Chapter 21 #2
She nodded, her breath coming in short puffs as she recovered from the morning’s exertion. She was tired—he could see it in the shadows beneath her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands as she accepted the waterskin he offered—but she hadn’t complained. Hadn’t asked to slow down or stop.
She’s so much stronger than she knows, he thought again, watching her drink.
That night they found shelter in a shallow cave, the entrance narrow enough that he could block it with his body if necessary. He built another fire, and they ate the last of their travel rations in companionable silence.
“Tell me about your family,” she said suddenly. “Not the pack politics—you’ve told me about that. But before, when you were young. What was it like?”
The question caught him off guard. He rarely thought about those early years, before his father’s second mating had complicated everything. Before Lysara and her betrayals.
“It was… good,” he said slowly, the words dredged up from somewhere deep inside.
“My mother was kind. Fierce, as I said, but also gentle when she needed to be. She used to sing to me. My father was always busy managing pack business, but when he was home, he made time for me. He taught me to hunt and track. He taught me to be a warrior.”
“You loved them.”
“Yes.” The admission felt strange on his tongue, like a muscle long unused. “But after my mother died, my father became… different. Harder. More focused on the pack’s survival than on his son. And then he took a new mate, and everything changed.”
She reached for his hand, her smaller fingers threading through his. “I’m sorry for what you lost.”
“It was a long time ago.” But her sympathy warmed something cold inside him, something he’d thought long frozen over. “What about you? You said your mother died when you were born?”
“Yes. I never knew her. I’ve only seen her portraits and heard stories about her.
My father kept her memory alive, though.
He used to tell me she was the strongest person he’d ever known.
That she fought to bring me into the world, even when the doctors said it was hopeless.
” Her voice grew soft and distant. “It’s part of the reason he was so protective.
He’d already lost her. He couldn’t bear to lose me too. ”
“He sounds like a good male.”
“He was. The best.” She leaned into his side, her head resting against his shoulder. “I miss him every day. But being here with you has helped. You’ve helped me remember that strength isn’t about never being hurt. It’s about getting back up when you are.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in her scent. Tomorrow they would reach the foothills. Tomorrow she would activate the beacon and summon her world back to her. But tonight—tonight she was still his, and his alone.
They made love again in the flickering firelight, fierce and desperate, neither wanting to acknowledge what the morning would bring. She cried out his name as she shattered in his arms, and the sound echoed through the cave like a prayer.
Afterwards, as she slept curled against him, he stared into the dying flames and tried not to think about how different everything would be once her people arrived.
The next day they reached the base of the mountains and the foothills spread before them like a brown sea.
After two days of snow and rock and treacherous mountain trails, the sight of open grassland stretching towards the distant horizon felt almost surreal.
The air was warmer here, carrying the scents of earth and dry vegetation instead of ice and stone.
She stood at the edge of the last tree line, her face tilted up towards the pale sun. She looked tired but triumphant, and when she caught him watching her, she smiled.
“We made it.”
“We did.” He moved to stand beside her, his hand resting on the small of her back. “How do you feel?”
“Terrified,” she admitted. “Excited. Ready. Not ready at all.” She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Is it possible to feel all of those things at once?”
“Yes.” He understood perfectly. The same contradictions warred in his own chest—eagerness to face whatever came next, and a desperate wish to stay frozen in this moment forever.
They found a suitable campsite at the base of the foothills, a small clearing sheltered by a ring of young trees. He built a fire while she unpacked their remaining supplies, her movements automatic and distracted.
When she finally pulled the beacon from her pack, her hands were trembling.
“Once I activate this,” she said quietly, “everything changes. They’ll come for me. For us. And then…”
“Then we face whatever comes.” He crossed to her, taking her hands in his, beacon and all. “Together. Remember?”
She nodded, drawing a deep breath. “Together.”
She pressed the activation switch.
The red light flickered once, twice, then began pulsing a steady green. Somewhere in the distance—in Port Cantor, perhaps, or wherever her family’s security forces monitored their frequencies—an alarm would be sounding. People would be mobilizing. A ship would be launched.
The countdown had begun.
“How long?” he asked.
“Depends on where the nearest response team is stationed.” She set the beacon carefully on a flat rock, positioning it so the signal would have a clear path to the sky.
“It could be a few hours or it could be most of the day. We should stay close—they’ll track the beacon’s location, but it’s easier if we’re visible when they arrive. ”
Hours. Possibly their last hours alone.
He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in the curve of her neck. She came willingly, her arms wrapping around his waist, her body melting against his.
“I keep thinking,” he murmured against her skin, “that this might be the last time. That once your people arrive, once you’re back in your world…”
“Don’t.” She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her expression fierce. “Don’t think that. I didn’t fight this hard, come this far, just to lose you at the end. You’re mine, Rykan. My mate. Whatever happens next, that doesn’t change.”
“Your people might not accept me.”
“Then they’ll learn to.” Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. “I’m done letting other people decide who I can love. Who I can want. My father spent years protecting me from the world—I’m not going to dishonor his memory by letting it destroy me now.”
The conviction in her voice soothed something anxious in his chest. She meant it, every word. Whatever complications waited in Port Cantor, she intended to face them with him at her side.
Brave, his beast purred. Our mate is brave.
He kissed her then, slow and thorough, pouring everything he felt into the contact.
Love. Gratitude. The fierce, protective devotion that had grown from the moment he first caught her scent.
She responded with equal fervor, her hands sliding beneath his shirt to find bare skin.
They’d made love so many times now, but each time still felt new—a rediscovery of pleasure he’d thought forever beyond his reach.
Clothing fell away piece by piece until there was nothing between them but sunlight and air.
He lay her down on their spread blankets, taking his time, worshipping every inch of her with hands and mouth. She gasped and writhed beneath him, her fingers tangling in his hair, her hips rising to meet his touch.
“Rykan… please…”
He couldn’t deny her. He could never deny her anything.
When he finally sheathed himself inside her, they both groaned at the sensation. He held still for a long moment, savoring the feeling of completion, the perfect fit of their bodies joined together.
Then he began to move.
It was slow at first, gentle, tender. Each stroke a declaration. Each kiss a promise. But need built between them, hot and urgent, and soon gentleness gave way to something more primal.
He drove into her harder, faster, chasing the release that coiled tighter with every thrust. She met him stroke for stroke, her nails raking down his back, her cries rising to meet his growls.
Mine, his beast roared. My mate. My heart. Mine.
They shattered together, pleasure exploding through them in waves that seemed to go on forever. He collapsed against her, breathing hard, his knot locking them together.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Neither spoke. The world had narrowed to just the two of them, tangled together in the sunlight, their hearts still racing from shared ecstasy.
Then, slowly, reluctantly, awareness returned.
He finally raised his head, pressing a kiss to her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. She smiled up at him, lazy and satisfied, her grey eyes soft with love.
“We should dress,” she murmured when his knot subsided, but she made no move to untangle herself from him.
“Yes,” he agreed, equally reluctant to move.
But they couldn’t stay like this forever. Her people were coming. Their stolen time was ending.
He rose first, retrieving her scattered clothing and bringing it back to where she lay.
Then, carefully, tenderly, he began to dress her.
Her shirt first, eased over her head and smoothed down her torso.
Her trousers, pulled up her legs one at a time, fastened at her waist with fingers that lingered longer than strictly necessary.
She watched him, her expression soft. “I can dress myself, you know.”
“I know.” He pressed a kiss to her clothed shoulder, then reached for her boots. “Let me.”
She didn’t protest again.
When she was fully dressed, he turned to his own clothing, pulling on his tunic and trousers with quick, efficient movements.
She sat up, running her fingers through her tangled hair, and fastening it into a quick braid.
After a brief hesitation, she reached into her pocket for the necklace she’d been wearing when she crashed and fastened it around her neck. Her mother’s necklace.
“For courage,” she said softly. “How do I look?”
“Beautiful.” Always. No matter what she wore or how disheveled her appearance. “Like the female who crashed into my mountain and changed everything.”
She laughed softly, reaching for his hand. “I think you were the one who changed everything. I just—”
She stopped mid-sentence, her gaze fixing on something over his shoulder. Her grip on his hand tightened.
“Rykan.”
He turned, following her line of sight.
There, cutting through the pale blue sky like a dark blade—a sleek, angular vessel, its hull gleaming. It moved fast, far faster than any bird, banking in a wide arc as it zeroed in on their position.
Her people had arrived.
The vessel grew larger as it approached, and the sound of its engines grew louder, a low thrum that vibrated in his chest. He could see markings on its hull, symbols he didn’t recognize but assumed were insignia of some kind.
She rose to her feet, her hand still clasped in his. Her shoulders squared, her chin lifting. The transformation was subtle but unmistakable—the capable survivor he’d trained giving way to something else. Something more polished.
The Duvain heiress, preparing to reclaim her world.
But when she looked at him, her eyes were still the same. Still warm. Still his.
“Ready?” she asked, and he squeezed her hand. “Ready.”
The vessel began its descent.