They are not just searching for something. They are hunting me. A wicked smile curves my lips, exposing my sharp teeth. My favorite kind of humans to realign the balance with. And one among them knows just how very real the danger is.
Their guide is the same man who had stumbled upon my Sruhnar with his vicious wolf yet ran away when confronted by me. I should have ended him when I had the chance. Instead, I showed him mercy. Let him leave unharmed. And now he walks among those who would desecrate this land, this balance. Who would take what belongs to me.
The animal is restless. It whines under its breath, ears twitching toward the trees, sensing what its master cannot.
Unseen, I bare my teeth at them anyway and slink further into the shadows. Let them believe they are alone. Let them believe they are safe. For now.
Their guide may know these mountains well, may have walked these paths since birth. But I have lived in and protected these mountains for centuries. They are carved into the long lines of my bones, etched into the tapestry of my soul.
Iamthe mountain.
I press forward, keeping to the higher ridges, watching and listening. The mountain hides my every move, covers my tracks, blows away any sound I make. The voices of the men carry through the stillness. They are loud. Careless. Their tracks evident all over the pristine landscape they desecrate, their trail so visible even a snowling could track them. They do not know how to respect a world that is not of their making.
And then, the scent of the promise of Spring reaches me like a phantom. Her scent. Faint and distant but real. Is it really here or do I desire her, long for her so deeply, that my poor mind is manifesting her here with me? I stumble as I search for her, a single misstep resulting in the sharp crack of a branch underfoot.
The guide’s head snaps up, scanning the trees. I freeze, scarcely daring to breathe until his attention shifts back to the man prattling on beside him.
Something about the foreigner is wrong. His voice creeps under my skin, sets my rage simmering. He reeks of arrogance, of control. A man who does not fear what he cannot understand.
I circle them, moving closer. Silent despite my rage. Finally, I am close enough to discover he is the one who carries her faint scent. Why does it cling to him? The sacred essence of spring, of my Winter Star, polluted by his presence.
Had she turned to him after I cast her out? Reached for him in loneliness, let him hold her the way I did? Let him touch what was mine as if not only I had meant nothing, but all that we shared meant even less?
The thought is a blade, twisting deep, shredding through my ribs, carving something jagged and unholy into the wreckage of my heart.
She desperately needs the plant. Perhaps she is desperate enough to trade me for it.
The rage surges, dark and blinding, slicing through myreason until the world narrows to bloodlust and betrayal—until another, more horrifying thought buries the blade to the hilt and collapses me to my knees.
Had she sent them? Had she led them to my home, knowing what they would do? Had my grief, my pain, my life meant so little to her? Had I ever meant anything to her at all?
And then I hear her name—Dahlia.
The word from his mouth is a desecration. They way the sound falls from his lips not in worship but in mocking is wrong. She is not their flower, but mine. Not Dahlia, but Sruhnar, my Winter Star.
“She really thought she was going to find this plant,” he says, shaking his head with a smirk. “Like she was some kind of genius. Please, she is nothing without me. She never had the guts when things got tough. Always clinging to her ethics, her precious research integrity.”
His face twists as he scoffs. “She would’ve wasted years studying it, learning its history, figuring out how the locals wave it under the moon or some bullshit. Me? I have the brains. And the balls.”
Laughter ripples through their group as he lewdly grabs the front of his pants.
Another of the men claps him on the shoulder, saying, “Good one, Ben. Good one.”
The one called Ben chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll take the plant. No hesitation. No second-guessing. I could give a shit about the environment. I’ll rape and pillage this whole fucking mountain to get it. And the best part? She handed it to me without even realizing it. Bitch served up a fortune on a silver platter.”
Ice floods my veins. My claws unsheathe, slicing through the frozen ground as I dig my fingers into the earth to keep myself from tearing into him now.
He pauses, then adds with a sneer, “Not surprising, though.She was always desperate. Desperate for a win. Desperate for purpose. But most of all, desperate for love. She clung to me like a lost little puppy because she had no one else.”
More laughter.
I am going to kill him. This is the man who haunted her eyes. Who made her feel less than her divine self. This is the man who did not treasure the gift bestowed by the gods themselves. He has no place here.
He has no place anywhere.
Every muscle in my body tightens, my teeth grind together as bloodlust surges through me, and a battle drum pounds in my chest, demanding violence. I can picture it too clearly—the snap of his bones, the wet crunch of his throat collapsing under my grip.
But I do not kill him.
