They couldn't stay here.
The storm had passed. The ground would be drying. And somewhere out there, men were searching for their escaped cargo.
He could kill them. The thought held no emotion. It was simply a fact. Two wagon guards, perhaps three or four outriders. He'd faced worse odds and walked away without a scratch. The raiders last night had numbered six, and he'd put them down in minutes.
But that wasn't the issue.
The issue was what came after.
If he slaughtered humans operating under human law, however barbaric that law might be, he would confirm every horror story she'd ever been told about his kind. She would see him drenched in the blood of her own people, and some part of her would always wonder if the monster she'd feared was real after all.
More than that: if she carried a legal contract, however unjustly obtained, simply killing the enforcers wouldn't dissolve it. More would come. The debt would remain. And she would be a fugitive in human lands forever.
No. He needed to do this properly.
He needed to get her somewhere safe and then address this through channels that would give her actual freedom. Not just escape, but liberation. The Mountain Clan had procedures for such things. Humans who sought sanctuary. Claims that superseded foreign law.
But all of that required getting her to clan territory first.
She stirred against him, and Ralvar's attention narrowed to the woman in his arms. Her face was soft with sleep, the tension that usually lived in her features finally eased. Her hair was tangled, her cheeks still faintly tracked with the salt of dried tears, and she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Mine.
The thought rose again, as it had been rising since the moment he'd found her. He didn't fight it anymore. There was no point. The pull had taken root in him so deeply that denying it would be like denying his own heartbeat.
But she had to choose. That was the foundation of everything. She had to understand her options, weigh them, and decide for herself what she wanted.
Even if the thought of her choosing to leave made his chest ache.
Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment she looked confused by the stone walls, the furs, the massive arm wrapped around her. Then her gaze found his face, and she relaxed.
"Morning," she murmured.
"Past morning." His voice came out rougher than intended. "Closer to midday."
She pushed herself up slightly, wincing. "I slept that long?"
"You needed it."
She was quiet, studying his face. He wondered what she saw there. If the careful mask he'd worn for decades was still intact, or if she could see straight through to the chaos underneath.
"You're thinking about something," she said. "Something serious."
Perceptive. He shouldn't be surprised. "We need to talk about what to do next."
Her expression shifted. The softness of sleep retreated, replaced by something warier. "The men."
"Yes." He released her slowly, letting her settle back against the furs while he sat up. The distance felt wrong, but he needed to think clearly, and that was harder to do when they were tangled together. "They'll be searching."
"Can we—" She hesitated. "Can we stay ahead of them? Keep moving until they give up?"
"They won't give up. You represent a financial obligation. The men who hired them will send more if these fail."
Hope drained from her face, replaced by the resignation he was coming to hate.
"So I can't run."
"You can." He leaned forward, needing her to understand this. "Delia, you can do whatever you choose. I am telling you what I believe to be true, but the choice is yours.”
