“I know more than you think.” Korrin adjusted his grip on the sleigh handle, his gaze turning distant. “I spent years convincing myself that I didn’t deserve anything good. That everyone I let close would die. I pushed away anyone who tried to care because it was easier than risking another loss.”
“What changed?”
“Soren, to start with. He found a way to… direct my destructive tendencies. But mostly, Tessa.” A smile softened Korrin’s arrogant features, genuine and a little wondering, like he still couldn’t quite believe his own fortune. “She challenged my assumptions and she made me choose—keep running from the past, or start building a future.”
The words settled into his chest. He thought about Ember again—her quiet strength and her refusal to give up even when everything was working against her. The way she’d looked at him after he’d transformed, after she’d seen the beast in all its savage glory, and called him magnificent.
“It’s not the same,” he said, but the protest sounded weak even to his own ears.
“Maybe not.” Korrin started walking again, and after a moment he fell into step beside him. “But the question is still the same. Are you going to let fear decide your future? Or are you going to give her the chance to choose for herself?”
They walked in silence for a while, the cabin coming into view through the trees. Warm light glowed from the windows, and he caught the sound of female voices—Tessa’s low and melodic, Ember’s soft and sweet.
“She’s a Duvain,” he said finally. “Heir to one of the largest human enterprises on Cresca. What would she want with an exile Vultor who lives alone in the mountains?”
“What would Tessa want with a broken bounty hunter who didn’t care if he lived or died?” Korrin clapped him on the shoulder, the gesture casual but somehow meaningful. “Sometimes we’re the last ones to see our own worth. Don’tmake my mistake, Rykan. Don’t wait until you’ve almost lost everything before you figure out what matters.”
They entered the cabin together, the warmth washing over him after the bitter cold outside. Tessa and Ember looked up from the table, their conversation trailing off. Ember’s grey eyes found his immediately, searching his face for something he couldn’t name.
He carried a haunch to the prep table, constantly aware of her presence even with his back turned. Korrin’s words echoed in his skull, mixing with the ever-present growl of his beast.
Claim her. Keep her. Don’t let her walk away.
But it wasn’t that simple. It couldn’t be.
“The weather is clearing,” Korrin announced, settling his portion down by the cold storage alcove. “Looks like we’re in for a warmer spell.”
“Good.” Tessa rose from the table, stretching. “We can head back to the pack tomorrow, then. Soren will want to know what we’ve found.”
He felt the weight of Ember’s gaze on him like a physical touch. He turned, meeting her eyes, and saw something there he hadn’t expected—not resignation or relief at the prospect of leaving, but uncertainty. Like she was waiting for something. Hoping for something.
Ask her,Korrin’s voice whispered in his memory.Give her the chance to choose.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked quietly, moving to stand beside him. Her shoulder brushed his as she reachedfor the cutting tools, and the simple contact sent heat racing through his blood.
Such a small thing. Such an impossible thing.
“Here.” He handed her a knife, then positioned her hands on the meat. “Follow the grain. Short strokes work better than trying to saw through.”
She nodded, biting her lower lip in concentration as she made her first cut. She hadn’t worked with that type of meat before and her first cut was awkward, but she didn’t give up. She never gave up.
They worked side by side as the evening deepened, the four of them falling into an easy rhythm that surprised him with its naturalness. Korrin handled the heavy butchering while he showed Ember the finer work of separating cuts for different purposes. Tessa took charge of the cooking, adding wood at intervals and adjusting the drying racks.
It was… comfortable.
The realization made his chest ache. He’d spent six years telling himself he didn’t miss pack life and didn’t need the complicated web of relationships and obligations that came with belonging to something larger than himself. He’d convinced himself that solitude was freedom, that isolation was peace.
But this—four people working together in easy companionship, sharing labor and warmth and the simple satisfaction of a task well done—this was something he’d forgotten he wanted.
“You’re good with her,” Korrin murmured, low enough that the females couldn’t hear. He nodded towards Ember, who was carefully wrapping finished cuts in treated cloth.
“She’s a quick learner.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He didn’t respond because the truth was too complicated to put into words. He wasn’t good with her—he was desperate for her, constantly fighting the urge to pull her close and never let go. Every moment in her presence was a battle between what he wanted and what he thought he deserved.
The meal came together slowly—roasted meat with mountain herbs, the last of his fresh vegetables, and a rough bread Ember had learned to make during her first week in the cabin. They sat around the small table, knees bumping in the cramped space, and ate with the comfortable silence of people too hungry for conversation.
