Chapter 6 Snowdrops
SNOWDROPS
Andrik-
She looks so comfortable right now. My hands are shaking with the restraint it takes not to reach out and touch her again.
“Nai’thar veskae,” I whisper to myself.
I have never wanted something so badly. And I have been alive for a very, very long time. Over the centuries, I have met more humans than I care to remember, but none of them have ever been anything like the little snowdrop lying on my couch.
I don't know which god sent her to me—but I will not be giving her back.
Ever.
“Kaer’shal etra venaí ves kaemorin,” I murmur softly. (I would burn the gods if they touched what’s mine.)
The fire crackles softly beside us. I can hear every beat of her heart. Her breath hitches now and then—like she's dreaming of something she shouldn’t be.
I inhale slowly—as deep as my lungs will allow—trying to memorize the scent that has split my world into before and after. She smells like home.
My fingers twitch against the armrest. I want to leave my scent all over her—enough to keep her wrapped in me even while she sleeps. Kael’varin ves’kai, Sael?n. (Let my scent hold you, Soulbond.)
I ache to press my palm against her warm chest and count every beat. Veyr’thal?n ves thrae. (I need to feel the rhythm of you.)
The more I listen, the easier it is to forget why I should stay away. I find myself wanting to believe I’m more than what the stories say I am. “Velorin ves theln.” (You are written in my ache.)
I know what I look like to her kind. I know the names they whisper in their cities.
Monster. Demon. Beast. Deathbringer.
And they’re not wrong. I’ve ended more lives than winters I’ve survived. I’ve shattered bones between my bare hands, and let the forest bury men in snow so deep not even the vultures could find them.
I was made for war, not softness.
But I would never hurt her. Even if the gods themselves demanded it—even if it meant tearing out what little sacredness remains inside me—I would rather die than harm her.
I know she could never love me, but I wish she could. And, thal?n help me, if she opened her eyes and asked me to touch her, there wouldn't be a heaven or hell that could stop me.
I force myself to step back from the couch before I do something I can’t take back.
I need air. I need—
I step outside into the cold, my breath misting in the frozen air. The snow has stopped falling. The thalor?n watches silently, like it’s been waiting for this moment as long as I have. (The sacred forest.)
I kneel beside the snowdrops growing near my door—delicate white blooms that refuse to die even in the deepest winter. They only open for those the forest deems worthy.
They opened for her.
I gather a handful, their petals impossibly soft against the lethal curve of my claws. I can feel their fragility, the way they seem to pulse with the same stubborn life that keeps her heart beating.
This is foolish. A monster picking flowers. She doesn’t even know what this means to my kind. But as I turn back toward the cabin, I know I’ll give them to her anyway.
I kneel beside her and place the snowdrops carefully beside her head, close enough that she’ll see them when she wakes.
My hand shakes where it hovers over the white petals. There is a vow every Rhavari must speak when they find their mate. No two are ever the same. Each one is born from the soul’s recognition of its other half. And these words... are my confession that I belong only to her.
My voice is barely a whisper.
“Kael’vurin veskae.” (This is my vow.)
“Nysa’thalum ar skar.” (There is no lifetime in which I let you go.)
“Velorin ael’thra ves shavrei, ael’kai ves thar?n.” You are written in my scrolls, and etched into the place my soul was carved.
My hand trembles with the sudden urge to trace the line of her jaw, to feel the heat of the life I’ve sworn to protect.
“Kaemorin… ves’kai.” (Mine… and still becoming.)
“Veyr’kai ves shal?n.”( Chosen by the forest.)
“Sael?n… ael’virel thar?n veskae.” (Soulbond… You are the vow that cannot ever be undone.)
I press my forehead to the armrest, eyes closing tight against the urge to scent her.
“Etra’saev veskae veyr’kai. Kael’vurin ael’shae.” (My blood speaks your name. My body obeys your pull.)
“Veyr’sal. Virethel. Ael’solmira ves’thein ael’tara veskae.” The frost. The birch. And every snowdrop I’ll find you in.
The words hang in the air like a binding. A physical pressure that makes the firelight flicker, and the forest tremble. It’s a vow even the gods have no choice but to honor.
I move to the herb cabinets and gather a handful of soft, green moss—the kind that grows only on the oldest stones. I tuck it deep into the soles of her boots, cushioning the place where her heels will rest. “May the earth remember your name,” I murmur. “And may you always find your way back.”
With the moss against her skin, the forest will not fight her. The roots will move for her feet, and the shadows will pull back to let her pass.
I set the boots down softly, the moss already beginning to weave its quiet magic into the leather.
I move back to her side, my knees hitting the floorboards with a dull thud. This is the closest I have ever been to peace. I reach for the small white bundle I left next to her. “Skarae’n ves l?r, kaemorin,” I whisper, fingers lingering on the white petals.
She’ll probably think they’re just flowers. She doesn’t know I claimed her in the way of my people, that in my world, this is as binding as any wedding vow—but I meant every petal.
When I glance up at her, I notice a faint, dusky hue creeping onto her skin. Her lips are pale, and her pulse has slowed to a sluggish rhythm.
No.
Panic slams into me. She’s too cold. The fire isn’t enough.
The furs aren’t enough. I crawl onto the cushions behind her, wrapping my arms around her small, shivering frame, and pulling her flush against my chest. She fits perfectly, her head tucking naturally into the hollow of my shoulder.
I lean close and exhale the ael’vurin over her; the cold mist curls from my lips, settling across her hair like dew. (Breathmark.)
“Veyr’khal?n kae veyr,” I whisper into her snow-kissed crown. I wrap myself around her, willing the cold away. Within minutes, her pulse is back to normal. The dusky color begins to fade, replaced by a faint pink flush as warmth returns.
I exhale slowly, relief flooding through me. I’m not taking my eyes off her. I will stay here, lying by her side, watching as she dreams, and considering myself the luckiest male on this planet to do so.