He found himself watching her more than he should. The way she held her knife, the precise movements she’d developed through weeks of practice. The flush of warmth in her pale cheeks from the fire. The small smile that curved her lips when she caught him looking.
She’d changed so much since he’d pulled her from that escape pod. The fragile creature he’d carried through the snow had transformed into someone stronger and more resilient. She still looked delicate—she would always look delicate, with those fine bones and that aristocratic face—but there was steel beneath the softness now. A determination that hadn’t been there before.
Or maybe it was always there,he thought.Maybe she just never had the chance to show it.
“This is good,” Tessa said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Really good. The herbs are different from what we use to the east.”
“It’s something I call mountain sage,” Ember offered. “Along with something Rykan calls snowbell. He taught me which ones were safe to use.”
“He’s been teaching you a lot, from what I can see.” There was no judgment in Tessa’s voice, just gentle observation. “You move differently than the other fine ladies I’ve seen. More grounded.”
“She’s been training.” The words escaped before he could stop them. Pride roughened his voice despite his best efforts. “She asked me to teach her. Combat basics, survival skills. She wanted to earn her keep.”
Her eyes met his across the table, and something passed between them. Acknowledgment. Understanding. The memory of all those hours spent together in the snow, his hands on her body correcting her stance, her determination pushing her past exhaustion.
“Impressive,” Korrin said. “Not many humans have the patience for Vultor training methods.”
“She’s not like most humans.”
The words hung in the air, weighted with a meaning he hadn’t intended to reveal. Her cheeks flushed deeper, but she didn’t look away.
Tell her,his beast urged.Tell her what she means to you.
But the words stuck in his throat, trapped behind years of caution and the bitter memory of betrayal. He’d offered his heart to a female he thought he could trust, and she’d used it to destroy him. Could he risk it again?
The fire burned low as the night deepened, casting long shadows across the cabin walls. Korrin and Tessa had claimed the spaceby the hearth, bedding down in a nest of furs with the easy intimacy of long-mated pairs. The two adyani curled at their feet, their breathing slow and even.
He climbed onto the sleeping platform as she settled beside him. The space seemed impossibly small—every shift of her weight, every whisper of cloth against skin registering in his heightened senses.
He lay on his back, staring at the rough-hewn ceiling, and tried not to think about how close she was. How easy it would be to roll towards her, to pull her into his arms, and finally take what his beast had been demanding since the moment he’d first caught her scent.
“Rykan.”
Her voice was barely a whisper, pitched low enough that only Vultor hearing would catch it. He turned his head and found her watching him in the darkness. Her grey eyes caught the faint glow of the dying fire, luminous and uncertain.
She didn’t say anything else. She just reached out, her small hand finding his in the shadows and closing around it.
His breath caught.
Such a simple thing. Such a devastating thing. Her palm pressed against his, her grip firm despite the trembling he could feel in her fingers.
She wasn’t asking for anything more. She wasn’t pushing for explanations or promises or the conversation they both knew was coming. She was just… holding on. Claiming this small connection in the darkness, this tiny bridge between his isolation and her uncertain future.
Ask her.Korrin’s voice echoed in his memory.Give her the chance to choose.
Korrin was right. He had to give her the chance. Even though it was a risk, it was a risk he had to take. A risk he suddenly wanted to take. But not tonight. Tonight there were strangers sleeping by his fire and a thousand complications waiting in the morning light. Tonight, the only thing he could give her was this—his hand in hers, his presence beside her, the unspoken promise that whatever came next, she wouldn’t face it alone.
Her breathing slowly evened out, sleep claiming her in gradual degrees. But even in unconsciousness, her grip on his hand never loosened.
He lay awake for hours, watching the shadows shift across the ceiling and trying to imagine a future he’d stopped believing in.
Morning came grey and cold,the sky heavy with clouds that threatened snow but hadn’t yet delivered. He woke to find Ember still beside him, her hand still tangled with his, her face soft with sleep.
He watched her for a long moment, memorizing the details. The curve of her cheek. The pale gold of her hair spread across his furs. The small furrow between her brows that appeared even in rest, as if her mind never fully stopped working.
Beautiful,his beast rumbled.Ours.
But she wasn’t his. Not yet. Not in the way that mattered.
