Chapter 13
Ember woke to find herself still wrapped in Rykan’s arms. For a long moment, she didn’t move.
Her cheek rested against the warm plane of his chest, rising and falling with his steady breathing.
One of his hands curved around her hip, heavy and possessive even in sleep.
The other had tangled in her hair at some point during the night, his fingers still loosely threaded through the strands.
She should have felt trapped, held so completely by someone so much larger and stronger than herself. Instead, she felt… safe. Protected in a way she’d never experienced before.
This is dangerous, she thought. This feeling of safety.
The fire had burned down to ash during the night, leaving the cabin cold enough that she could see her breath misting in the air.
But she was warm, impossibly warm, cocooned in furs and wrapped around a body that radiated heat like a furnace.
She didn’t want to move and break this fragile bubble of peace they’d somehow found in the darkness.
But her mind was already spinning, replaying everything he’d told her the night before.
His father. His stepmother. His brother. Lysara.
The betrayal that had driven him from his home and his people.
She thought about what it must have cost him to walk away. To turn his back on everything he’d been raised to be—Alpha’s son, future leader, rightful heir—and choose solitude instead. He called it weakness. She called it love.
You loved your pack enough to let them go.
The words she’d spoken the previous night still felt true in the light of morning. But they also raised questions she wasn’t sure she wanted to answer. Questions about her own choices, her own inheritance, and her own impossible situation.
Rykan had walked away from his legacy. But could she do the same?
The thought twisted in her chest like a knife.
Her father’s face swam before her eyes—aged and kind, with deep lines carved by years of worry and love.
He had worked his entire life to grow Duvain Enterprises.
Not for wealth or power, but because he believed in what the company could accomplish.
Medical research. Terraforming technology.
Systems that made new worlds habitable for ordinary people.
He had believed in the work. And he had believed in her, perhaps not in her physical strength but in her intelligence and her abilities.
You have your own kind of strength, little spark. One day you’ll prove it to everyone—including yourself.
How could she abandon his faith in her? How could she walk away from everything he’d trusted her with, everything he’d spent his life creating?
Rykan stirred against her, his arm tightening around her waist as he surfaced from sleep. She felt the moment awareness returned to him in the sudden tension in his muscles, the catch in his breathing, and the way his hand flexed against her hip.
“You’re awake.” His voice was rough with sleep, a low rumble she felt as much as heard.
“For a while now.”
He didn’t release her. If anything, his hold tightened. “You should have woken me.”
“You looked peaceful.” She tilted her head back to look at him, finding his golden eyes already fixed on her face. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Something shifted in his expression—something soft and wondering that made her heart clench.
“I never sleep peacefully,” he said quietly. “Not anymore. Not since…”
He didn’t finish, but he didn’t need to. She understood. Six years of sleeping alone in a cabin on a frozen mountain with nothing but bitter memories for company. Of course he didn’t sleep well.
But last night, with her in his arms, he had.
The knowledge warmed her even as it terrified her. Every day she spent here made it harder to imagine leaving. And she would have to leave. Eventually. When the pass cleared, when the weather broke, when the world beyond these mountains came calling again.
Unless I stayed.
The thought ambushed her, taking root before she could stop it.
What if she simply… didn’t go back? What if she disappeared into this wilderness with Rykan and let the rest of the universe believe she’d died in the crash?
Marina would take control of the company.
The search parties would eventually give up.
And she could live out her days in peace, free from politics and betrayal and the crushing weight of expectation.
It was tempting. Dangerously, achingly tempting.
But even as she imagined it, she knew it was impossible.
Not because she couldn’t survive here—he was teaching her, and she was learning faster than either of them had expected.
Not because she feared the isolation—she’d spent her whole life isolated in different ways.
But because running away would mean abandoning everyone who depended on Duvain Enterprises.
It would mean betraying her father’s memory. And she could not be that person.
Rykan had chosen to leave rather than tear his pack apart with civil war.
His choice had preserved something larger than himself.
But if she left—if she disappeared into these mountains and let Marina keep control of the company—would anything be preserved?
Or would it mean the slow dismantling of everything her father had built?
The realization crystallized in her chest with painful clarity. I can’t walk away. Not from either of them. Not from Rykan or my father’s legacy. But those two things were pulling her in opposite directions. And sooner or later, she would have to choose.
She pulled back slightly, just enough to see Rykan’s face clearly. “I need to ask you something.”
His eyes searched hers. Whatever he saw there made his jaw tighten. “Ask.”
“My escape pod. Where is it?”
The question seemed to surprise him. He propped himself up on one elbow, studying her with an intensity that made her want to squirm.
“Why?”
“I need to see it.”
“It’s destroyed. I told you—”
“I know what you told me.” She sat up fully, the cold air making her shiver as the furs fell away, and he immediately tucked her against his side. “But escape pods have backup systems. Redundant memory cores. If any of the electronics survived, there might be data I can access.”
Understanding dawned in his expression, followed quickly by something that looked almost like dread. “You want to know what happened.”
“I need to know what happened.” She held his gaze steadily. “Someone tried to kill me, Rykan. Someone sabotaged my ship and murdered my crew and left me to die in the void. And I need to know who.”
For a long moment, he was silent. She watched him wrestling with something—saw the conflict in the tension of his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes. She knew what he was afraid of. The same thing she was afraid of.
That once she knew the truth, everything would change.
“The pod is an hour walk from here,” he finally said. “The terrain is difficult, and some of the wreckage is buried in snow.”
“Can you take me there?”
Another pause, and then he nodded. “Yes.”
She let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you.”
He caught her hand before she could climb out of bed, his fingers warm and rough against her skin. “Whatever you find there… it won’t change what’s between us.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement—or maybe a plea, disguised as certainty. She looked at his face, at the vulnerability he was trying so hard to hide, and her heart cracked just a little.
“I know,” she said softly. “But it might change what I have to do next.”
The wreck was worse than she’d imagined.
They’d been walking for more than two hours by the time they reached it—his estimate of travel time hadn’t accounted for her shorter legs and still-developing stamina.
The first hour had been manageable, following a narrow trail through snow-laden trees.
The second had been grueling, climbing steep inclines and navigating rocky outcroppings that he scaled with effortless grace while she struggled behind him.
The final portion had nearly broken her.
But she hadn’t complained. She hadn’t asked to stop or slow down or turn back. She’d gritted her teeth and kept moving, one foot in front of the other, fueled by a determination that burned hotter than her exhaustion. The thought of finding out the truth kept her moving.
Now she stood at the edge of a bowl scooped out of the rock, staring down at the twisted wreckage of her escape pod.
It had wedged itself into a snowbank at an angle that made it look like a wounded animal trying to crawl to safety.
One side had crumpled and the other was scarred with burn marks, the whole thing covered in a layer of ice that glittered in the weak mountain sunlight.
“Can you get down there?” he asked.
He stood beside her with his arms crossed, his expression grim. He’d been quiet for most of the trek, responding to her attempts at conversation with monosyllables and grunts. She understood. This wasn’t a pleasant errand for either of them.
“I think so.” She studied the descent, mapping a path in her mind. “If I’m careful.”
“I’ll go first. Test the footing.” He didn’t wait for her agreement before stepping over the edge and beginning the climb down, moving with the sure-footed confidence of someone who’d spent years navigating mountainous terrain.
She followed more slowly, placing each foot with deliberate care. The rocks were slick with ice, and more than once her boot slipped before finding purchase. But she kept going, lowering herself hand over hand, until finally she stood beside him at the bottom of the amphitheater.
The pod looked even worse up close.