Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
Gunnar considered not returning to his cave at all.
Simply standing there among the rocks and letting the sun rise over him.
But loose ends tangled at the back of his mind like snagged threads.
His family didn’t deserve to face the aftermath of his absence.
So he trudged through the deep, wind-carved snow his mother had summoned, each step sinking him deeper into the weight of what he’d lost. By the time he reached the mouth of his cave, the sun had just crested the ridge, its light licking his exposed skin with burning needles.
He ducked inside.
The familiar shadows swallowed him whole. The cold stone walls breathed out their icy silence. He sat heavily in his carved chair and stared at the fire he’d coaxed back to life, watching the flames twist and claw upward as if they, too, were restless.
The bond inside him felt torn wide open—a raw, bleeding wound.
He could feel the faint echo of her pain, like distant thunder.
He longed to go to her, to hold her, to promise she was wrong about herself.
But daylight ruled outside, and she had made it clear she needed distance.
Even now, he sensed madness creeping at the edges of his thoughts—dark whispering tendrils curling through his mind, urging him to break, to shatter, to destroy anything within reach.
He clenched his fists until bone creaked.
Footsteps pounded outside the cave, snow crunching beneath great weight. He didn’t bother looking up.
“So this is where you’re hiding,” Ketill’s voice rumbled from the entrance.
“It’s my home. Not hiding,” Gunnar muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.
Ketill’s gaze swept the room before he settled into the second chair—her chair.
Gunnar’s stomach twisted. Wren had only sat there once, but he had already claimed it for her in his head.
Now it was empty, hollow. Maybe he should give it back to Ketill and Andrea.
She had admired it every time she’d visited.
A fitting gift for a family who had given him hope, even if that hope had crumbled.
“So,” Ketill said after a beat, “when are you going after her?”
Gunnar didn’t move. “I’m not. She made herself clear. I won’t push where I’m not wanted.”
Ketill leaned forward, frowning. “She doesn’t understand what she’s doing. She needs time, space. Humans struggle with the mate bond. The idea of forever is heavy for them.”
“Did your mate struggle with it?” Gunnar asked quietly.
A small, nostalgic smile softened Ketill’s face. “She did. And that was after knowing me most of her life. It’s overwhelming—changing countries, binding yourself to someone immortal, blending families. She hesitated too. But love made the difference.”
Gunnar made a low sound of agreement. Silence settled between them, punctuated only by the crackling fire. Finally, Gunnar exhaled.
“Wren believes she isn’t enough.”
Ketill’s eyes snapped to him, sharp and storm-dark. “She is a strong woman. She came alone to a foreign land to create her art. She had no promises and no guarantees, yet she came. Where did she get the idea she’s lacking? Do you think that?”
Shock jerked Gunnar upright. “No. Never. She is everything.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “But Mother was here.”
Ketill groaned. “Say no more. Gryla speaks far too much and understands far too little about humans.”
“But Wren doesn’t know that,” Gunnar whispered.
Ketill sighed and leaned back. “Give her time. She is your bonded mate. The connection will draw her back.”
Gunnar pressed a hand to his chest, wincing. “It feels like a blade twisting inside me. I feel her drifting farther every moment. And the darkness claws at me. I don’t know how long I can hold it at bay.”
Ketill leaned across and gripped his forearm, a grounding weight. “You must fight it, brother. I know this battle. I waged it myself. But I believe she will return. You must have faith.”
“I’m not sure I can,” Gunnar murmured. His gaze drifted toward the cave mouth, where pale light seeped along the floor. “Hope is slipping. And the sun calls to me.”
The silence that followed was thick as stone, pressing on the air.
Ketill’s voice dropped low. “The sun is almost down. Will you wait at least until tomorrow?”
Gunnar nodded, exhausted. “Will you stay with me, brother?”
Ketill squeezed his arm. “Until the end.”
Wren suspected her guardian angel was trying to send her the same tired message again—Life will keep giving you the same lesson until you learn it.
Though honestly, she wasn’t sure what the hell the lesson even was.
Yet here she was, trudging after Andrea across a snow-dusted lava field, the jagged black rock biting through the thin crust of white.
The land rose sharply into the mountain’s base, all fractured stone and wind-carved ridges, and they followed a narrow path upward where the cliff face hid every hint of an entrance.
“Are you sure they’re here?” Wren asked, huffing as her boots slipped on volcanic gravel.
Andrea didn’t even look back. “They use magic to hide the openings. Helps keep tourists from wandering in and panicking.”
“That would be a surprise,” Wren muttered. “Are we there yet?”
“You sound like my kids.” Andrea made a breathy sound that might’ve been a laugh before stopping abruptly. She squinted at the rock formations looming overhead. “Now, where is Gunnar’s cave?”
It was early— painfully early. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the horizon was already paling, warning them that the sunlight would soon spill over the mountaintop unimpeded.
No clouds. No protection. Andrea had insisted they wait until morning to travel; navigating the uneven rock in complete darkness was a death wish.
Wren had barely slept, afraid that Gunnar wouldn’t wait, that he’d step into the morning light before she reached him.
Andrea promised Ketill would keep him from doing anything drastic—but only until sunrise.
Wind roared down the mountain, whipping their hair across their faces and stinging their cheeks raw. Wren rubbed her hands up and down her arms as her breath puffed into the cold air. They were running out of time. She could feel it.
Then Andrea gasped, low and relieved. “There. I knew I remembered where it was. Right here.”
Wren followed her as Andrea pressed a hand against what looked like solid stone. The rock shimmered faintly—and they slipped inside.
The cave was empty. No warm glow from the fire. No simmering pot on the stove. No soft lantern light or lingering scent of pine furs.
Just a hollow, cold chamber.
“He’s gone!” Wren choked out.
A sharp pop cracked the air, and Wren spun around.
Gryla appeared behind them, towering, her shadow stretching across the stone floor. Her expression was thunderous. “What have you done, little human? Where is my son?”
Wren instinctively shrank back against Andrea, then forced herself upright. “What did I do? You manipulated everything. You created a storm to trap me here with him, pushed us together, and then you told me I wasn’t good enough. Why bother matchmaking if I wasn’t worthy?”
Gryla blinked, utterly bewildered. “I never said that.”
“You did.” Wren’s voice steadied with each word, the realization that had been growing in her since the previous evening, settling over her like a comfortable cloak.
“Yesterday morning when you barged in. But you’re wrong.
I am strong enough. I am good enough. I don’t need fattening up or ‘toughening’ or whatever nonsense you spewed.
The only thing that matters is what Gunnar thinks—what I think. And he’s perfect for me.”
“Then why did you leave?” Gryla boomed, only slightly quieter than her usual thunder.
Wren stared at the cold stone beneath her boots. “Because I was scared. I thought he wouldn’t love me as I am. That I wouldn’t measure up.” She lifted her chin, meeting Gryla’s blazing eyes. “But I am enough.”
A monstrous, delighted grin split Gryla’s face before she lunged forward and scooped Wren into an embrace that squeezed the air from her lungs and hoisted her clean off the ground. “I am so HAPPY!”
Wren wheezed. “Great, now please put me down.”
But Gryla’s joy evaporated as quickly as it came. “Where is my son?”
Andrea stepped forward grimly. “He might be walking into the sun.”
Gryla dropped Wren so fast she stumbled. “The sun? Then what is your plan, little human?”
“Stop him—if I only knew where he went!”
Gryla straightened to her full, terrifying height. “I can help with that.”