Chapter 25
ELLIE
The rabbit hung limp in my hands, its neck cleanly broken, and I felt an absurd surge of pride.
"I did it," I breathed, looking up at Daska with wide eyes. "I actually caught something."
He was grinning—that rare, unguarded expression that made my heart skip—and crossed the small clearing to examine my snare. "Good placement," he said approvingly, running his fingers over the knots I'd tied. "Clean kill. Quick."
"You're a good teacher."
"You're a good student." His hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "Most people take weeks to catch their first rabbit. You did it in five days."
The praise warmed me from the inside out, and I leaned into his touch without thinking.
We'd been at the cave for almost a week now, and the casual intimacy between us had become as natural as breathing.
His hands on my skin, my body curved against his, the easy way we moved around each other in the small space—it all felt right in a way nothing else in my life ever had.
"Come," he said, taking the rabbit from me. "I'll show you how to prepare it. All of it—not just the meat. Everything has a use."
We spent the next hour by the hot spring while he taught me to skin and butcher the animal with swift, efficient movements.
Nothing was wasted. The hide would be cured for leather.
The sinew saved for bowstrings and thread.
Even the bones could be carved into tools or boiled for broth.We developed routines.
Small rituals that became the framework of our days.
Every morning, he went hunting while I tended the fire and organized our supplies.
Sometimes he brought back fish from the river, grilled on hot stones until the skin crisped.
Once, he found honeycomb dripping with golden sweetness, and laughed when I got it all over my fingers and had to lick them clean.
"You're messy," he teased, his eyes warm.
"You're the one who brought me something sticky."
"I like watching you eat sweet things. You make this face—" He demonstrated, his expression blissful and slightly ridiculous.
I threw a piece of honeycomb at him. He caught it and ate it, still grinning.
This. This is what happiness feels like.
He taught me survival skills with the patience of someone who genuinely wanted me to learn, not just someone going through the motions.
How to set snares for rabbits—the right height, the right tension, the way to disguise the scent.
How to identify edible plants—which roots were safe, which berries would make me sick, how to tell the difference between herbs that healed and herbs that killed.
"This one," he said, holding up a plant with serrated leaves and tiny white flowers. "Good for pain. Chew the root."
I took it from him carefully, examining the pattern of the veins. "And this one?" I pointed to a similar-looking plant growing a few feet away.
"That one will make you vomit for a day." He looked pleased that I'd asked. "The leaves are darker. See? And the flowers are different, four petals instead of five."
I filed the information away, trying to memorize the subtle differences. It could save my life someday.
We practiced tracking in the soft mud near the river. He showed me how to read the story written in prints and disturbed earth—which direction the animal was moving, how fast, how long ago. Deer tracks, rabbit tracks, wolf tracks that made my stomach clench with unease.
"Can you tell the difference between shifter and animal?" I asked, crouching beside a particularly large paw print.
"Yes." He pointed to the depth of the impression, the spacing of the toes. "This is animal. Wild. Shifter walks different—more weight in the back, like we're thinking about standing on two legs even when we're on four."
The detail fascinated me. "Do you think differently when you're shifted? Like, is it a different mindset?"
He considered the question carefully. "Both the same and different. The bear is always part of me, even in this form. But when I shift, the instincts are... louder. Stronger. Harder to ignore."
"Is it hard to shift back?"
"Sometimes." His expression turned distant. "When I was young, yes. Very hard. I would lose myself in the bear and forget the man. But as you grow, you learn how to move between your spirits, and how to be both at the same time no matter what form you take on the outside."
I thought about that—about losing yourself so completely in another form that you forgot who you were. The idea was both terrifying and strangely appealing.
What would it be like to let go of everything? To just be instinct and sensation?
I imagined it would feel very freeing.
Daska smiled down at me.
“Do not worry, mate of mine. When we have cubs of our own, I will make sure they are completely at ease with their spirits. You do not need to worry.”
I returned the smile, reaching up to touch his face.
“I know you would. You will be an amazing father, Daska. I have no doubts.”
He cuddled me in, and I let him, but with him unable to see my face, my smiled faded.Children.
The word hit me like a bucket of ice water.
I hadn't thought that far ahead, hadn't let myself imagine a future beyond surviving the winter, beyond figuring out how to navigate this impossible situation I'd found myself in. I’d had the contraceptive implant for years, and had only just had a new one inserted when Nathan had broken our bond and ended things. It had maybe another two years before it ran out, so I knew right now I was fine and there was no chance of a surprise pregnancy right now, not that I’d even been thinking about that. But Daska was thinking about it. Planning for it. Building a future in his mind that included me and children. I found as I thought about it now, it wasn’t even a question of not wanting them.
The idea of spending my life with Daska, having this quiet life, raising our babies… cubs… the thought filled me with joy.
What if I can't give him that? What if I have to leave? What if—
"Ellie?" His hand touched my shoulder, gentle and concerned. "Are you okay?"
I forced a smile. "Yeah. Just... overwhelmed. In a good way."
He studied my face for a long moment, and I had the uncomfortable feeling he could see straight through my lie. But he didn't push. He just nodded and pulled me to my feet, lacing our fingers together as we walked back to the moon hearth.
I needed to tell him everything. About where I was from, and why we’d come here.
That when Nathan and his team left, I was going to have to go with them.
It was going to hurt him, I realised that now.
I’d convinced myself at first that this didn't mean that much to him, I was a diversion.
He'd been lonely for so long, anyone would have done.
I had been kidding myself. I knew when he looked at me that he was in all the way and that terrified me.
I couldn't keep doing this—building a life with him, accepting his love and his future plans, while hiding the truth about what I was and why I'd come here.
Every day I kept silent felt like a betrayal, a small crack forming in the foundation of what we were building together. I should tell him now.
But I couldn’t. Not when he was looking at me like that, his eyes warm and soft and full of something that made my chest ache. I was a coward. I knew it. But I needed to let myself have this, just a little longer.
Tonight. I'll tell him tonight.
The resolution settled in my chest like a stone, heavy and uncomfortable but necessary.
We walked in silence back to the moon hearth, and I tried to memorize the way his hand felt wrapped around mine, the warmth of his palm, the calluses on his fingers.
Just in case this was the last time he wanted to touch me.
That night, we lay tangled together in the furs, the fire burning low, and I trailed my fingers through the thick dark hairs on his broad chest. He stroked my hair, pressing the occasional kiss to my temple.
The companionable silence had stretched for several minutes, comfortable and warm, lulling me into a false sense of security.
"Ellie."
"Hmm?"
"When your people leave... will you stay?"
My breath caught. The fire popped, sending sparks spiralling upward, and I watched them drift toward the cave ceiling rather than look at him.
He knows. Somehow he knows I'm keeping something from him.
"What do you mean?" I hedged, buying time.
“Your pack, you were travelling somewhere when we found you. Such a small travelling group, and I know you weren’t a hunting party.
Your alpha has been desperate to leave since the day you got here, and whatever I think of the man, it’s clear there is something important waiting for you when Rivik finally lets you leave. But… do you need to leave with them?”
"It's... complicated," I said carefully.
His hand stilled in my hair. "It really isn’t.
" His voice was quiet, almost hesitant, and I felt his body tense beneath mine.
"We mated to protect you from Karik. Once he sees you are mated, his claim is gone, he will leave the pack alone and you will no longer need me.
So will you stay with me? Or will you leave? I need to know, Ellie."
The vulnerability in those words gutted me.
Tell him. Tell him everything. Tell him you're from the future and you don't know if you can stay and you're terrified of losing him but also terrified of giving up everything you were.
Tell him about the mission and the timeline and the fact that you might have to choose between him and the only world you've ever known.
But the words stuck in my throat, tangled up with fear and guilt and the desperate need to protect this fragile, perfect thing we'd built.
"I don't regret mating you," I said instead, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Not for a moment. You're not… this isn't… just for protection, Daska. I need you to know that."