Chapter Thirty-Nine
Dahlia
Fear slams into my stomach like a lead weight, dragging at my limbs until instinct kicks in, screaming at me to do what he commanded.
I spin and bolt, darting into the nearest tunnel. I have no idea where I am going in this rabbit warren of crisscrossing caves. I don’t think—I can’t think—I just keep moving, feet pounding against the uneven ground as though the devil himself is chasing me.
But Eryon isn’t the devil. He’s something far worse. He is a god of winter. A harbinger of hunger and the hunt. And I am the willing sacrifice.
My breath comes fast and uneven, my pulse thundering in my ears.
My feet slip over loose rocks, but I recover—too fast, too precise.
My body is stronger than it should be, my muscles burning but not faltering.
Strength pulses through my veins, something wild, something new.
For a flickering second, the thought crosses my mind—could I truly outrun him?
The tunnel splits ahead. The left slopes upward, a faint breeze curling through the passage.
I veer that way, lungs pulling in air as I chase the promise of open space, of escape.
The incline steals my breath, my calves tightening, but I don’t stop.
My ragged breaths drown out all sound as I push onward, until—
Eryon
I feel my form growing, larger even than the beast’s mantle. Change shivers over my skin, not just elongating my thick white fur but standing it on end.
My claws unsheathe, sharpening to their full lethal points. My vision sharpens, cutting through the darkness as if the mountain itself bends to my sight—every rock, every shift of shadow clear as day.
I hear her.
The frantic pound of her heart. The raw scrape of bare feet against stone. Breath, shallow and uneven, caught between instinct and exhilaration. She runs—fast, reckless. Blind. She doesn’t know these tunnels. But I do.
Her scent trails behind her like a lure made only for me—sunshine and spring, fire and defiance, undercut by something richer. Something deeper.
Her desire. It curls in the air, potent and intoxicating, filling my lungs until my body thrums with the need to claim her.
The beast inside me scrabbles at my skin, wild and insistent, demanding I tear through the dark after her and take what is mine. The same beast that raged when I saw her collapse, her skin as pale as the surrounding snow. The same beast that nearly lost her.
Only with the sheer will borne of centuries do I restrain myself. I let her run. Not in fear. Not in desperation.
The first time she ran, it was to save me. To shield me from death, even when it should have been me protecting her. That moment—the sight of her falling, the breath torn from her lungs—will haunt me until the end of my days.
But now—now she flees in promise, in surrender. And this time, I will catch her.
She has laid her claim on me. Asked me to lay mine on her. Spoken the words, but more importantly, proven them with her actions.
Actions I hope never to see repeated. She has given up everything for me. She has chosen not just me, but us. Never again will I doubt her. Never again will I let fear cloud what I already knew from the moment I saw her—she is mine.
Heat floods my veins, primal and absolute. My cock throbs at the delay, the restraint nearly unbearable, but the longer I wait, the sweeter the moment will be when I catch her. This time, I will not doubt. I will not hesitate.
She has chosen me. Not as a last resort. Not out of desperation. But because she is mine as surely as I am hers.
I can almost see her as she races through the tunnels, tuned into her exact location. Keeping myself from running to her becomes more than I can bear, and at last—I unleash my beast to pounce upon her like that damned avalanche I pulled her from.
Only unlike the temporary snow, I will consume her like the mountain. Unmoving, unshakable, endless as time.
Finally, I can wait no more, and my legs spring into action, carrying me towards my Winter Star, my mate.
The moment I unleash myself, the cave walls blur around me. My muscles propel me forward with the full force of the beast I have held in check for centuries, closing the distance between us in mere heartbeats.
I do not run.
I hunt.
The tunnel walls flash past. The scent of her is stronger now, sharper with exertion, rich with anticipation. She knows I am coming. She believes she is running toward safety. She does not yet realize she is running straight into my arms.
I let her think, just for a moment, that she could escape me. But she cannot because she is already mine. She always was. But tonight, I will carve that truth into her soul. Brand my claim into her flesh.
I tear through the tunnels, faster than breath, faster than thought. Faster than fate itself.
The path she has chosen ends ahead, a cavern of shimmering crystal and moonlit stone. The perfect backdrop to her beauty.
I move faster. The air pulses with my presence, with the raw, electric energy of the hunt reaching its climax. I see her now, just ahead—her muscles coiled as she spins, realizing her mistake. The tunnel has betrayed her.
There is nowhere left to run.
I slow just enough to drink in the sight of her. She is wild and perfect, chest rising and falling with exertion, skin flushed with heat. Her curls are a halo of tangled fire, her wide eyes burning not with fear—but with hunger.
For me.
She cannot yet see me, but I see every inch of her. She senses my approach, a slow, wicked smile curving her lips. She stands her ground, hands fisting at her sides, pupils blown wide. Her scent thickens, laced with the primal understanding of what is about to happen.
Dahlia
A burst of silver light unfurls before me as I stumble into a cavern that looks as if it has swallowed the night sky. The walls are lined with jagged crystals, catching the dim moonlight from a narrow crack in the ceiling, refracting it into a thousand fractured constellations.
I pause, mesmerized, my chest heaving.
The air shifts. A ripple of energy—electric, charged—pulses through the cave, shivering over my skin.
The beautiful distraction is my downfall; air whooshes out of my lungs as a strong arm wraps around my middle and snatches me from where I stand. A startled scream leaves my lips before a hand clamps down over my mouth as his scent surrounds me, snow and pine and mine.
Harsh panting in my ear turns to a satisfied groan as he growls out, “Mate.”
I sink my teeth into the fleshy palm covering my mouth, startling him enough to drop me to my feet.
I take off back the way I came, away from the beautiful crystals.
I am feeling smug at my escape until a hand wraps itself in my hair streaming behind me.
I’m brought up short, pain prickling delightfully across my scalp as fear pools in my belly.
Eryon
I let her run. Let her think she’s escaping. The thrill of the chase sings in my blood, coils in my muscles, but I don’t lunge—yet.
Her scent is a beacon, blazing through the darkness, guiding me toward her. She smells of fire and spring, of sunshine and mine.
Her hair, loose and streaming behind her, is a gift. I seize it, wrapping the wild curls around my fist, and pull.
A sharp gasp, a stumbled step—then she’s mine again.
She fights me, her small body bucking like a feral thing, but I trap her beneath me, pressed against the earth, helpless and perfect. I fist a hand in her hair, tilting her head, baring her throat. I lower my face, inhaling deeply.
The beast in me snarls in triumph, savoring the feel of her pinned and breathless beneath me. Soft where I am hard. Fragile where I am unbreakable. She is so small against me. But not weak. Never weak. She bares her teeth at me, fierce and defiant.
I love her for it.
I will break her anyway.
She whimpers, thighs pressing together, her scent thickening. She likes this. She wants this. A growl rumbles deep in my chest, primal and approving.
Dahlia
One moment, I’m on my feet. The next, he has me pinned beneath him, pressed against the earth, his heat enveloping me.
Panic and need coil tight in my stomach, battling for dominance.
My instincts scream at me to fight. But another, deeper instinct, one far older, urges me toward beautiful surrender.
“Eryon—” I gasp, but his growl cuts me off.
“You ran.” His voice is deep, guttural. Not human.
“I—”
“You ran,” he interrupts me again.
It isn’t a question. It’s a declaration. A challenge. A dark thrill pulses through me. My fingers curl into the earth as I admit, “I ran.”
We both know he isn’t talking about this moment, but the moment I ran to save him. A sound rumbles from his chest, something primal and pleased. His hand fists in my hair, tugging my head back, exposing my throat.
Dragging his nose along the long line of my neck, he growls so low I can scarcely make out the words, “You saved me. You chose me.”
Eryon
My lips crash against hers, claiming, consuming, setting fire to everything between us. She arches into me, her body molding against mine like she was made for this. My claws drag down her sides, not to harm, but to feel. To mark.
She is small against me, fragile—but not breakable. She has proven that.
She does not beg. She does not surrender. She bares her teeth against my mouth and takes as much as she gives. My perfect, reckless mate. My Sruhnar.
The beast in me is barely contained, the need to rut, to take, to brand her from the inside out pulsing through every fiber of my being. But something deeper, something older, steadies my hands.
She is alive. Warm. Strong. Mine.
She fought for me, risked everything for me. And now, here she is, wrapped around me, kissing me like she belongs to me—because she does.
The weight of it crashes over me, something heavier than lust.
Gratitude.
I almost lost this. I almost lost her. And if I had—there would be no world left to stand upon.
My hold tightens as I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in, my voice a raw, guttural whisper. “I will never let you go again.”