workbench. She wraps her arms around my neck, burying her face in my shoulder. She feels right there. A counterweight to all the heavy shit I carry.
I carry her out of the workshop, kicking the door shut behind me with my boot to seal the scent of our heat and the cold steel inside.
We move into the warmth of the cabin. The fire in the woodstove has burned down to embers, casting a soft, orange glow over the living room.
I walk toward the bedroom, intent on burying us under the quilts and sleeping for twelve hours. I don’t stop at the sideboard. I don’t look at the radio. The outside world is a ghost, and the only thing real is the woman in my arms.
I lay her on the bed, her dark hair a mess of curls against my pillow, her skin still flushed and sensitized from the brutal claiming in the workshop.
I follow her down, pinning her into the mattress with the raw, muscular weight of my body, the scent of her soaking pussy and my own spent seed rising between us in the heat of the quilts.
I pull the brass key—the key to her independence and that rotting shack down the ridge—from my pocket and press it into her soft palm."
"The snow is melting, Avery." My voice vibrates in my chest. "The pass will be open by morning. You have your own place. You have your independence."
She doesn't look at the key. She looks at me.
She lets the silver metal fall to the floor with a quiet, certain thud.
"I'm not a guest, Oliver." Her hands tangle in my beard to pull me closer. "And I'm not a stray. I'm exactly where I belong."
I let out a breath I’ve been holding for years. I kiss her, a slow, deep claim that tastes of vanilla and forever.
I pull back just enough to see her eyes, glassy and beautiful in the dim light. I reach into the small drawer of the nightstand and pull out something I’ve been working on in the forge for weeks. Steel, hammered thin and heated until it’s indestructible, with a jagged halo etched into the center.
"I don't just want you in my cabin, Avery," I say, my voice cracking with the weight of it. "I want you to carry my name. I want the whole mountain to know that if they look at you, they’re looking at a Gunnar".
Her breath hitches, her gaze fixed on the dark metal in my hand.
"I’m a mess," I whisper, my thumb tracing her lower lip. "I’m a savage who lives in the trees and sharpens knives to keep the ghosts away. But I’ll be your fortress. I’ll be the ground under your feet. Stay. Marry me."
Tears well up in her eyes, spilling over and soaking into the pillow. She doesn't hesitate. She grabs my hand, guiding the ring onto her finger. It fits perfectly. A lock clicking into place.
"Yes," she sobs, pulling me down for another kiss. "Yes, Oliver. Always."
I hold her so tight our hearts beat as one, the fire in the living room finally dying out, leaving us in the warm, safe dark.
"Tomorrow, the snow melts, and the whole world is going to find out you belong to a Savage."
EPILOGUE
AVERY
The morning sun hits the frost on the bedroom window, turning the glass into a mosaic of shattered diamonds. I wake up trapped. Oliver’s arm is a heavy iron bar across my waist, his heat seeping into my back, anchoring me to the mattress. I don’t move. Breaking this spell isn't an option. For the first time in my life, I am not waking up wondering when I have to leave. I am not checking the clock to see if I’ve overstayed my welcome.
I am exactly where I belong.
Oliver stirs behind me. His breath hitches, then smooths out as he nuzzles into the crook of my neck. He’s already hard, his body reacting to mine before he’s even fully conscious. Primal. Constant. The way a Gunnar loves—with every single inch of his skin.
