Chapter 19 #2
He found himself watching her more than he should. The way she held her knife, the precise movements she’d developed through weeks of practice. The flush of warmth in her pale cheeks from the fire. The small smile that curved her lips when she caught him looking.
She’d changed so much since he’d pulled her from that escape pod.
The fragile creature he’d carried through the snow had transformed into someone stronger and more resilient.
She still looked delicate—she would always look delicate, with those fine bones and that aristocratic face—but there was steel beneath the softness now.
A determination that hadn’t been there before.
Or maybe it was always there, he thought. Maybe she just never had the chance to show it.
“This is good,” Tessa said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Really good. The herbs are different from what we use to the east.”
“It’s something I call mountain sage,” Ember offered. “Along with something Rykan calls snowbell. He taught me which ones were safe to use.”
“He’s been teaching you a lot, from what I can see.” There was no judgment in Tessa’s voice, just gentle observation. “You move differently than the other fine ladies I’ve seen. More grounded.”
“She’s been training.” The words escaped before he could stop them. Pride roughened his voice despite his best efforts. “She asked me to teach her. Combat basics, survival skills. She wanted to earn her keep.”
Her eyes met his across the table, and something passed between them. Acknowledgment. Understanding. The memory of all those hours spent together in the snow, his hands on her body correcting her stance, her determination pushing her past exhaustion.
“Impressive,” Korrin said. “Not many humans have the patience for Vultor training methods.”
“She’s not like most humans.”
The words hung in the air, weighted with a meaning he hadn’t intended to reveal. Her cheeks flushed deeper, but she didn’t look away.
Tell her, his beast urged. Tell her what she means to you.
But the words stuck in his throat, trapped behind years of caution and the bitter memory of betrayal. He’d offered his heart to a female he thought he could trust, and she’d used it to destroy him. Could he risk it again?
The fire burned low as the night deepened, casting long shadows across the cabin walls. Korrin and Tessa had claimed the space by the hearth, bedding down in a nest of furs with the easy intimacy of long-mated pairs. The two adyani curled at their feet, their breathing slow and even.
He climbed onto the sleeping platform as she settled beside him. The space seemed impossibly small—every shift of her weight, every whisper of cloth against skin registering in his heightened senses.
He lay on his back, staring at the rough-hewn ceiling, and tried not to think about how close she was. How easy it would be to roll towards her, to pull her into his arms, and finally take what his beast had been demanding since the moment he’d first caught her scent.
“Rykan.”
Her voice was barely a whisper, pitched low enough that only Vultor hearing would catch it. He turned his head and found her watching him in the darkness. Her grey eyes caught the faint glow of the dying fire, luminous and uncertain.
She didn’t say anything else. She just reached out, her small hand finding his in the shadows and closing around it.
His breath caught.
Such a simple thing. Such a devastating thing. Her palm pressed against his, her grip firm despite the trembling he could feel in her fingers.
She wasn’t asking for anything more. She wasn’t pushing for explanations or promises or the conversation they both knew was coming. She was just… holding on. Claiming this small connection in the darkness, this tiny bridge between his isolation and her uncertain future.
Ask her. Korrin’s voice echoed in his memory. Give her the chance to choose.
Korrin was right. He had to give her the chance.
Even though it was a risk, it was a risk he had to take.
A risk he suddenly wanted to take. But not tonight.
Tonight there were strangers sleeping by his fire and a thousand complications waiting in the morning light.
Tonight, the only thing he could give her was this—his hand in hers, his presence beside her, the unspoken promise that whatever came next, she wouldn’t face it alone.
Her breathing slowly evened out, sleep claiming her in gradual degrees. But even in unconsciousness, her grip on his hand never loosened.
He lay awake for hours, watching the shadows shift across the ceiling and trying to imagine a future he’d stopped believing in.
Morning came grey and cold, the sky heavy with clouds that threatened snow but hadn’t yet delivered. He woke to find Ember still beside him, her hand still tangled with his, her face soft with sleep.
He watched her for a long moment, memorizing the details. The curve of her cheek. The pale gold of her hair spread across his furs. The small furrow between her brows that appeared even in rest, as if her mind never fully stopped working.
Beautiful, his beast rumbled. Ours.
But she wasn’t his. Not yet. Not in the way that mattered.
Movement by the fire drew his attention. Korrin was already up, banking the coals and gathering their things. Tessa stirred beside him, yawning and stretching with the lazy grace of a well-rested female.
Ember’s eyes fluttered open, finding his immediately. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. They just looked at each other in the grey morning light, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.
Then she smiled, soft and uncertain, and his chest tightened with something that felt like hope.
“Morning,” she whispered.
“Morning.”
They rose together, the careful dance of two people trying not to touch too much while desperately wanting to touch more. He busied himself with breakfast while she folded furs and straightened the sleeping platform, her movements quick and efficient despite the lingering sleepiness in her eyes.
The meal was simple—grain porridge with dried fruit and more tea. They ate quickly, the atmosphere charged with the weight of what was to come.
“We should head out before the weather turns,” Korrin said, setting down his empty cup. “Soren will be expecting us.”
Tessa nodded, already shouldering her pack. The two adyani rose at some unspoken signal, shaking out their fur and moving towards the door.
Ember stood abruptly, her hands twisting together in a gesture he had come to recognize as nervousness. “Before you go—”
All eyes turned to her. She straightened her shoulders, drawing on that core of steel beneath her fragile exterior.
“The trade partnerships you mentioned,” she said, her voice steady despite the color rising in her cheeks. “Soren’s plans for better relationships between Vultor and humans. I’m… interested.”
Korrin’s eyebrows rose. “Interested how?”
“I have resources. Connections. Experience with commerce and negotiation.” She glanced at him, then away.
“When I return to Port Cantor, I’ll be taking control of my father’s company.
Duvain Enterprises has the infrastructure to support the kind of trade you’re describing.
If Soren is serious about building bridges between our peoples, I’d like to be part of that conversation. ”
Silence filled the cabin. An unexpected wave of pride washed over him. Despite everything she’d been through, despite the betrayal waiting for her in the city below, she was already planning for a future that extended beyond mere survival.
“That’s quite an offer,” Tessa said slowly. “You’re sure about this?”
“I’m sure.” Her chin lifted, her grey eyes clear and determined. “Whatever happens when I get back, I want to build something meaningful. Something that honors my father’s memory and creates real change. This seems like a good place to start.”
Korrin studied her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “I’ll tell Soren. We can discuss specifics once you’re established in Port Cantor.” He glanced at Rykan. “Assuming you make it down the mountain safely.”
“She will.” The words came out rough, almost a growl. “I’ll see to it.”
Another loaded silence. Tessa smiled knowingly and exchanged a quick glance with Korrin.
“Then we’ll be in touch.” Korrin extended his hand to him, a gesture of respect between equals. “The offer still stands. If you ever want a place with Soren’s pack, you’ll be welcome.”
He clasped the other male’s forearm in the traditional Vultor greeting. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
They left in a swirl of cold air and the soft padding of adyani paws on snow. He stood in the doorway, watching until they disappeared into the tree line, then closed the door against the chill.
The cabin felt different with just the two of them again. Smaller and more intimate.
He turned to find her watching him, her arms wrapped around herself in a gesture that might have been from the cold or might have been for self-protection.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“We need to talk,” she said at the same moment.
They both stopped and stared at each other. And despite everything—despite the uncertainty and the fear and the impossible complications waiting for them—his lips curved.
“You first,” he said.
“No.” She took a step towards him, her grey eyes fierce with determination. “You first.”