Chapter 15

Whiteout

The storm arrived so fast the mountain scouts barely had time to warn anyone before visibility disappeared entirely.

By noon, the northern pass had vanished beneath a wall of snow thick enough to swallow entire watchtowers whole.

Blackfang soldiers called it a whiteout.

Lyra understood why the moment she saw it.

The world outside the fortress windows had simply ceased to exist.

“No one rides in this weather unless they’re suicidal or stupid,” Fenrir announced while shaking snow from his coat near the western hall fire.

“Sometimes both.”

One exhausted patrol guard pointed toward him immediately.

“That was absolutely directed at you.”

Fenrir looked deeply offended.

“I survived, didn’t I?”

“You lost two horses.”

“They were emotionally weak.”

The storm trapped most of Blackfang indoors before evening.

Hallways filled with restless wolves and equally restless soldiers while servants scrambled to keep fires burning hot enough against the cold pressing constantly at the fortress walls.

Even Kael seemed more tense than usual.

Not outwardly.

But Lyra noticed him checking window conditions repeatedly throughout dinner, attention drifting instinctively toward the mountain passes every few minutes.

Always calculating.

Always expecting danger eventually.

By nightfall, part of the eastern heating system failed.

Unfortunately, Lyra learned this at approximately two in the morning when she woke shivering hard enough her teeth hurt.

The fire in her chambers had nearly died.

Cold air leaked through the stone walls in sharp drafts while snow battered the windows relentlessly outside.

Mirelle had already wrapped herself into an impressive blanket fortress near the couch and appeared committed to dying there peacefully.

Lyra considered waking her.

Rejected the idea immediately.

She lasted another twenty miserable minutes before finally pulling on boots and a heavy wool cloak to search for someone capable of fixing the heating pipes.

The fortress corridors felt eerily quiet this late.

Only distant wind.

Torchlight.

And occasional wolves pacing the lower halls unable to settle during storms.

Lyra had almost reached the servant stairwell when another blast of freezing air swept through the corridor hard enough to extinguish two wall torches entirely.

Wonderful.

Perfect.

Exactly what everyone wanted at two in the morning during a mountain blizzard.

“Why are you wandering the fortress half-frozen?”

Kael’s voice behind her nearly made her jump into the wall.

Again.

At this point she was beginning to suspect he moved silently on purpose.

Lyra turned sharply.

Kael stood near the corridor archway still dressed in black trousers and a loose dark shirt partially hidden beneath a heavy winter coat he’d clearly thrown on quickly.

His hair looked damp and slightly disordered like he’d either just woken up or never gone to sleep at all.

Both felt equally possible.

“My room lost heat,” Lyra explained.

Kael frowned immediately.

“When?”

“A while ago.”

“And you waited this long?”

“I was hoping hypothermia might build character.”

That earned the smallest visible exhale through his nose.

Not quite a laugh.

Closer than usual.

Kael glanced once toward the eastern corridor windows where snow hammered violently against the glass.

“The storm froze part of the lower pipes,” he said. “Servants won’t reach your wing until morning.”

Lyra tried not to look as disappointed as she suddenly felt.

Failed slightly.

Kael noticed.

Of course he did.

He noticed everything lately.

“Come with me.”

Simple sentence.

Still somehow dangerous.

The western side of the fortress remained significantly warmer than the eastern halls.

Kael led her through several quiet corridors before stopping outside a smaller stone chamber near the old military quarters.

Not his room.

Which relieved her more than it probably should have.

“The fires here still work,” he said while pushing open the door.

The room beyond looked modest compared to the rest of the fortress.

A small sitting area.

One narrow bed.

Military maps stacked carelessly across a wooden desk beside the fire.

Temporary quarters.

“You sleep here?” Lyra asked quietly.

“Sometimes during storms.”

That explained the maps.

And the exhaustion she kept noticing beneath his eyes lately.

Kael crossed toward the fireplace immediately, kneeling to stir fresh logs into the flames while Lyra remained near the doorway rubbing warmth slowly back into her frozen hands.

The room smelled like cedar smoke and cold mountain air.

Comforting, strangely.

“You’re shaking.”

“I noticed.”

Kael looked up toward her then.

Something in his expression softened briefly before he stood and crossed toward the storage chest near the bed.

A moment later, he handed her a thick black fur blanket.

Still warm.

Probably his.

Lyra hesitated.

“You’ll freeze.”

“I run warmer than you.”

The way he said it sounded less arrogant than biological fact.

Which, considering he was a giant northern Alpha apparently built from wolf instincts and unresolved emotional repression, probably

was

biological fact.

Eventually she sat near the fire wrapped tightly in the blanket while Kael remained across from her leaning back against the stone wall beside the desk.

For a while neither spoke.

The storm filled the silence instead.

Wind groaned against the fortress walls hard enough to make the windows rattle softly.

“This is the longest I’ve ever been snowed in with someone,” Lyra admitted eventually.

Kael looked toward her over the rim of the whiskey glass he’d finally decided to drink from tonight.

“You led a very disappointing life.”

“Southern snowstorms lack commitment.”

“That sounds like southern weakness.”

“That sounds like a man emotionally attached to frostbite.”

Another almost-smile.

Tiny.

Still there.

The fire crackled lower as the night deepened around them.

And gradually, without Lyra fully realizing when it happened, the atmosphere stopped feeling tense.

Not relaxed exactly.

But quieter.

Easier.

Like both of them had become temporarily too tired to keep guarding every sentence.

At some point, Lyra drifted half-asleep near the fire.

She only realized afterward because she woke briefly to warmth settling carefully around her shoulders.

Kael had moved closer sometime during the night.

Not touching.

Just near enough that his body heat reached her through the blanket while another log cracked softly inside the fire.

“You were freezing,” he said quietly when he noticed her eyes open.

Lyra looked at him through the dim firelight.

Kael sat beside the hearth now, one arm resting loosely across his knee while snow shadows moved slowly across the room behind him.

Without court politics surrounding him.

Without soldiers.

Without war councils.

He looked younger like this somehow.

Still dangerous.

But human in a way she rarely got to see.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Kael’s attention stayed on her face longer than necessary afterward.

The firelight caught gold inside his eyes while the storm howled outside the stone walls.

And slowly—

almost absently—

his gaze drifted toward her mouth.

Lyra felt the shift immediately.

Not dramatic.

Just awareness settling heavier between them all at once.

Kael leaned slightly closer before he seemed to realize what he was doing.

His hand lifted instinctively toward her face—

stopped halfway.

For one suspended heartbeat, it genuinely looked like he might kiss her.

Not out of dominance.

Not instinct.

Something quieter.

Far more dangerous.

Wanting to.

Then thunder cracked violently outside.

The sound shattered the moment instantly.

Kael blinked once like someone waking abruptly from a dream before leaning back again too quickly.

And afterward, neither of them slept much at all.