The storm hitslike the wrath of the old gods, turning the world white and wild in the span of minutes. I feel it building in my bones as I pace through the forest, trying to put distance between myself and the memory of Jessa’s lips against mine, the taste of her still burning on my tongue like the finest whiskey.
But even the storm can’t wash away the way she looked at me when I showed her my true nature—not with fear, but with wonder. With want.
You’re mine.
Her words echo in my head, sweet as poison, dangerous as winter ice. She doesn’t understand what she’s claiming, what it means to bind herself to something like me. But her scent still clings to my skin, and the bond pulses stronger than ever, a living thing that demands I return to her, protect her, claim her.
The wind howls through the trees, carrying the scent of heavy snow and something else—panic. Human panic, sharp and acrid on the air.
Jessa.
I’m running before conscious thought kicks in, my form shifting mid-stride until I’m four-legged and fleet, eating up the distance between myself and the source of that fear. The storm is worsening, the type of blizzard that kills unprepared humans in minutes, and she’s out there somewhere in its teeth.
I find her truck first, skidded off the road and buried up to the windows in a drift. The engine is still warm, which means she can’t have gone far, but her tracks are already being erased by the driving snow. Only the bond between us guides me now, that invisible thread that pulls me deeper into the forest, toward the heart of my territory.
Toward danger she has no business facing alone.
She’s huddled beneath a massive pine, shivering so hard her teeth chatter audibly over the wind. Her coat is soaked through, her lips already blue with cold, and fury roars through me at her foolishness. What was she thinking, venturing out in weather like this? Didn’t she understand how easily this wilderness could kill her?
I shift back to humanoid form as I approach, letting my power unfurl around me to drive back the worst of the wind and snow. She looks up at me with eyes glazed with hypothermia, and I can see her struggling to focus.
“Aelin?” Her voice is barely a whisper, slurred with cold. “I got… I got lost.”
“Foolish woman,” I growl, scooping her up despite her feeble protests. She weighs nothing in my arms, fragile as spun glass and twice as precious. “You could have died out here.”
“Trying to… to find you,” she mumbles against my chest, and the admission hits me like a physical blow. She came looking forme. In a blizzard. She risked her life because she couldn’t stay away anymore than I can.
The realization terrifies me more than any enemy I’ve ever faced.
My lodge sits carved into the mountainside, hidden by wards and ancient magic from any eyes that don’t belong here. I’ve brought no one to this place in three centuries—it’s my sanctuary, my retreat from the demands of kingship and the weight of duty. But as I carry her across the threshold, that sanctity feels less like protection and more like a trap.
She’s unconscious by the time I lay her on the furs before my hearth, her breathing shallow and too fast. Hypothermia. I’ve seen it kill humans before, watched the cold steal their lives with quiet efficiency. The thought of losing her to something so mundane, so preventable, makes ice crack along the walls.
I build up the fire with more force than necessary, the flames roaring to life at my command. Then I begin the careful process of warming her—removing her sodden clothes, wrapping her in the finest furs from my collection, pressing my body heat against her chilled skin when the furs aren’t enough.
She murmurs my name in her delirium, and I have to close my eyes against the way it affects me. Even unconscious, she calls to me. Even dying, she draws me like a moth to flame.
It takes hours before her breathing evens out, before the terrible blue tinge fades from her lips and her skin warms beneath my touch. I should move away then, should give her space and privacy to recover. Instead, I watch the play of firelight across her face, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the dark fan of her lashes against pale skin.
Beautiful. Even like this—vulnerable, human, so fragile it makes my chest ache—she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
When she finally stirs, it’s with a soft sound of confusion that goes straight to my cock despite the circumstances. Her eyes flutter open, storm-gray and unfocused, and she takes a moment to register where she is.
“This isn’t my cabin,” she says, her voice still rough from the cold.
“No.” I’m sitting in a chair across from her, careful to maintain distance even though every instinct screams at me to gather her close. “This is my lodge. You nearly froze to death in the storm.”
She sits up slowly, the furs pooling around her waist, and I have to look away when I realize she’s wearing nothing but the thin undershirt I’d left on for modesty’s sake. The fire has turned her skin golden, and I can see the mark on her shoulder blade through the sheer fabric—my mark, proof of the bond that grows stronger with each passing hour.
“Where are my clothes?”
“Drying.” I gesture toward the hearth, where her jacket and sweater hang from wooden pegs. “They were soaked through. You would have died if I hadn’t found you.”
She pulls the furs higher, tucking them under her arms, and I try not to notice how the movement emphasizes the curves beneath. Try and fail spectacularly.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For saving me.Again.”
The gratitude in her voice makes something twist uncomfortably in my chest. I don’t want her thanks. I want her safe, protected, and far from the dangers that surround me. ButI also want her here, in my space, breathing life into rooms that have been empty for too long.
