I drop to my knees. I reach for her, already dreading the stiffness, the cold, the absence of my light. My hand trembles as I press it against her chest, waiting for nothing. But there—thereis something. A heartbeat. Slow. Weak. But there. My heart stutters as my mind tries to comprehend. Can it be?
I sweep her up into my arms, and then I see it. A dart sticking in her shoulder, not a bullet. Such a small insignificant thing. And yet, it could have taken everything from me. It was meant for me, but she took it instead.
I thought her strong. I thought her unbreakable. But in this moment, she is sosmallbeneath my hands. So fragile…so human.
I almost lost her.
And for the first time in centuries, I am afraid. Afraid to hope. Afraid to breathe. Afraid that if I do, she will slip away. I pray—to the Creator, mother moon, to the gods of the old world and the new, to any power that will listen.
Please. Let her live. Take my life if you must, but let her live.
Carefully, I stand, cradling her against my chest, shielding her from the wind. She is a small, fragile, breakable thing in my monstrous hands. And though she is even colder than when I pulled her from that avalanche, I feel a whisper of her breath against my skin. Weak, but real.
A tremor runs through me. Relief pulses with terror, merging into a pain I do not know how to hold. I press my forehead to hers, desperate, pleading, willing my very lifeforce into hers.
“Take everything I have, Sruhnar. Take my warmth, my fire, my heart.” I clutch her tighter. “I am here, my Winter Star. My mate. Come back to me.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Dahlia
Time passes by in a series of polaroid pictures. Snapshots of light and movement. The worried faces of Sita and Eryon. Being enveloped in heat and soft fur. The most delicious drink I’ve ever tasted poured into my mouth.
And then—nothing.
Perhaps this is what death is. Simply nothing. If I’m dead, I may as well catch up on my rest, free from the howling wind and the cold scrabbling at me like skeleton fingers. But I doubt I would need sleep if I were truly gone, which means—I’m alive.
My eyes snap open on a sharp inhale, the scent of deep earth washing over me, warm and familiar. A faint undercurrent of snow and pine tears at my heart.
Eryon.
I blink, the darkness taking shape into shadows cast by the banked embers of a fire. I flex my fingers and wiggle my toes, checking in with my body. My limbs respond easily, but something feels—different. Not just better, but more.
I stretch like a cat, rolling my shoulders, and the movementis glorious. The furs piled on me slide off as I sit up, leaving my bare skin exposed to the cool air of the cave. I reach for my shoulder, searching for some trace of injury—some lingering pain from where Ben shot me—but my skin is smooth, untouched. Not even a pinprick.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand. Nothing hurts. No aches, no soreness. If anything, I feel stronger. Energized. My muscles hum with power, my lungs expand as if breathing in the world for the first time.
What the hell was I shot with? If that is what is making me feel this way, I kinda want more.
Padding toward the fire, I stretch my hands toward the heat, basking in the cozy warmth. I listen for any sign of Eryon, but all I hear is the cave itself—deep and quiet, like a living thing at rest.
My growling stomach breaks the silence just as I spot my pack leaning against the wall. I pull it toward me, hunger gnawing at my stomach. I root around inside, digging to the bottom to search for anything edible. My fingers close around something unfamiliar.
I pull it out to find a bundle of moss and bark, bound with delicate vine. My stomach tightens, unease prickling up my spine. This wasn’t here before. I know every item in my pack, every last thing I brought with me.
I sink to my knees next to the fire and unwrap it slowly, reverently, as if touching something sacred. As if I already somehow know its contents are beyond precious. The moment I see the petals nestled in the carefully crafted container, my breath catches.
TheSilene vitalis.
He must have placed it in the bottom of my pack for me to find later before he sent me away. Wrapped with such care it breaks my heart, its petals remain pristine, shimmering faintlyeven in the dim light of the fire’s coals. He gave it to me. A whole intact plant, roots and all.
Even in his heartbreak, he was still trying to save me.
A lump forms in my throat, hot and suffocating, as I clutch the bundle to my chest. He cast me out, heartbroken over the old traumas and fears of being used and duped. He told me to leave. But even in his pain, he ensured I would live. He let me go, even though it must have killed him.
Ben had said my life was worth nothing to him, despite all the years I had devoted to him. But Eryon had shown me, with this one gesture, that my life meanteverything. That I was worth saving, yet again.
The weight of it crushes my chest, the meaning behind his actions sinking into the well of my soul like a stone. He’d chosen his duty over me. But even then, he still saved me.
