“Why are we training out here?” She kept her voice low, instinctively matching the hush around them. “The clearing was fine.”
“Different terrain.” Rykan moved ahead of her, his gaze scanning the tree line in constant sweeps. “You need to learn balance on uneven ground. Roots, rocks, snow cover that hides obstacles.”
It made sense. Everything he did made sense, even when it frustrated her. Three days of training had taught her that Rykan never wasted effort—every drill served a purpose, every correction built towards something larger than the individual movement.
Three days had also taught her other things. How his hands felt when he adjusted her stance. How his body heat radiated through the cold air when he stood close to her. How his eyes tracked her movements with an intensity that had nothing to do with instruction.
She wasn’t imagining it. She couldn’t be imagining it—not the way his breath caught when they touched, not the way he pulled away too quickly, not the way she sometimes woke to find him watching her in the firelight before he looked away.
But he never acknowledged it. He never acted on the heat burning between them. He just retreated behind that wall of discipline and distance, leaving her to wonder if she’d finally lost her mind.
“Here.” He stopped in a small break between the trees, the ground relatively level despite the root systems beneath the snow. “We’ll work on the pivot-step again. The uneven surface will force you to adjust your balance naturally.”
She moved into position, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. The stance came easier now—her muscles had begun to remember the form, holding it without quite as much conscious effort.
“Begin.”
She started the footwork pattern. Step forward, shift weight, pivot on the ball of her foot. The snow crunched softly beneath her boots, and she felt the hidden terrain through the soles—a root here, a depression there, stones she couldn’t see but had to compensate for.
She stumbled on the third pivot but caught herself before she fell.
“Better.” His voice came from somewhere to her left. He’d been circling as she practiced, watching from different angles. “Again. Faster this time.”
She reset and began again. Step, shift, pivot. Step, shift, pivot. Her breathing found a rhythm, her body warming despite the cold, and a surge of satisfaction filled her when she completed the full pattern without losing her balance.
“Again.”
She went again. And again. The repetition became almost meditative, her mind emptying of everything except the next movement, the next adjustment, the next?—
His hand closed on her shoulder, and she froze mid-step, her heart lurching at the sudden contact. But his grip wasn’t corrective—it was restraining, pulling her to a stop with an urgency that sent alarm skittering down her spine.
“What—”
“Quiet.” The word was barely a whisper. “Don’t move.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stood frozen while his gaze swept the forest around them, his body coiled tight with a tension she’d never seen from him before.
Then she saw what he was looking at.
Tracks in the snow. Three sets of them, large and deep, cutting across the path they’d taken to reach this clearing. The prints showed elongated pads and claw marks that gouged the frozen ground, and something about their shape made her stomach clench.
“Adyani.” His voice was flat and controlled, but she heard the edge beneath it. “A hunting pack. At least three.”
She’d read about the adyani in her studies. They were one of the few native Crescan predators— somewhere between wolves and coyotes, but larger and more aggressive than either. They typically stayed in the high mountain ranges, well away from settled areas.
They were in the high mountain ranges now.
“Back to the cabin.” He released her shoulder but kept his body between her and the tracks. “Stay close. Move quickly but don’t run.”
She fell into step with him, matching his pace as he navigated back through the trees. The snow seemed deeper now, the forest darker, every shadow holding a potential threat. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and she had to fight the urge to look over her shoulder.
He stopped so suddenly she nearly collided with him.
“What is it?”
“We’re surrounded.”
The words landed like stones in still water. Her gaze darted to the trees, searching for movement, for shapes, for anything that would confirm his assessment. She saw nothing but snow and shadow, but then she heard it. A low, rumbling growl from somewhere to her right. Another answered from the left. A third from behind them and another in front.
