He said nothing. But Vhalt was an old warrior, and old warriors saw more than they said. He simply nodded, once, and clapped a heavy hand on Njkall’s shoulder.
“Don’t rush it,” Vhalt said, rising. “But don’t stand so still that she thinks you don’t want to move. There’s a difference between patience and hiding, Njkall. Sometimes they look the same from the outside.”
Vhalt ambled off and Njkall’s gaze returned to Polly.
He wanted her. Not just her body, though the memory of last night still burned in him like a banked coal. He wanted her laughter and her stubbornness and her quiet courage, her small hand in his and her dark head on his chest and her voice, sleepy and warm, murmuring his name in the dark. He wanted to claim her, to bind himself to her, to stand before the clan and declare that she was his and he was hers and nothing in all the cold reaches of Hothrest would ever take her from him.
He wanted her as his mate. But wanting it did not give him the right to assume she did.
So he would wait.
The meal wound down. The fires burned low. One by one the families drifted back towards their own quarters, calling soft goodnights, gathering sleepy children into their arms. Polly found him again as the hall emptied, appearing at his side withher cheeks still flushed and her eyes still bright, and she slipped her hand into his without hesitation.
“That was nice.” She leaned against his arm as they walked, and he adjusted his pace to match her shorter stride, the way he always did. “I like dinners like this. I didn’t use to like them. Now I look forward to them.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“I watch you,” he said simply.
She glanced up at him, and something in her expression softened. “Yeah,” she said. “You do.”
They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, through the winding corridors lit by glowing crystals, past the murmur of other families settling in for the night. The mountain seemed to breathe around them, ancient and patient, holding the warmth of the caves close against the cold that pressed at every entrance.
When they reached their quarters, she went to build the fire back up. He watched her from the doorway and felt the wanting rise in him again, warm and insistent. But with it, the discipline.
“Polly,” he said.
“Mm?” She didn’t look up from the fire.
He crossed to her, lowering himself onto the furs beside the hearth, close but not touching. This was important. This needed to be said clearly, so there could be no confusion, no hidden weight of obligation.
“Last night,” he began.
Her hands went still. She looked at him, wary now, and he cursed himself for the wariness even as he pressed on.
“What happened between us,” he said carefully. “It was good. I want you to know that I—” He paused, searching for the words, hating how clumsy they felt in his mouth. “That you gave me something I did not expect to have, little one. And I am grateful for it.”
“Njkall—”
“But I need you to understand something.” He held her gaze, steady and calm, the way he faced every difficult thing. “Wanting me does not obligate you to anything more. You owe me nothing. Not a bond, not a promise, not your future. If you want my hands and nothing else, that is enough. If you want to stop, that is enough. You are free, little one. Whatever happens between our bodies, you remain free. I need you to know that. I need you to be certain of it.”
He’d expected relief. He’d rehearsed this in his mind a dozen times, and in every version, she’d looked at him with those wide grey eyes and thanked him for understanding.
Instead, her expression went cold and hard.
“What?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.
“Polly—”
“No.” She sat back on her heels, and there was a spark in her eyes now that he’d never seen directed at him before. Not fear. Not gratitude. Something sharper. “Say that again. What did you just say to me?”
He felt the ground shift beneath him. He proceeded with the caution of a male who suspected he’d stepped onto thin ice. “I said that wanting me does not obligate you to?—”
“To anything. Right. I heard you.” She stood up. She actually stood up, folding her arms across her chest, looking down at him where he sat by the fire. There was something almost absurd about it, this small human female glaring down at a warrior three times her size, but he did not find it absurd at all. He found it arresting. “You know what I hear, Njkall? Every time you open your mouth lately? I hear you deciding things for me.”
“I am not?—”
