Chapter 7
Ava
When I wake, the first thing I notice is heat. The second is muscle. A lot of muscle.
I blink up at the ceiling, then at the thick arm draped across my waist, then at the large olive-gray hand resting over my stomach like it was molded there.
Right, so last night wasn't a dream, and neither is the gigantic, warm, tusked man pressed against my back, breathing slow and even like holding me is something his body has been waiting decades to do.
My face goes hot, my chest goes warm, and everything else goes melty. I shift slightly, and his arm tightens around me, pulling me closer without him even waking. That shouldn't make my heart flip the way it does, but it does.
I turn in his arms slowly, careful of my ankle, and study him. His eyes are still closed with lashes dark against the skin of his cheeks. He looks younger like this, softer, vulnerable in a way I never expected someone as strong as him could be.
I reach up and brush a thumb along his jaw. His skin is warm, textured, real.
His eyes open instantly, gold and alert, but when he sees me, they soften immediately. "Ava," he murmurs, voice low and rough from sleep. "You stayed."
The way he says it makes my heart squeeze. "I'm not going anywhere," I whisper.
Something in his expression breaks open—relief, disbelief, something deeper and older. He touches my cheek with the backs of his knuckles, careful and reverent.
"I feared you would wake and regret everything."
Regret? If only he knew.
"Garruk," I say, sliding my hands up to cup his face. "Last night wasn't a mistake. It wasn't confusion or fear or adrenaline. I wanted you."
His breath catches.
"And I still do. I always will."
The bond hums between us, warm and solid. I feel it so clearly now. He swallows hard. "Ava. You must choose with your full understanding, with clear eyes."
A low rumble shakes the cabin walls—not from him, but from outside. Garruk's head snaps toward the window, and he sits up in one smooth motion with instinct written in every line of his body.
"What was that?" I ask, my heart thudding.
"Snow shelf breaking." His voice is grim. "The storm may have shifted the upper ridge."
The avalanche risk. Of course. I pull myself upright, ignoring my ankle's protest. "Do we need to get out?"
"No." He stands and pulls on his pants, then crosses to the window. "We're safe here. But the path is gone, and the world won't let you descend today."
Something about the way he says it steals my breath—the world won't let you descend, like the mountain itself is closing the door behind me, like it wants me here with him.
I sit on the bed, watching him. His broad back, the scars along his side, the quiet strength in the way he holds himself, always ready to protect. Suddenly, everything crystallizes in my mind.
I love my work. I love the mountain. I love being out here where life feels real and raw and meaningful, and here, with him, I feel all of that amplified. Safe and seen and wanted in a way I've never let myself want before.
I don't feel trapped. I feel found.
He turns back to me, unsure and waiting for my fear. Instead, I smile.
"Garruk," I say softly.
He goes very still.
"I know what I want."
His throat works. "Tell me."
"I want you."
His chest rises sharply.
"I want this cabin," I continue, the words coming easier now. "And waking up warm in your arms. And whatever this bond is."
He stares at me like he can't breathe.
"I choose it," I whisper. "I choose you."
For a heartbeat, he doesn't move or blink. Then he crosses the room in three long strides and drops to his knees in front of me so fast the air stirs my hair.
"Ava," he says, his voice shaking. "You choose to stay?"
"Yes."
"You choose the bond?"
"Yes."
"You choose me?"
I slide my hands into his hair and pull him up into a kiss—soft and sure. "Yes," I breathe against his lips. "Forever, if you'll have me."
A sound rips from his chest, broken and reverent, and he gathers me against him with his arms around my waist and his forehead pressed to mine. "The mountain sent you," he whispers. "I didn't believe. I didn't dare. But you came."
"And I'm staying."
He kisses me then, slow, breathtaking, and grateful. When he finally pulls back, his eyes shine with something that looks suspiciously like tears.
"Then you're mine," he says softly. "And I'm yours."
Not just a claim. A vow.
I rest my forehead against his shoulder while relief and warmth and joy flood through me. "You're stuck with me now," I say.
His arms tighten. "Good."
Outside, another sheet of snow slides somewhere far up the ridge—not threatening, just shifting and settling, like the mountain itself is nodding in approval. And I realize I don't feel like Garruk’s visitor anymore.
I feel like I'm home.
Because I am.