She was quiet for a moment, her gaze fixed on the dancing flames. “It’s… different from anywhere else on Cresca. Tall buildings made of glass and steel. Streets crowded with people from a dozen different species. Technology everywhere—the kind that’s hard to find outside the city.”
“Do you miss it?”
“I thought I would.” She shifted against him, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder. “When I first woke up in your cabin, I thought about all the things I’d left behind. Hot water. Proper beds. Food that didn’t require hunting or foraging. But somewhere along the way, I stopped missing them. Or maybe I just found something better to fill the space.”
Her hand found his, their fingers intertwining.
“I’m nervous,” she admitted softly. “About bringing you there. About what you’ll think of it. Of me, in that world.”
“You think I’ll see you differently?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” She turned her face up towards his, her grey eyes luminous in the firelight. “I’m not the same person there that I’ve been here. Or at least, I wasn’t. I was the Duvain heiress—delicate, protected, always surrounded by people trying to manage me. I’m worried you’ll see that woman and wonder what happened to the one you trained in the snow.”
He cupped her face in his free hand, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. “I see you,” he said firmly. “Whoever you were, whoever you had to be in that world—it doesn’t change what I know. You crashed into my mountain and survived. You demanded I teach you to fight. You faced down adyani and never flinched. Whatever masks you wore before, I’ve seen what’s underneath.”
“And if I have to wear those masks again? If I have to become the pampered heiress to save my father’s legacy?”
“Then I’ll be at your side.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there, breathing in her scent. “Masks can be removed. The female beneath them—my female—will still be there. I’ll make sure of it.”
She made a small sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and pulled him down into a kiss that tasted of salt and smoke and desperate hope.
That night, they made love beside the fire, slow and tender, savoring every touch. The cold pressed in around them, but between his body heat and the flames, they created their own warmth. When sleep finally claimed them, she was curled in his arms, her back pressed to his chest, his hand splayed possessively over her stomach. The mark on her breast pulsed faintly—a connection he could feel even in the darkness, binding them together more surely than any words.
The next day the mountain slopes started to give way to rocky scrambles and dense forest, the trees growing larger and closer together as they descended. His senses were on constant alert, scanning for threats—the scent of predators, the rustle of movement in the underbrush, anything that might endanger his mate.
But the forest seemed quiet, almost peaceful. Snow lay thick on the branches, muffling sound, and the only animals they encountered were small prey creatures that fled at their approach.
“We’re making good time,” he told her as they paused to rest beside a frozen stream. “We should reach the foothills by tomorrow afternoon, if the weather holds.”
She nodded, her breath coming in short puffs as she recovered from the morning’s exertion. She was tired—he could see it in the shadows beneath her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands as she accepted the waterskin he offered—but she hadn’t complained. Hadn’t asked to slow down or stop.
She’s so much stronger than she knows,he thought again, watching her drink.
That night they found shelter in a shallow cave, the entrance narrow enough that he could block it with his body if necessary. He built another fire, and they ate the last of their travel rations in companionable silence.
“Tell me about your family,” she said suddenly. “Not the pack politics—you’ve told me about that. But before, when you were young. What was it like?”
The question caught him off guard. He rarely thought about those early years, before his father’s second mating had complicated everything. Before Lysara and her betrayals.
“It was… good,” he said slowly, the words dredged up from somewhere deep inside. “My mother was kind. Fierce, as I said, but also gentle when she needed to be. She used to sing to me. My father was always busy managing pack business, but when he was home, he made time for me. He taught me to hunt and track. He taught me to be a warrior.”
“You loved them.”
“Yes.” The admission felt strange on his tongue, like a muscle long unused. “But after my mother died, my father became… different. Harder. More focused on the pack’s survival than on his son. And then he took a new mate, and everything changed.”
She reached for his hand, her smaller fingers threading through his. “I’m sorry for what you lost.”
“It was a long time ago.” But her sympathy warmed something cold inside him, something he’d thought long frozen over. “What about you? You said your mother died when you were born?”
“Yes. I never knew her. I’ve only seen her portraits and heard stories about her. My father kept her memory alive, though. He used to tell me she was the strongest person he’d ever known. That she fought to bring me into the world, even when the doctors said it was hopeless.” Her voice grew soft and distant. “It’s part of the reason he was so protective. He’d already lost her. He couldn’t bear to lose me too.”
“He sounds like a good male.”
“He was. The best.” She leaned into his side, her head resting against his shoulder. “I miss him every day. But being here with you has helped. You’ve helped me remember that strength isn’t about never being hurt. It’s about getting back up when you are.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in her scent. Tomorrow they would reach the foothills. Tomorrow she would activate the beacon and summon her world back to her. But tonight—tonight she was still his, and his alone.
They made love again in the flickering firelight, fierce and desperate, neither wanting to acknowledge what the morning would bring. She cried out his name as she shattered in his arms, and the sound echoed through the cave like a prayer.
