Chapter Thirty-Eight
Dahlia
Time passes by in a series of polaroid pictures. Snapshots of light and movement. The worried faces of Sita and Eryon. Being enveloped in heat and soft fur. The most delicious drink I’ve ever tasted poured into my mouth.
And then—nothing.
Perhaps this is what death is. Simply nothing. If I’m dead, I may as well catch up on my rest, free from the howling wind and the cold scrabbling at me like skeleton fingers. But I doubt I would need sleep if I were truly gone, which means—I’m alive.
My eyes snap open on a sharp inhale, the scent of deep earth washing over me, warm and familiar. A faint undercurrent of snow and pine tears at my heart.
Eryon.
I blink, the darkness taking shape into shadows cast by the banked embers of a fire. I flex my fingers and wiggle my toes, checking in with my body. My limbs respond easily, but something feels—different. Not just better, but more.
I stretch like a cat, rolling my shoulders, and the movement is glorious.
The furs piled on me slide off as I sit up, leaving my bare skin exposed to the cool air of the cave.
I reach for my shoulder, searching for some trace of injury—some lingering pain from where Ben shot me—but my skin is smooth, untouched. Not even a pinprick.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand. Nothing hurts. No aches, no soreness. If anything, I feel stronger. Energized. My muscles hum with power, my lungs expand as if breathing in the world for the first time.
What the hell was I shot with? If that is what is making me feel this way, I kinda want more.
Padding toward the fire, I stretch my hands toward the heat, basking in the cozy warmth. I listen for any sign of Eryon, but all I hear is the cave itself—deep and quiet, like a living thing at rest.
My growling stomach breaks the silence just as I spot my pack leaning against the wall. I pull it toward me, hunger gnawing at my stomach. I root around inside, digging to the bottom to search for anything edible. My fingers close around something unfamiliar.
I pull it out to find a bundle of moss and bark, bound with delicate vine. My stomach tightens, unease prickling up my spine. This wasn’t here before. I know every item in my pack, every last thing I brought with me.
I sink to my knees next to the fire and unwrap it slowly, reverently, as if touching something sacred. As if I already somehow know its contents are beyond precious. The moment I see the petals nestled in the carefully crafted container, my breath catches.
The Silene vitalis.
He must have placed it in the bottom of my pack for me to find later before he sent me away. Wrapped with such care it breaks my heart, its petals remain pristine, shimmering faintly even in the dim light of the fire’s coals. He gave it to me. A whole intact plant, roots and all.
Even in his heartbreak, he was still trying to save me.
A lump forms in my throat, hot and suffocating, as I clutch the bundle to my chest. He cast me out, heartbroken over the old traumas and fears of being used and duped. He told me to leave. But even in his pain, he ensured I would live. He let me go, even though it must have killed him.
Ben had said my life was worth nothing to him, despite all the years I had devoted to him. But Eryon had shown me, with this one gesture, that my life meant everything. That I was worth saving, yet again.
The weight of it crushes my chest, the meaning behind his actions sinking into the well of my soul like a stone. He’d chosen his duty over me. But even then, he still saved me.
I clutch the flower to my chest, rising swiftly to my feet. I have to find him. I need to tell him—everything. I don’t hesitate. I run. Thank the gods I hadn’t taken the time to empty my pack back at the guesthouse because then I wouldn’t be here with him. My Eryon—my mate?
The thought nearly stops me in my tracks. I want to call out his name but hesitate after he told me not to. As I run, I ponder Sita’s words. Since he told me his name, does that mean I am his mate?
Do I want to be?
The answer slams into me with the force of an avalanche.
Yes. YES. I want this. Want him. More than I’ve ever wanted anything.
The tunnels blur past me, my feet moving instinctively, carrying me through the twisting cave system toward the heart of the mountain. I should be exhausted. I should be weak. Instead, I feel faster than I’ve ever been. My body moves with a newfound strength, my heartbeat steady, my lungs eager.
Eryon.
The name beats in my chest with every step. At last, I reach the secret garden. The lush oasis unfolds before me, bathed in moonlight. The stars shimmer overhead, a vast expanse of silver and midnight blue, reflected in the rippling waters of the hot spring.
I slow, my breath coming in steady pulls as I make my way to the flower’s home. Kneeling in the soft earth, I take a shaking breath and press my fingers to the soil. This is it. The reason I came here. The key to saving my life.
I clutch the delicate petals, my heart hammering as I ponder the weight of my decision, weigh the balance of fate.
For years, I have fought to prove my worth.
To Ben. To the world. To myself. I have scraped and struggled, desperate to be something more—to be needed, to be valued.
Loved. But standing here, in this sacred place, I realize—I was chasing the wrong future.
Not anymore.
I don’t need a lab. I don’t need a legacy. The truth isn’t a whisper. It’s an avalanche. It crashes over me, unstoppable, undeniable. I love him. More than my career. More than I love myself. More than my own life.
I need him.
If I take this flower now and leave, I might live. But leaving is betrayal. And living without him is not life. It would be nothing more than shadows and darkness. He is my light.
Tears burn my eyes as I stare down at the flower, at the shimmering violet-blue nestled in my palms like an answered prayer. Then, with a shaking breath, I force my fingers to unclench.
Here it stays, and here I’ll stay if he will have me. For forever long I have.
With careful hands, I nestle the fragile roots back into the soil, smoothing the earth over them.
Standing, I take a step back, smiling proudly at the way the plant looks like it had never been disturbed.
Sure, the plants are promising, but here is where they belong.
Not in a lab, stolen from their home and protector.
The air shifts. A whisper of breath skates over the back of my neck. A presence I have felt before, the day I came to this mountain and felt him watching me. Waiting.
Now, as the air stirs, and the weight of his gaze settles over me, I know—he was always meant to find me.
I turn slowly, heart pounding, and there he is.
Eryon stands before me, his massive frame silhouetted by the moonlight, his silver eyes blazing. I am both dreading and anticipating this moment in equal parts. Does he understand why I said what I did? Does he still care for me? Will he allow me to stay?
Before I can weigh the thoughts, he whispers my name, his name for me, “Sruhnar.”
His voice is thick, strained, filled with something more than just longing. His silver eyes flicker, roaming over me, as if memorizing every inch—afraid I might vanish if he looks away.
The way he rolls the r reverberates deep in my belly. He is standing so close I could reach out and touch him, can feel his breath coasting over my flesh, smell the crisp scent of snow and pine that clings to him.
My lips part on my inhale, trying to breathe in his very essence. I want to explain everything, clarify every word he witnessed, but he doesn’t allow me the chance.
He closes the distance in one swift motion, his hands fisting in my hair, his mouth claiming mine.
I pour my explanation, my apology, my hopes and desires into every touch of our lips which says more than my mere words ever could. My legs wrap around him as my hands sink deep into the thick fur across his chest, my fingertips seeking the unique velvet texture of his skin.
His scorching kiss tells me that all is forgiven. Every thrust and retreat of his tongue as it dances over mine tells me that balance has been restored.
“Mate me,” I gasp against his lips between kisses, feral with desire. “I want you at your wildest. I am not afraid.”
He slides me slowly down his body and sets me gently on my feet.
He takes my face in his hands, locking eyes with me and declares, “I will be more beast than man. It will be raw, primal. This will not be any gentle lovemaking, no plant to ease the way. It will be a claiming. And once I claim you, I cannot, will not, let you go.”
I square my shoulders and nod once, my voice firm with my resolve as I say, “I don’t want you to let me go.
I want to claim you just as much as you want to claim me.
I don’t care what you are, as long as you are mine.
Just as I was always meant to be yours. I want you—every part of you, wild and untamed. ”
His lips curl into a wicked grin, his silver eyes dark with something primal. He drops his hands and takes a step back. Then another.
His body doesn’t just grow, it transforms. Expands into something massive, untamed. His fur thickens like a living storm, claws unsheathing like curved blades. The transformation is startling. Any trace of the man behind the beast is gone. The creature that stands before me is pure Migoi.
His roar splits the night, shaking the stone beneath my feet. The sound of a predator. A command. A warning.
A thrill licks up my spine.
His silver eyes lock onto mine—not a man, not a beast. Only—my mate. He drops his head back and roars, “Run.”