“We’ll continue tomorrow,” he added, moderating his tone with effort. “Your muscles need rest. Pushing too hard will cause injury.”
“I thought warriors pushed through pain.”
“Warriors build to that point. They don’t start there and shatter themselves.”
She studied him for a moment, those clear grey eyes seeing too much. Then she nodded and turned towards the cabin, her movements stiff with exhaustion. He watched her go.
Mate,his beast insisted again, louder now, more insistent.Ours.
She wasn’t. She couldn’t be. She was human, and fragile, and she’d leave as soon as the pass cleared. This fixation was nothing more than proximity—the natural result of sharing space with an attractive female after years of solitude. His body was responding to opportunity, not destiny.
He told himself this. He almost believed it.
That night, he dreamed.
He stood in the clearing, snow falling soft and silent, and the world reduced to shades of grey and white. Ember was there, impossibly close, her grey eyes gleaming silver in the darkness. She wore nothing but one of his shirts, the fabric hanging to mid-thigh, leaving her legs bare to the cold but she wasn’t shivering.
“You’re watching me.” Her voice carried strange harmonics, layered like bells. “You’re always watching me.”
“I’m not.”
“Liar.” She smiled, and it was the same smile she’d given him that first time—warm, unafraid, and devastating. “You watch me sleep. You watch me eat. You watch me train until your eyes ache with wanting.”
“That’s not?—”
“It is.” She stepped closer, close enough to touch. “I feel your gaze on my skin like a brand. I feel your hands lingering on my body longer than necessary. I feel the heat of you, Rykan, even when you try to hide it.”
Her fingers brushed his chest. The touch burned through his clothing and left trails of fire on his skin. He needed to step back, but his body refused to obey.
“Why do you fight it?” she whispered.
“You’re not real. This isn’t?—”
“Isn’t it?”
Her hand slid lower, tracing the ridges of his abdomen through his shirt. His breath caught, his beast roaring beneath the surface, and when she pressed closer he could feel her heat through every layer of fabric between them.
“I want you,” she breathed against his throat. “I want to know what your hands feel like without clothing between us. I want to know what you taste like. I want?—”
He woke with a gasp, his body hard and aching, his skin slick with sweat despite the cabin’s chill. His heart hammered against his ribs like a caged thing fighting for release.
Across the room, she slept peacefully, unaware. She’d curled into his furs the way she always did, small and trusting, her breathing soft and even.
He stared at the ceiling and tried to force his body into compliance. Tried to ignore the demanding pulse of need thrumming through his veins. Tried to pretend that her scent wasn’t thick in his lungs, intoxicating, everywhere.
Just proximity,he told himself.Nothing more.
His beast laughed at him.
Dawn came too soon and not soon enough. He rose before the light, as he always did, but today his body felt wrong—restless and edgy, painfully aware of every sound and movement from the female sharing his space. He heard her breathing shift towards waking and forced himself to move, to put distance between them before she opened her eyes.
By the time she emerged from the furs, he was already outside, splitting wood with unnecessary force.
“Morning.” Her voice was rough with sleep, a reminder of warmth and softness and the bed they could have shared.
“Training starts in one hour.” He didn’t turn around. “Eat something. Stretch. We’re working on footwork again.”
“About yesterday?—”
