“Of course.” Becken’s voice came out carefully neutral, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched the blankets.
We moved around the cabin like strangers, carefully avoiding eye contact as we gathered our clothing. The easy intimacy of moments before had evaporated, replaced by awkward tension and the weight of whatever this was between us.
I pulled on my shirt with shaking hands. Every time I caught sight of the mark on my wrist, my heart leaped against my ribs as if it, too, wanted to escape. Fated mates. Forever. The concept felt too big, too overwhelming to process.
“The snow’s stopped,” Becken said from the window, his voice still carefully controlled.
He was right. Sunlight streamed through the trees, illuminating a world transformed by snow but no longer under a white barrage. I should feel relieved. Instead, I felt only dread at the prospect of returning to the real world, where we’d have to figure out what these marks meant.
Nothing. They meant nothing.
Or did they?
“We should eat something.” Focusing on practical matters might help. “Before we figure out how to get back.” I also needed to go to the bathroom, but since it appeared my ankle was much better—I barely felt any pain when I moved—I’d handle that myself. No more carrying me in his arms through the snow. No more climbing between my thighs to give me pleasure.
He’d actually come when I did, and I wasn’t sure what to think about that. Who did something like that unless…
No, my orgasm couldn’t have been satisfying enough to make him come. He’d…been turned on in general and come from that. Not me. Never me. I was… Well, I irritated him on my best days, and I irritated him even more on my worst.
Except here, inside this sweet cabin where we’d connected in a way I hadn’t with anyone else.
I wasn’t going to think about that, either.
“Right. Food,” he said.
When we returned from the bathroom, we ate in silence, the bread and cheese tasting like sawdust. Every few seconds, I’d catch Becken glancing at my wrist, his expression unreadable. The golden mark shone in the sunlight, a constant reminder of what had happened between us.
“The snow’s pretty deep,” he said eventually. “Walking back will be difficult.”
“We can do it.” We had to. The prospect of trudging through knee-deep snow wasn’t highly appealing, but we needed to get away from each other long enough to think. We couldn’t remain here until spring, him sucking me to orgasm and him coming against my shin every morning.
“It’ll take most of the day.”
“No one’s going to come roaring in with a big truck and snowplow.”
“They don’t know where we are.”
“Well, I’m not staying here any longer.”
“Agreed,” he ground out.
We fell into silence. The marks continued to catch my eye. I found myself touching mine, wondering if I’d ever get used to the sight of it.
A low rumble from outside made us both freeze.
Becken strode to the window and looked out, stiffening.
“Peeka’s here.” There was too much relief in his voice.
The sorhox stood at the edge of the clearing, her dark green hide stark against the white snow. Her head hung low, and even from a distance, I could see something almost contrite in her posture.
“She came for us,” I said, as if that fact needed to be stated.
“She looks sorry.” Becken’s mouth quirked in what might’ve been a smile under different circumstances. “Sorhoxes don’t like abandoning their riders.”
“It’s a good thing they feel that way. I guess we should pack up.”
“I guess we should.”
