The first thing Selene noticed was warmth.
For days, maybe longer, she had known only cold—gnawing, merciless, sinking into her bones. Now, beneath the weight of furs, her body felt cocooned, her breathing no longer forming clouds in the air. She stirred slowly, every movement sending ripples of ache through her limbs, but nothing compared to the agony she'd endured in the forest.
Her eyes fluttered open.
The ceiling above her was rough stone, glistening faintly in the dim firelight that danced across the walls. A cave. Shadows moved like living things as the flames from a small hearth flickered in the corner. The air smelled of smoke and pine, faintly touched by the metallic tang of blood.
Memory rushed back—rogues, claws, the scarred wolf, then the man with golden eyes.
Selene bolted upright, or tried to. Pain lanced through her side, forcing a cry from her lips.
"Careful."
The voice came from the far side of the cave, low and edged with command. She turned her head sharply, heart hammering.
He was there.
Darius Stormborn.
He sat on a flat stone near the fire, sharpening a blade with slow, deliberate strokes. The light kissed his features—the hard cut of his jaw, the ragged scar running down his left cheek, the sharp lines carved into his body from both muscle and battle. His golden eyes flicked to hers, piercing even in the shadows.
Selene clutched the furs tighter around herself, her breath uneven.
"You—" Her voice cracked, her throat still raw. "You brought me here."
"You'd be carrion by now if I hadn't," he replied without looking up from his task. The blade sang softly as steel met stone.
"I didn't ask you to," she snapped, though her voice lacked strength.
At that, his gaze lifted fully to hers. The fire reflected in his eyes, turning them molten. "No," he said quietly. "You didn't."
The weight of his stare held her captive. There was no mockery in it, no warmth either—only an intensity that made it impossible to look away. He studied her as though she were a puzzle, or perhaps a test he hadn't decided the answer to yet.
Selene's wolf stirred inside her, still weak but more present now. He doesn't lie, it murmured. Not with his eyes.
Selene tore her gaze away, focusing on the cave instead. Supplies were neatly arranged along the walls—dried herbs tied in bundles, a water skin hanging from a hook, folded blankets, and stacks of firewood. For a rogue, his den was surprisingly ordered. Purposeful.
Her curiosity betrayed her before she could stop it. "How long have I been here?"
"Two days."
Her eyes widened. "Two—" She pressed a hand to her side, suddenly aware that the gash she'd taken was bound with clean bandages. Someone had washed and dressed the wound.
"You healed better than I expected," Darius said. "Most wouldn't have survived that strike."
Selene's stomach twisted. She hated the idea of him tending her, hated being vulnerable before a stranger—especially a rogue. And yet, she was alive because of him.
"Why?" she whispered, more to herself than him. "Why save me at all?"
Darius slid the blade back into its sheath and stood. He moved with the grace of a predator, all quiet strength and coiled control, until he stood a few feet from her.
"Because I've seen wolves die with no fight left in them," he said, his voice low. "And I've seen wolves who refuse to bow, no matter how broken. You're not the first kind."
His words stole her breath. Something inside her ached—recognition, defiance, hope tangled together.
She looked away quickly, clutching the furs tighter. "You don't know me."
"No," he agreed, though his tone was sharper than before. "But I know the look in your eyes. The same one I see every time I look in a river's reflection."
Against her will, Selene's gaze returned to him. The firelight revealed more scars across his chest, his arms, his shoulders. Each one told a story of violence and survival, carved into his flesh like an unspoken history.
"What happened to you?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Darius's expression hardened, and for a moment she thought he wouldn't answer. Then he turned away, his silhouette etched against the fire.
"War," he said flatly. "Betrayal. Death. Things that don't matter anymore."
But they did matter. She heard it in the way his voice dropped, the way his hand clenched at his side. The ghosts he carried were as heavy as her own.
"You're not just a rogue," she murmured, studying him.
He stilled, then glanced at her over his shoulder. His golden eyes were unreadable, but his lips curved in something between amusement and warning.
"Careful," he said softly. "Some truths are more dangerous than lies."
Silence stretched between them again. The fire popped, sending sparks dancing into the air.
Selene lay back slowly, her body weary but her mind restless. Every instinct screamed not to trust him, not to let him close. And yet… there was something in him that echoed her own brokenness. Something that drew her in despite the danger.
Her wolf whispered faintly, This one bleeds like we do.
She closed her eyes, gripping the furs until her knuckles whitened. "I don't need saving," she said, though her voice trembled.
Darius's reply came after a pause, low and steady:
"No one does. But sometimes, we're saved anyway."
Selene's heart thudded painfully in her chest. She didn't know what Darius Stormborn wanted from her—or if he wanted anything at all. But for the first time since her exile, she felt the faintest flicker of something she thought she'd lost forever.
Not safety. Not forgiveness.
Possibility.