Chapter Two
Eryon - Earlier
Despite the pull of my Winter Star—my name for this divine creature—I force myself to stay hidden in the woods.
Even at this distance, I can see her moving about the guesthouse.
I watch her pull her coat tight against the cold, her fragile human body shivering as she races from the warm fire to her warm sanctuary, her feet slipping on the icy, rocky path.
I pity this female with her clumsy movements and lack of adaptive evolution—she hardly has enough hair to even keep her head warm.
Despite the weakness of her flesh, I can sense in her a quiet, determined strength.
Tonight, though, the tightness around her eyes betrays her smile, and her heartbreak rides to me on the Northern winds where it wraps around my own heart like an icy vise.
I’ve studied her for months now and can read her face as easily as the clouds that will soon bring the winter snows. So, though she tries to hide her infinite sadness, tries to be strong and independent, I can see her suffering. She hasn’t always been like this.
The change is so drastic compared to when I had first watched her crisscross the mountain paths and surrounding towns like a determined, stubborn little goat. Those stolen glances had provided me with more happiness than I’ve known in many, many years.
I remember the first time I saw her, an unexpected surprise when I had stumbled upon her from behind.
One glance at her rounded bottom peeking out from beneath a bright berry purple coat as she bent over, digging in the dirt, demanded my attention.
I stood there, admiring the view, while she squatted down and examined something more closely.
When she turned her head to call someone over, the autumn sun bathed her face in golden light as if she were a divine offering birthed from the season itself.
My heart pounded like a tabla drum, each beat reverberating through my chest like a prayer.
Her hair shimmered with all the colors I’ve ever seen the sun kiss the earth—the golden glow of a spring sunrise, the rich red of the ruby flowers that shimmered during the monsoons, and the deep chestnut hues of autumn leaves just before they surrender to the ground.
Each kaleidoscope curl was like a living thing, playfully catching the light as if inviting me to sink my hands into its glorious mass—to wrap them around my fingers and tug just until she gasped in pleasure.
Vividly, I could imagine her kneeling before me, the sharp contrast of her small head held between my large palms as I claimed her mouth, plunging my length in and out between those full lips.
I wanted to bury my face in those curls as we lost ourselves in each other, wind them around my fingers in the lazy dawn, feel them cascade over my flesh as she laid in my arms. A thousand visions of the fiery ringlets danced in my mind, each more sinful than the last.
Watching her, I forgot the centuries of solitude that had dulled my frozen heart. All that remained was her, bending over those flowers, utterly oblivious to the way she had just cracked the thick wall of ice around the poor dead organ that lived in my chest.
I wanted her—no, I needed her, as surely as I needed my next breath of mountain air.
She should have looked out of place, a stranger in this land.
But instead, she looked like shelter in the storm, warmth in the frigid cold of winter, a light in the darkness of my lonely existence.
Perhaps my heart wasn’t so dead after all.
I was so enthralled by my fantasies of her that an audible groan escaped me, drawing her gaze over her shoulder toward the trees where I was hidden. I froze—not in fear of being discovered, I almost wanted her to see me, but because of her eyes.
Her perfect, round bottom had caught my attention, her hair had my imagination running wild with desire, but those eyes—they pierced my soul and threw my entire world off its axis.
As she started to look back down to the little plant at her feet, I made another small noise, on purpose this time, just to see her eyes once more. I wasn’t done looking my fill. I don’t know if I ever will be.
I had never seen a human with eyes this color, the exact shade of the little star shaped flower that only grew in my caves. We called it winter star, named for its shape and the season of its bloom. Thus, her name was born—my Winter Star.
Humans are nothing new to me. After all, I’ve protected the balance of nature for centuries, and humans are part of that balance—sometimes a source of creation, often a force of destruction, but always part of the harmony.
I had seen many of them over the centuries, but I had never cared about what they looked like.
But this human—she called to me in a way wholly unexpected.
I wanted to know everything about her. Not just see her but understand her.
Not just marvel at the flame in her hair and the flower in her eyes, but to drink in the essence of who she is.
I wanted to watch the night sky reflected in her gaze, to see if their hue shifted with the first light of dawn.
Or better yet, to see if they deepened into the rich, endless blue of twilight when she lost herself to me in pleasure as I devoured her.
And yet, beneath that primal desire was something deeper. Something raw. Fragile. Once, I had known a love bond where my soul sang in harmony with another’s. And I had lost her—not to nature or time, but to human greed. To their hunger for domination over the world and all its gifts.
I had vowed never to mate again, certain I would never experience love again, that all my hopes and dreams were buried with my family. But now—now my heart roared to life, thrumming with a rhythm I’d thought long silenced. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.
Why had fate led me to this woman of all creatures?
A human, the very kind that had torn my world apart before.
And yet how could I deny this pull? This thread that wound itself around me and bound me to her?
It felt as though the stars themselves had carved this path, weaving her into my life in defiance of my fears.
Or perhaps even in spite of them. Was this the balance?
I had so many questions for her—where she had come from, what was she doing? But I didn’t need to ask where she was going. That, I already knew. She was coming with me.
As confident as I was in my assertion, a shadow of doubt lingered in the back of my mind, whispering warnings.
Did I dare trust her? Could I risk the pain of losing again?
My brain rapid fired rational questions, but my heart beat steadily on mine, mine, mine.
My soul throbbed with the knowledge that she had to feel this, too.
When she scanned the woods, searching for the source of the noise I purposely made, I held my breath, motionless.
When her eyes passed over me, I felt them as if she were running her fingertips over my flesh.
I knew she couldn’t see me, but I could feel the ripple of her awareness, as though some primal instinct stirred within her.
As if my soul called to hers and not only had it heard, but it answered, Here. I am here.
Her gaze returned again to the exact spot where I stood, her brow furrowed as though sensing something just beyond her reach.
I knew her soul would respond in kind. After a few heavy beats, she stood and gave herself a small shake, as if trying to cast off my hold on her and went to find her friend.
But even as she walked away, I felt her awareness linger, and for the rest of the day, her curious gaze searched the trees for me.
I was curious about her, too. Unlike the others, this little human hadn’t come for yoga or a pilgrimage.
She seemed to be here for the earth itself—to study the plants and the land.
I could tell she was looking for something specific and couldn’t help but wonder not just what she searched for, but why.
Unlike so many who passed through these mountains, even those who called themselves pilgrims, she walked as though she belonged here, as though the earth itself welcomed her soft footfalls. Countless times, her fingers brushed the plants and trees with a reverence I had never seen in a human.
When I saw her delicate fingers stroking the broad leaf of a low bush, a growl escaped me at the thought of those same hands brushing against my flesh—an aching need to be worshipped by her.
To have those same fingers buried deep in my fur or gripped tight around my aching member, which had been hard at the sight of her all day.
I couldn’t recall the last time I had physical contact with another living creature, but guessed it was easily over a hundred years ago, ever since—I stopped myself, shoving the memories back into the shadowy recesses of my long memory where they belonged.
It was too painful to examine them in the light of day.
The sun played in her curls, casting shadows and light like the rippling river as she searched.
All day, I watched her, unable to look away.
When evening came, I followed her to make sure she reached the small town safely.
I knew of the guide who accompanied her—a member of a family I once saved during a cruel winter when they ran out of fuel.
But I didn’t trust anyone to get her home without my oversight. I had learned long ago that when humans are a force of destruction, they could rival the devastation wrought by the goddess Kali herself. And I couldn’t let her be subject to her own kind.
Once the two women were safely back home, I crossed back over the river, the icy water biting at my legs, and lingered at the edge of the woods. From my hidden vantage point, I watched as my Winter Star emerged to sit by the fire, its warm glow reflecting in her eyes.