I could fight,a voice whispered.I could tell him how I really feel. I could refuse to accept his fear as an answer.
But what right did she have? She’d admitted she wasn’t certain. She’d given him her doubt like a weapon, and now she couldn’t blame him for using it.
She was reaching for another pot to scrub—anything to keep her hands busy, anything to keep the thoughts at bay—when she heard a sound outside. A sound other than the wind or the settling snow.
She froze, every muscle in her body going rigid. Rykan’s warnings echoed in her mind:The storm may have driven predators lower. Don’t open the door for anything.
But this didn’t sound like an animal. It was too deliberate, like footsteps. Footsteps that didn’t belong to Rykan.
He’d insisted that she always know where to find a weapon, and she automatically reached for the knife she kept near the cooking supplies. The handle felt cold in her palm as she moved silently towards the window, pressing herself against the wall to peer outside without being seen.
For a long moment, she saw nothing. Just snow and trees and the empty expanse of Rykan’s territory. Then a figure emerged from the tree line, and her blood went cold.
A Vultor. Male. Not Rykan.
He was about the same height as Rykan but leaner, crossing the clearing in front of the cabin with the easy confidence of a predator in his own territory. Long dark hair was pulled back from a handsome, arrogant face. As she watched, he came to a halt and lifted his head, inhaling deeply.
Scenting,she realized.He’s scenting for something.
For her?
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She pressed herself flatter against the wall, barely breathing, watching as the stranger’s gaze swept across the cabin, his head tilted in what looked like surprise. Then he started walking towards the door.
Don’t open the door for anything.
Her hand tightened on the knife. She knew it was a laughable weapon against a Vultor. Even with all the training Rykan had given her, she was no match for one of them in a real fight. But she also knew she wasn’t going to die cowering in a corner.
The footsteps stopped outside the door. Silence stretched, thick and oppressive.
Then he spoke, his voice smooth and slightly mocking.
“I know you’re in there, little human. I can smell you.” A pause. “I can smell him on you, too.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t make a sound.
“My name is Korrin,” the voice continued. The tone was almost conversational, but there was something else beneath it, something that might have been concern. “Tell me. Are you afraid of me? Or are you afraid of him?”
CHAPTER 17
Rykan field-dressed the carcass of the large grazing animal, his breath misting in the cold air. It was a good kill—enough meat to last them for weeks if properly preserved, enough to justify the hours he’d spent tracking it through the frost-glazed forest.
Enough to almost justify running away from Ember that morning.
Almost.
He wrapped the meat in the hide and tied it to a makeshift sleigh, hauling it behind him as he walked, his boots crunching through the crust of ice that had formed over the deeper snow. The sun hung low on the horizon, pale and watery, offering light without warmth. In a few hours it would set, and the temperature would plummet again. He needed to go back.
He didn’t want to go back.
The thought twisted in his gut like a blade. He’d been wrestling with it all day, turning it over and over as he tracked his prey through the silent woods. Every time he tried to focus on thehunt—on the tracks, the scent, the subtle signs of movement—his mind betrayed him, dragging him back to the cabin. To her.
To the look on her face when he’d pulled away from her. When he’d told her he wouldn’t claim her. When she’d whisperedmaybe you’re rightin a voice that sounded like something breaking.
He’d hurt her. He knew that. The knowledge sat in his chest like a stone, heavy and immovable, impossible to ignore no matter how hard he tried. He’d seen the light dim in her eyes, seen the way she’d pulled the fur around herself like armor, and he’d done nothing. Said nothing. Afterwards, he just lay there in the darkness, hating himself, unable to find the words to fix what he’d broken.
Because what could he say? The truth? That he wanted her so badly his beast howled with it, that every fiber of his being screamed at him to claim her and damn the consequences? That he lay awake every night listening to her breathe, fighting the urge to pull her close and never let go?
She didn’t need that burden. She had enough to carry already—the betrayal of her aunt, the weight of her father’s legacy, the impossible choice between the life she’d known and whatever this was between them. She didn’t need a broken Vultor adding his fears to her shoulders.
