Was he always like this? All noise and sharp edges? Or was I the one rattling him? I tightened the blanket around me and rose from the fire, drawn toward him despite myself. “Sorry about breaking that silence,” I said softly, stepping up to the counter where his broad back loomed, flannel shirt temptingly stretched over impressive muscles. “This wasn’t how I planned my day to go either. If I’d known about the snowstorm, I never would’ve gone out with Kevin on that snowmobile.”
The words tumbled out, and with them came the memory of that morning: Kevin at my door, grinning too wide, dangling pamphlets in my face like some kind of prize. He’d asked me to come, and I’d hesitated, already uneasy. Normally, I’d have been more prepared: weather apps checked twice, emergency pack ready. But Mom had been there, eyes bright with hope I didn’t want to crush. She’d practically shoved me out the door, whispering something about how nice it would be if Kevin and I “worked things out before Christmas.”
She was not subtle about her desire to have grandbabies to pamper someday soon, and as the only one with something ofa dating life, I bore the brunt of her interference. I’d gone to please them both—to silence the wrongness I’d felt, even when the rental guy at the shop had shifted uncomfortably at my questions about the weather. I’d ignored my instincts, and now I was here, wrapped in a stranger’s quilt while the storm raged outside.
Something nudged my hands, pulling me back to the present. A bowl—warm and steaming—was pushed across the counter toward me. The smell rose up, savory and rich, making my stomach twist painfully with hunger. At that exact moment, my traitorous belly let out a growl so loud it echoed in the small cabin.
My face went hot. His pale eyes flicked to mine. I opened my mouth, desperate to fill the silence, but nothing came out. He said nothing either, just watched me—unreadable—while the steam curled between us. Oh God, that had never happened before. What time was it? I hadn’t seen a clock anywhere, and I hadn’t thought to check my phone once. It must be well past dinner time for my stomach to make a noise like that.
I dropped my gaze, clutching the bowl and trying to ground myself in the simple act of eating. He did the same—just as silent—except for the scrape of our spoons against the ceramic. Then I lifted my gaze just a tad to see if he was looking at me or not, and my eyes snagged again on that ridiculous helmet: the jagged plastic broken, horns pasted onto it, or… stuck through it? Pale, sharp, curling through like they had grown there, not been stuck on. The question slipped out before I could catch it. “Why are you wearing that? Is it a costume?”
His head snapped up, his jaw tightening, and the air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “It’s none of your business,” he snapped. I flinched at the bite in his tone, heat rushing to my cheeks. The bowl in my hands suddenly felt too heavy, too hot. Even through the sting of his words, I couldn’t unsee those horns, and I couldn’t shake the thought that maybe—just maybe—they weren’t part of any costume at all.
The silence stretched long after I’d finished the last spoonful of stew. Warmth filled my belly from the stew, and my eyes felt heavy from exhaustion and the heat inside the cabin’s living room. I set the empty bowl carefully on the counter, trying to find words, something to ease the thick air between us. “Thank you,” I murmured.
He only grunted—a short, low sound—and took both our bowls to rinse them in the sink. I started to get up to offer to help, but something in the way he shifted made me feel like that would be entirely unwelcome; he’d just snap another “no” at me. I was almost tempted to do it anyway, just to see if I was right, and the sentiment surprised a smile out of me.
The storm raged against the cabin walls, shrieking and howling. It rattled the shutters and made the beams groan. Every sudden gust made me flinch, and I found myself huddling deeper into the quilt, cocooning in warmth that was more his than mine. This was a terrible storm, and I was afraid to think of what the world looked like outside right now. It was probably worse here, higher up on a hilly ridge, where most of the country was soft hills or utter flatness.
“You can sleep in my bed,” he said suddenly, his voice gruff. He didn’t look at me. “I’ll take the armchair.” His shoulders werepractically up by his ears, hidden beneath the helmet and the long, silky layers of his bright blue hair.
He was so tall his helmet horns nearly bumped into the rafters of the cabin’s wooden ceiling. I blinked, trying to wrap my head around the image of his tall body in that armchair. Comfortable to sit in, but hardly a good fit for him to sleep in. “Oh—no, no. I’ll take the chair. Really. It’s your house. I can’t—”
“No.” The word cracked like a whip, sharp enough to make me jolt. He turned away before I could argue further, shoulders tight, retreating toward the carved door at the back of the cabin. It felt as if he were about to let me see into his sanctuary—the heart of his home—and I felt my pulse spike as I waited, full of anticipation. I didn’t want to invade his space, but I was intensely curious at the same time.
When he pushed it open, I caught my breath. The door itself was a work of art, carved like a winter landscape: snowflakes drifting over trees, a pair of deer caught in mid-step. I reached out to brush my fingers over the detail, half-distracted even as I tried to insist again, “It’s not right, you taking the chair. I can—” He shoved me gently but firmly over the threshold, cutting off my words.
The bedroom was like stepping into a dream. The four-poster bed looked as though it had grown there, its posts carved into twisting frozen trees, branches stretching to hold up a velvet canopy, deep blue and studded with tiny stars. They shimmered faintly, catching the firelight from the hearth in the other room. I couldn’t help the little gasp that escaped me, it was so fanciful, so unexpected.
“I’ll take the chair,” I tried again, turning back to him. He didn’t even answer, just strode to the wardrobe. That, too, was one of a kind—carved with curling vines and frost patterns, polished until it gleamed. He yanked it open, pulled out an armful of blankets, and tossed them onto the foot of the bed. There was such a closed-off, surly glare on his face, almost a dare for me to open my mouth again.
“Sleep.” His voice was flat, final. Then the door slammed shut, hard enough that I jumped. I stood there, stunned, staring at the closed door. My first instinct was to follow, to argue again, to insist on fairness. But… it felt rude, somehow. Truth be told, I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. It had to be later than I thought it was, though darkness did fall early this time of year. Maybe the cold and the fear had sapped me of all my energy, that was plausible.
With a sigh, I pulled the extra blankets up onto the mattress, smoothing them out over the velvet canopy’s shadow. The bed was softer than I’d expected, the carvings around it somehow comforting, like sleeping in the embrace of a winter forest. His embrace, I thought fancifully. And then, abruptly, I realized we hadn’t even done proper introductions. I didn’t know his name. How had that happened? He’d made me blurt out mine, right on his threshold, but he’d never offered me his.
I sank down on the soft mattress, the quilt still wrapped around me, and let my body give in. My eyes slid closed as I pondered how incredibly weird this entire situation was, how weird my host was, while still being kind at the same time. Aside from the snappy, one-word answers and growled “no’s,” he’d done everything right. He fed me, warmed me, he even gave up hisbed. The storm howled, the wind shrieked, but in here, I was warm. Safe.
Sleep came fast, and with it the dreams came.
Chapter 4
Ísarr
As soon as the door closed on Bianca, I drew in a deep breath and yanked the stupid helmet off my head. With a muffled groan, I scratched at the roots of my horns, where they rose from my forehead. It wasn’t actually itchy, I didn’t have sensation in my horns, but it felt uncomfortable anyway.
What now? I couldn’t stand the thought of being stuck with another being in my home, my territory. At the same time, my hackles wanted to rise at the thought of getting rid of her. She was so… I groaned again, louder, then bit my tongue hard enough to sting and forced myself away from her door—my bedroom door. Now I was picturing her beneath the blankets, wrapped in my scent. Would she be naked?
Swearing, I gripped the edge of the kitchen counter and heard the wood protest. This wasn’t good. I had good reason to avoid people; it was for their safety, not mine. In the middle of a snowstorm, that danger was even worse. I did not want to contemplate how many poor creatures had already caught the wildness of my power and suffered the consequences. I’d never forgive myself if Bianca was… No, I could not even finish the thought.
My mind filled with what it would look like, anyway. Her slender body—with her pale skin and dark hair—forever turned into ice. I’d find her in my bed, curled up and asleep, frozen in time. My stomach turned in horror, and I rushed to the sink and heaved.It was a fate too horrible to contemplate. There was only one option to keep her safe, if it wasn’t too late already.
I threw a few more logs onto the fire so it would last another hour or two, then I raced for the front door. Even in my shifter grip, the door nearly slammed from my fingers when the wind shoved against it with the force of a gale. I growled into that blast of power, stepping outside, and secured the panel tightly. The wind whipped around me, snow coming down hard and obscuring my sight. My instincts sharpened.
In a few steps, I was out in the deep drifts already accumulating in front of my home. The space was just big enough for me to shift, and the transformation ripped through me, wild and out of control. I didn’t even think to check my bedroom window to make sure the shutters were closed until after. They were—of course they were—but my flanks heaved in unease that I’d forgotten to make sure I was unseen. I had been alone for so long that it had become too easy to shift whenever I felt like it.
The dragon did not care whether he was seen or not. Soon, my instincts swept through me and obliterated all sense of thought, of the rules of safety, of the need to leave to protect the vulnerable woman in my bed. As a dragon, I sensed things the human side of me did not even think to contemplate—things like mates and dancing in a snowstorm.
Swiveling my head around, I nosed the closed bedroom shutter and inhaled deeply. My horns knocked against the wooden panel, but at least that would sound no different to Bianca than the knocking of the tree branches against the roof. Inhaling deeply, I filtered through the many scents with my tongue pressed to the roof of my maw: snow, ice, fox and deer, the sharpozone of the storm, and the scents of wood and flame. Beneath it all was a subtle note that was as unique as my own—hers.
