“I need you to understand that I can choose. That I am not an animal at the mercy of instinct, no matter how much my beast demands otherwise.” He let his thumb trace the curve of her cheekbone. “But I also need you to understand the danger. If we continue down this path, there may come a moment when I cannot stop. When the claiming becomes inevitable. You deserve to make that choice with full knowledge of the consequences.”
She was quiet for a long moment, her gaze searching his.
“And if I still choose you?”
The words hit him like an actual blow to the chest. His beast howled in triumph, straining against its chains, demanding that he take her offer and run with it.
“That’s not an option. Not yet.” He stepped back, putting distance between them while he still could. “But perhaps we could… explore. As long as you allow me to remain in control. No more… incidents like today.”
“You call that an incident?”
“I call that dangerous.” He turned back towards the cabin, knowing she would follow. Knowing he couldn’t trust himself to look at her again without kissing her senseless. “For now, we train. We talk. We try to build something that can survive beyond the circumstances that brought you here.”
“And your beast?”
He paused, not turning back. “My beast will wait. It has no choice.”
He heard her footsteps in the snow behind him, matching his pace as they walked back to the cabin. Neither of them spoke, but the silence was different now—charged with promise rather than tension.
Despite his determined words, he didn’t know if he was strong enough for the control he’d just promised. His body still ached with denied need, his beast still prowled restlessly beneath his skin, and the memory of her taste was seared into his mind like a brand. But he wanted to be worthy of the chance she was offering him.
Even if he didn’t yet believe he deserved it.
CHAPTER 10
The water bucket no longer made her arms shake. Ember noticed the difference as she hauled the second load from the stream, running again now that the weather was warmer. Two weeks ago—or was it three now?—this task would have left her trembling and breathless, her muscles screaming in protest. Today, she felt the burn, acknowledged it, and kept walking.
The cabin came into view through the trees, smoke curling from the chimney in lazy spirals.Home,her mind supplied, and she didn’t bother correcting herself. Whatever this place had been when she’d first woken in it, it had become something else entirely.
She set the bucket down outside the door and flexed her hands, studying them in the pale morning light. Calluses had formed on her palms, rough patches where soft skin used to be. Her father would have been horrified. He’d always insisted she wear gloves for any task more demanding than turning pages.
You’re stronger than they ever let you be.
The thought carried Rykan’s voice, even though he’d never said those exact words. But she heard them in every correction, every grudging nod of approval, every moment when he looked at her like she’d surprised him.
Inside the cabin, she found him crouched by the fire, feeding it kindling. He didn’t look up when she entered, but his shoulders shifted—a subtle awareness of her presence that she’d learned to read in the weeks they’d spent together.
“Water’s here,” she said, pushing through the door with the bucket. “I can get the third load before?—”
“Eat first.”
She almost argued. The old Ember would have accepted the command without question, grateful for any excuse to rest. But the woman she was becoming wanted to prove she could do more, that she wasn’t the delicate creature everyone had always assumed.
The look Rykan shot her over his shoulder stopped the protest before it formed.
“You push too hard,” he said. “A warrior knows when to rest.”
“I’m hardly a warrior.”
“You are becoming one.”
The words settled into her chest, warming her from within. She set the bucket down and moved to the small table where he’d already laid out their simple meal. Food she’d helped gather, prepare, and store. Food that tasted like accomplishment.
They ate in companionable silence after he finished with the fire. Her gaze drifted over to the sleeping platform they now shared,although only to sleep. They hadn’t crossed that line again, not completely, but the possibility of it hummed between them constantly.
“Training this afternoon,” he said, finally straightening from the hearth. “You’ve been favoring your left side when you block.”
“I have not.”
