Chapter 21
Three days later, Rykan stood at the cabin door, watching the sunrise cast a golden glow over the snow-covered peaks.
Behind him, Ember moved quietly through the cabin, packing the few possessions she would take with her.
The soft sounds of her movements filled the small space—cloth rustling, leather creaking, the gentle clink of the fire poker as she banked the coals.
His cabin. His territory. The refuge he’d carved out of nothing after losing everything. And now he was leaving it.
The thought should have bothered him more than it did.
Six years of solitude, six years of building a life that belonged to no one but himself—all of it about to be abandoned for a future he couldn’t predict.
But when he turned and saw her standing behind him, her blonde hair catching the morning light, her grey eyes soft with affection when she caught him watching, the choice felt inevitable. Natural.
Where she goes, I go.
“The descent will take at least two days,” he said, moving to help her secure the pack. “Longer if the weather turns. Even if we can obtain horses in the village, it’s still a week’s journey to Port Cantor. Maybe more.”
Her hands stilled on the pack straps as hesitation flickered across her face. He’d learned to read her well enough to know when her clever mind was working through possibilities.
“There might be another way.”
He waited, watching her chew her lower lip in that way she did when wrestling with a decision.
“When I repaired the pod to access the logs,” she continued slowly. “I noticed it had an emergency beacon. It’s standard issue for all Duvain vessels. My father insisted on it after a trading ship went down in the outer territories and wasn’t found for months.”
He frowned. “A beacon that could summon help?”
“Yes, although it was deactivated like all of the other safety measures.” She met his eyes, something vulnerable in her expression.
“But if I activate it, our security forces will come. They can have a retrieval vessel here within hours of receiving the signal. We wouldn’t need to make the journey to Port Cantor by horseback. ”
The implications settled over him like a heavy cloak. Hours instead of weeks. A flying vessel instead of treacherous mountain trails. Her people, her world, arriving to reclaim her.
“Why didn’t you activate it before?” he asked sharply, his beast stirring with sudden unease. If she’d had the means to escape all along…
Her cheeks flushed, a delicate pink spreading across her pale skin. She looked away, then seemed to steel herself and met his gaze again.
“Because I wasn’t ready to leave you.”
Something bright and fierce bloomed inside his chest, spreading warmth through his veins.
“You stayed,” he said slowly, working through the meaning. “You could have called for rescue, but you stayed. With me.”
“I know it probably seems foolish.” She twisted her hands together nervously.
“Especially after I was so adamant about returning. I had responsibilities waiting. People who will have been worried. A company to save and an aunt to confront. But every time I thought about activating that beacon, about leaving this mountain…” She trailed off, shaking her head.
“I wasn’t ready. I needed more time. More time with you. ”
He closed the distance between them in two strides, his hands finding her waist and pulling her against him. She came willingly, her palms flattening against his chest, her face tilting up towards his.
“Not foolish,” he growled. “Never foolish.”
He kissed her then, slow and deep, trying to pour everything he felt into the contact. Gratitude. Wonder. The fierce, possessive joy of knowing she had chosen to stay. That even with escape within her reach, she had wanted to remain at his side.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, her eyes had darkened to the color of storm clouds.
She took a deep breath, then reached into her pocket and pulled out the emergency beacon—a smooth black oval with a single recessed button and a tiny indicator light that pulsed a steady red.
He found it hard to believe something so small could summon ships across distances that would take weeks to travel on foot.
She stared at it for a long moment, her thumb hovering over the activation switch. Then she tucked it carefully back into her pocket.
“Not yet,” she said, catching his questioning look. “When we reach the foothills. I don’t want them coming here and I want… I want a little more time.”
He understood. More than she probably realized, he understood the desire to hold onto these last precious days of solitude. Once that beacon activated, her world would come rushing back with all of its complications and dangers and demands.
Two more days, he told himself. Two more days of having her to myself. It would have to be enough.
The trail down from his territory and through the pass was one he knew well.
He made the trip once or twice a year to trade for the few things he couldn’t provide for himself.
He knew every switchback, every treacherous crossing, and every spot where the snow hid crevasses deep enough to swallow a careless traveler.
He led the way, using his enhanced senses to scout for danger, his larger body breaking a path through drifts that would have reached her waist.
She followed without complaint, her determination evident in the set of her jaw and the steady rhythm of her footsteps.
When the trail narrowed to a knife-edge ridge with drops on either side, she didn’t hesitate.
When they had to ford a half-frozen stream that soaked them both to the knees, she pushed through the icy water with barely a flinch.
Our mate is a warrior, his beast purred approvingly.
They made camp that first night in a sheltered hollow beneath an overhang of rock. He built a fire while she unpacked their supplies—dried meat and travel bread, a skin of water, and the thin woven blankets he’d brought from the cabin. Not much, but enough.
The temperature dropped as darkness fell, cold enough that their breath fogged in the firelight. She pressed close to his side, shivering despite her layers, and he wrapped his arms around her
“Tell me about Port Cantor,” he said softly. “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been there.”
She was quiet for a moment, her gaze fixed on the dancing flames. “It’s… different from anywhere else on Cresca. Tall buildings made of glass and steel. Streets crowded with people from a dozen different species. Technology everywhere—the kind that’s hard to find outside the city.”
“Do you miss it?”
“I thought I would.” She shifted against him, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder.
“When I first woke up in your cabin, I thought about all the things I’d left behind.
Hot water. Proper beds. Food that didn’t require hunting or foraging.
But somewhere along the way, I stopped missing them.
Or maybe I just found something better to fill the space. ”
Her hand found his, their fingers intertwining.
“I’m nervous,” she admitted softly. “About bringing you there. About what you’ll think of it. Of me, in that world.”
“You think I’ll see you differently?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” She turned her face up towards his, her grey eyes luminous in the firelight.
“I’m not the same person there that I’ve been here.
Or at least, I wasn’t. I was the Duvain heiress—delicate, protected, always surrounded by people trying to manage me.
I’m worried you’ll see that woman and wonder what happened to the one you trained in the snow. ”
He cupped her face in his free hand, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone.
“I see you,” he said firmly. “Whoever you were, whoever you had to be in that world—it doesn’t change what I know.
You crashed into my mountain and survived.
You demanded I teach you to fight. You faced down adyani and never flinched.
Whatever masks you wore before, I’ve seen what’s underneath. ”
“And if I have to wear those masks again? If I have to become the pampered heiress to save my father’s legacy?”
“Then I’ll be at your side.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there, breathing in her scent. “Masks can be removed. The female beneath them—my female—will still be there. I’ll make sure of it.”
She made a small sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and pulled him down into a kiss that tasted of salt and smoke and desperate hope.
That night, they made love beside the fire, slow and tender, savoring every touch.
The cold pressed in around them, but between his body heat and the flames, they created their own warmth.
When sleep finally claimed them, she was curled in his arms, her back pressed to his chest, his hand splayed possessively over her stomach.
The mark on her breast pulsed faintly—a connection he could feel even in the darkness, binding them together more surely than any words.
The next day the mountain slopes started to give way to rocky scrambles and dense forest, the trees growing larger and closer together as they descended.
His senses were on constant alert, scanning for threats—the scent of predators, the rustle of movement in the underbrush, anything that might endanger his mate.
But the forest seemed quiet, almost peaceful. Snow lay thick on the branches, muffling sound, and the only animals they encountered were small prey creatures that fled at their approach.
“We’re making good time,” he told her as they paused to rest beside a frozen stream. “We should reach the foothills by tomorrow afternoon, if the weather holds.”