His jaw tightened. He’d had a warrior check the slide after Polly mentioned the possibility of a ship setting down there. The male had reported back that it was untouched, a treacherous stretch of shattered stone and hidden hollows. Dangerous even for experienced Hothians. For a lost, frightened human dressed in ocean silks, it would be a tomb.
“We’ll try that direction first,” he said.
Outside, he could already hear the low voices of warriors gathering, the clink of equipment, and the deep answering calls that carried through the caverns. His people moved fast when it mattered. They always had.
“Njkall.” She stepped closer, and her chin had already taken on the stubborn tilt that appeared whenever she’d made up her mind about something. “I’m coming with you.”
Every instinct he possessed rose in immediate protest.
The mountains in winter dark. The killing cold. The unstable rock. The thousand ways the mountains could take a life without warning or mercy. He’d spent a year building a world where shecould feel safe, and now she stood before him asking to walk into the most dangerous terrain on Hothrest.
“No,” he growled.
“Njkall—”
“You don’t understand what those slopes are like. The cold alone could?—”
“Then I’ll wear proper gear. Thermal wraps, everything.” She lifted her chin. “I’m not asking to lead the search. I’m just asking to be there.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“It’s dangerous for Tess too. And she’s the one who matters right now.” She took another step, close enough that he could see the fear in her eyes—and the resolve underneath it, harder and brighter than the fear. “Think about it. She’s already terrified, and she still doesn’t trust Hothian males. You know that. If your warriors find her first, what do you think she’ll do?”
The question stopped him.
He knew the answer. He’d seen it the day they found her—the metal bar, the wild swinging, the animal panic. A female in that state would not come to them. She would run. She would fight. And in that terrain, running or fighting would kill her as surely as the cold.
“She might flee straight off a cliff,” Polly warned. “Or deeper into the rockslide. Away from the very people trying to save her.” She grabbed his arm. “But if she sees me or hears my voice?—”
“She might stop.” The admission tasted like ash. “She might come to you.”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
Every protective instinct in his body screamed against it. But she was right. And she had made her choice.
He opened his eyes.
“You’ll stay with me,” he said. “The entire time. You don’t leave my side, you don’t wander, you don’t approach her without warriors positioned to help. If I say we turn back, we turn back—not because I’m deciding for you, but because I know these mountains and you trust my judgment on them. Agreed?”
Relief flooded her face. “Agreed.”
“Full cold gear. Cera will fit you herself. Thermal wraps, insulated boots, a heat-stone in your pocket.” He was already listing the precautions, his mind shifting into the cold logic of command. “You eat before we leave. You drink. You tell me the moment you feel numbness in your fingers or toes. The cold lies to you out there—it makes you feel warm just before it kills you.”
“I understand.”
“And Polly.” He caught her chin, tilting her face up, needing her to hear this part above all the rest. “If it comes to a choice between Tess and you—there is no choice. Do you understand me? I will carry you out of those mountains myself and leave the search to my warriors before I let this place take you. That’s not me deciding for you. That’s me telling you the one line I will not cross.”
She held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay,”
He released her, and something in his chest eased—not the fear, which would ride him the entire way, but the terrible tension between his need to protect her and his refusal to smother her. They would do this together. It was the only way.
“Cera!” he called. “Fit Polly for the slopes. Now.”
The healer reappeared, took one look at Polly, and nodded without argument. She’d clearly expected this.
As Cera drew Polly aside to begin layering the thermal gear, he strode into the supply chamber where his warriors had gathered. Six of them, the best trackers in the clan, their pale fur bristling against the cold that seeped in from the passages. To his surprise, Rjmar and Doren were there too. Doren lounged against the wall, arms crossed, a sardonic tilt to his mouth.
