“You’re still recovering,” he said gruffly. “Rest should be your priority.”
“I can rest and be useful. I’m quite good at organizing things, for example And I have steady hands for detailed work.” She glanced around the cabin, taking in the somewhat chaotic arrangement of supplies on his shelves. “I notice your storage system is… eclectic.”
“It works.”
“I’m sure it does.” Her tone was diplomatic, but he caught the faint curve of her lips. Was she teasing him?
No one teased him. Not since he’d left the pack.
“We’ll see,” he said finally, not committing to anything. “Once you can stand without collapsing, we can discuss whether there’s anything suitable for you to do.”
“That sounds reasonable.” She finished the last of the food and sat back, looking at him with those curious, fearless eyes. “Thank you. For the meal. And for…” She gestured vaguely at the cabin, at the fire, at everything he’d done to keep her alive.
“Stop thanking me.”
“When you stop saving my life.”
There it was again—that hint of humor, that lightness that seemed completely at odds with her situation. She should have been terrified or weeping instead of calm and curious and oddly charming.
She’s dangerous,he reminded himself again.
Not because of what she was—a fragile human female who couldn’t even stand on her own—but because of what she made him feel. His protective instincts surging despite his best efforts to suppress them. The warmth that spread through his chest when she smiled at him. The way his beast kept growlingmine, mine, mineevery time she looked at him without fear.
He’d sworn never to let another female get under his skin. Never to trust an innocent exterior that might hide a calculating heart. Never to make himself vulnerable to the kind of betrayal that had nearly destroyed him. She was everything he should avoid—soft, pretty, and dependent on his protection. The kind of female who could make a male do stupid things.
I should send her away,he thought. Except he couldn’t. Not until the pass cleared, and the pass wouldn’t clear for days.
And as he watched her settle more comfortably at his table, her expression curious and unguarded, he realized with sinking certainty that he wasn’t sure he wanted her to leave.
CHAPTER 5
The stew was supposed to be simple. It wasn’t. Ember stared at the blackened mess clinging to the bottom of the iron pot, acrid smoke curling towards the ceiling beams. She’d followed Rykan’s instructions exactly—water, dried meat, root vegetables from the storage barrel. Bring to a boil, then let it simmer.
She’d let it simmer, all right. Simmered it straight into charcoal.
“I turned away for one minute,” she muttered, grabbing the pot handle without thinking, and pain lanced through her palm. She yanked her hand back with a sharp gasp, the pot clanging against the edge of the fireplace and sending a spray of burned remnants across the hearth.
“What the hell are you doing?”
She turned to find Rykan standing in the doorway, his arms full of firewood, and his golden eyes taking in the disaster she’d created. Snow dusted his dark hair and the shoulders of his heavy coat.
“Cooking,” she said, which was technically true if one were generous with the definition.
“That’s not cooking. That’s making charcoal.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “I followed your instructions.”
“I told you to watch it.”
“I was watching it. I just…” She looked at the pot, at the smoke, at the burned remnants scattered across the floor. “I was organizing your shelf. The one with the dried herbs. They weren’t in any logical order, and I thought if I just fixed it quickly, I’d be back before?—”
“Before you burned our meal?”
Her jaw tightened, her burned hand throbbing in time with her pulse. She wanted to defend herself, to explain that she’d never cooked anything in her life, that servants had always handled such tasks, and that she hadn’t even been allowed in the kitchen because her father worried she’d hurt herself.
But excuses wouldn’t un-burn the stew.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I’ll replace what I ruined.”
