Chapter 3 Shadowed Savior

Thora left me at dawn.

No goodbye. No warning. Just a charred rabbit leg on a flat rock and a trail of footprints leading south. She'd muttered about "bad air" the night before, nostrils flaring at the wind. Maybe she smelled the storm. Maybe she smelled *me*-weakness, a liability.

I don't blame her.

The sky bruises purple by midday, clouds swallowing the sun. Wind screams through the pines, snapping branches. My cloak is sodden, my boots filled with slush. The pup hasn't kicked in hours.

"Stay with me," I beg, rubbing my stomach. "Just a little farther."

A howl tears through the storm-not rogue, but raw and lonely. My wolf pricks her ears. *Mate?* she whimpers, stupid with hope.

I silence her. *Dead. He's dead to us.*

Snow blinds me. I stumble into a gully, knees buckling. Fire burns in my lungs. *Get up. Get up.* But my body won't move. The cold is a lover now, whispering me to sleep.

*Kael's face flashes-not angry, but laughing, pressing an ice chip to my lips under the first winter moon. "Bite," he'd teased. "Or are you scared?"*

Darkness swallows the memory.

***

Warmth.

That's the first lie my brain tells me. Then scent-smoke and iron and something sharp, like lightning after rain. *Not Kael.*

A hand brushes my forehead.

I jerk awake, lashing out. A strong grip catches my wrist. "Easy."

The voice is low, weathered. A man crouches beside me, amber eyes glowing in the firelight. Not a rogue. His face is all angles, a scar splitting his left brow. His hair is black as a moonless night, tied back with a leather cord.

"Who-" My throat rasps.

He presses a wooden cup to my lips. "Drink. It's thyme and licorice root."

I hesitate, but the steam smells safe. The tea burns, reviving my limbs. I'm wrapped in a wolf pelt, my boots drying by the fire. We're in a cave, the walls carved with strange symbols.

"Where's your pack?" he asks.

"Gone."

His gaze drops to my stomach. "The father?"

"Also gone."

He studies me, unreadable. "I'm Jarek."

"Lyra."

"You're lucky I found you before the snow did." He feeds another branch to the fire. "Another hour, and your pup would've been ice."

A cramp seizes my belly. I bite back a cry.

Jarek's hand hovers over my stomach, heat radiating from his palm. "May I?"

Every instinct screams *no*. But the cramp tightens. I nod.

His touch is careful, clinical. Warmth seeps into my skin, soothing the ache. My wolf stirs, curious. *Not mate,* I remind her. *Stranger.*

"You're half-frozen," he says. "The pup's stressed but alive."

Tears blur my vision. "Thank you."

He pulls back as if scalded. "Don't."

Outside, the storm rages. Jarek sharpens a dagger, the rhythm steady. I watch him, fighting sleep. "Why help me?"

The blade stills. "Why not?"

"Most lone wolves would've robbed me. Or worse."

"Most lone wolves are fools." He sheathes the dagger. "Sleep, Lyra. I don't eat guests."

***

The storm dies by morning.

Jarek packs supplies into a leather satchel-dried meat, herbs, a waterskin. He moves like a predator, all coiled grace. When he catches me staring, he tosses me a pair of wool socks. "Put these on. We leave in five."

"We?"

"You'd rather stay here?" He kicks snow over the fire. "The rogues track storms. They'll be hunting easy prey." He glances at my stomach. "And you're *very* easy."

Anger flares. "I can handle myself."

He snorts. "You collapsed in a ditch."

The pup kicks, as if siding with him. *Traitor.*

I pull on the socks. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe."

"Is it north?"

His mouth twitches. "It's not south."

We hike through skeletal trees, Jarek setting a brutal pace. My legs scream, but I match him step for step. He doesn't speak, doesn't look back. But sometimes, when I lag, he slows.

By dusk, my vision swims. Jarek stops abruptly, sniffing the air. "We're close."

"To what?"

"Sanctuary."

A cliff looms ahead, veiled by ice. Jarek presses his palm to a hidden crevice. The rock groans, sliding open. Warm air spills out, rich with the scent of cedar and roasting meat.

I freeze. *A pack den.*

Jarek grips my elbow. "Breathe. And don't touch the walls."

Torchlight reveals a cavernous hall, the ceiling strung with dried herbs. Wolves glance up from their tasks-cooking, weaving, sharpening blades. Their eyes linger on my stomach. A woman with silver-streaked hair approaches, her gaze sharp.

"Jarek." Her voice is velvet wrapped in steel. "You brought a stray."

"She needs shelter, Riva."

Riva circles me. "Pregnant. Weak. Human-tainted scent." She sneers. "Why should we waste resources?"

Jarek steps between us. "Because I vouch for her."

Riva's laugh is brittle. "Since when do *you* vouch for anyone?"

The crowd murmurs. My knees shake, but I lift my chin. "I can work. Hunt. Clean. Just... give me a week to recover."

Riva's claws graze my throat. "One week. Then you earn your keep or bleed out."

Jarek pulls me away. "Ignore her. She's all bark."

"And you?" I whisper. "What are you?"

He leads me to a small alcove with a straw bed. "Sleep. Tomorrow's worse."

"Worse how?"

He hesitates in the doorway, amber eyes glinting. "You'll have to trust me."

The pelt blanket smells like him-smoke and lightning. The pup flutters, soothed.

*Don't,* I warn my heart. *He's not your savior.*

But for the first time in months, I sleep without dreaming of snow.