Chapter 19
The snow creaked beneath their boots as Rykan led Korrin through the darkening trees.
Neither spoke. He had nothing to say, and Korrin seemed content to observe.
The other Vultor moved with the easy confidence of a male comfortable in his own skin, scanning the forest with the casual alertness of a born predator.
He hated how natural it felt to have another Vultor at his side.
Six years alone in these mountains. Six years of silence and solitude and the slow, grinding work of rebuilding himself from the wreckage of his old life. He’d convinced himself that he preferred it this way. That the absence of pack meant the absence of betrayal, and that was a trade worth making.
But walking beside Korrin now, matching strides through territory he knew better than his own heartbeat, something in his chest ached with recognition.
You miss it, his beast rumbled. The belonging.
He ignored it.
“This way.” He veered left, following the trail he’d broken earlier when he’d abandoned his kill.
Korrin kept pace easily, his amber eyes missing nothing. “Nice territory you’ve carved out here. Good hunting grounds, defensible position, fresh water year-round. You’ve done well for a lone wolf.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why? It’s what you are.” Korrin shrugged, unbothered by the growl in his voice. “Nothing wrong with it. Some males aren’t built for pack life. I thought I was one of them, for a long time.”
“And now?”
“Now I have a mate who refuses to let me retreat into my own head.” A wry smile curved Korrin’s lips. “Tessa has a way of making solitude seem less appealing.”
The words hit closer to home than he wanted to admit. He immediately thought of Ember—her quiet determination, her unexpected laughter, and the way she’d started to fill the empty spaces in his cabin with warmth and purpose.
He said nothing.
They found the sleigh where he’d dropped it, half-buried in snow. They brushed away the snow and both of them took a handle. The weight was familiar, grounding.
“So,” Korrin said as they started back towards the cabin. “Your female.”
“What about her?”
“You haven’t claimed her.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s none of your business.”
“Probably not.” Korrin didn’t seem concerned by the warning in his voice. “But I’m curious. I watched you almost kill me because you thought I might be threatening her. That’s not the reaction of a male who doesn’t care.”
“I never said I didn’t care.”
“Then why hold back?” Korrin ducked easily under a low-hanging branch. “She’s clearly willing. More than willing, if I’m reading the scent markers right.”
He shifted uncomfortably. The cabin would be saturated with the evidence of their shared desire—every moment of tension, every interrupted kiss, every night spent lying awake wanting what he couldn’t let himself take.
“She’s leaving,” he said flatly. “The southern pass will clear soon. She has a life waiting for her down below.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“So she’s leaving.” Korrin’s tone was maddeningly reasonable. “Why does that mean you can’t go with her?”
He stopped walking. The question threatened to steal the breath from his lungs.
Go with her. Of course the thought had crossed his mind.
In the quiet hours before dawn, when Ember slept curled against his side and he lay awake memorizing the pattern of her breathing, he’d imagined it.
Following her down the mountain, into whatever life waited for her in Port Cantor.
Standing beside her as she faced the aunt who’d tried to kill her.
But imagination and reality were different things.
“She wouldn’t want that,” he said, the words scraping his throat raw.
“Did you ask her?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
He turned to face him, frustration boiling up through his carefully maintained control.
“I know because I’ve seen this before. Females who seem interested, who act like they want something real, right up until the moment they decide you’re not worth the trouble.
Right up until something better comes along. ”
Korrin studied him for a long moment, something knowing in his amber gaze. “Ah. So this isn’t about Ember. This is about whoever broke you.”
“Don’t—”
Korrin’s voice gentled, losing its provocative edge. “I’m not trying to dig into old wounds, Rykan. But I am trying to tell you that whatever happened before doesn’t have to dictate what happens now.”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“I know more than you think.” Korrin adjusted his grip on the sleigh handle, his gaze turning distant. “I spent years convincing myself that I didn’t deserve anything good. That everyone I let close would die. I pushed away anyone who tried to care because it was easier than risking another loss.”
“What changed?”
“Soren, to start with. He found a way to… direct my destructive tendencies. But mostly, Tessa.” A smile softened Korrin’s arrogant features, genuine and a little wondering, like he still couldn’t quite believe his own fortune.
“She challenged my assumptions and she made me choose—keep running from the past, or start building a future.”
The words settled into his chest. He thought about Ember again—her quiet strength and her refusal to give up even when everything was working against her. The way she’d looked at him after he’d transformed, after she’d seen the beast in all its savage glory, and called him magnificent.
“It’s not the same,” he said, but the protest sounded weak even to his own ears.
“Maybe not.” Korrin started walking again, and after a moment he fell into step beside him. “But the question is still the same. Are you going to let fear decide your future? Or are you going to give her the chance to choose for herself?”
They walked in silence for a while, the cabin coming into view through the trees. Warm light glowed from the windows, and he caught the sound of female voices—Tessa’s low and melodic, Ember’s soft and sweet.
“She’s a Duvain,” he said finally. “Heir to one of the largest human enterprises on Cresca. What would she want with an exile Vultor who lives alone in the mountains?”
“What would Tessa want with a broken bounty hunter who didn’t care if he lived or died?
” Korrin clapped him on the shoulder, the gesture casual but somehow meaningful.
“Sometimes we’re the last ones to see our own worth.
Don’t make my mistake, Rykan. Don’t wait until you’ve almost lost everything before you figure out what matters. ”
They entered the cabin together, the warmth washing over him after the bitter cold outside. Tessa and Ember looked up from the table, their conversation trailing off. Ember’s grey eyes found his immediately, searching his face for something he couldn’t name.
He carried a haunch to the prep table, constantly aware of her presence even with his back turned. Korrin’s words echoed in his skull, mixing with the ever-present growl of his beast.
Claim her. Keep her. Don’t let her walk away.
But it wasn’t that simple. It couldn’t be.
“The weather is clearing,” Korrin announced, settling his portion down by the cold storage alcove. “Looks like we’re in for a warmer spell.”
“Good.” Tessa rose from the table, stretching. “We can head back to the pack tomorrow, then. Soren will want to know what we’ve found.”
He felt the weight of Ember’s gaze on him like a physical touch. He turned, meeting her eyes, and saw something there he hadn’t expected—not resignation or relief at the prospect of leaving, but uncertainty. Like she was waiting for something. Hoping for something.
Ask her, Korrin’s voice whispered in his memory. Give her the chance to choose.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked quietly, moving to stand beside him. Her shoulder brushed his as she reached for the cutting tools, and the simple contact sent heat racing through his blood.
Such a small thing. Such an impossible thing.
“Here.” He handed her a knife, then positioned her hands on the meat. “Follow the grain. Short strokes work better than trying to saw through.”
She nodded, biting her lower lip in concentration as she made her first cut. She hadn’t worked with that type of meat before and her first cut was awkward, but she didn’t give up. She never gave up.
They worked side by side as the evening deepened, the four of them falling into an easy rhythm that surprised him with its naturalness.
Korrin handled the heavy butchering while he showed Ember the finer work of separating cuts for different purposes.
Tessa took charge of the cooking, adding wood at intervals and adjusting the drying racks.
It was… comfortable.
The realization made his chest ache. He’d spent six years telling himself he didn’t miss pack life and didn’t need the complicated web of relationships and obligations that came with belonging to something larger than himself.
He’d convinced himself that solitude was freedom, that isolation was peace.
But this—four people working together in easy companionship, sharing labor and warmth and the simple satisfaction of a task well done—this was something he’d forgotten he wanted.
“You’re good with her,” Korrin murmured, low enough that the females couldn’t hear. He nodded towards Ember, who was carefully wrapping finished cuts in treated cloth.
“She’s a quick learner.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He didn’t respond because the truth was too complicated to put into words. He wasn’t good with her—he was desperate for her, constantly fighting the urge to pull her close and never let go. Every moment in her presence was a battle between what he wanted and what he thought he deserved.
The meal came together slowly—roasted meat with mountain herbs, the last of his fresh vegetables, and a rough bread Ember had learned to make during her first week in the cabin.
They sat around the small table, knees bumping in the cramped space, and ate with the comfortable silence of people too hungry for conversation.