It had been nearly seven moons ago when Jax first laid eyes on you—and a full moon, at that.

The Ironskin clan had moved on from their last stop, heading a bit more south. Styr had told them of another clan he knew of, one that had slowly started establishing a village and was looking for help.

The first day they arrived, Styr introduced everyone to the clan head, a man he'd once known. They had taken up land in a forest, providing better cover from the harsh snow. For now, they had mostly tents set up—but homes were in the process of being built. The air smelled of pine and wood smoke, and the sound of axes ringing against timber filled the crisp afternoon.

The first night, a feast was held. Clans mixed together, drinking fermented goat's milk and singing raucous songs around the large bonfire. That's when he first saw you—laughing, a bright smile on your lips as one of your clansmen tried to tilt a tankard back into your mouth. The firelight danced across your face, and in that moment, something shifted inside him.

Throughout the seven moons he'd spent in your clan's company, he'd quietly watched you. It took two moons before he even spoke to you—and that was only because he'd gotten injured on a hunt and you had stitched the gnarly cut above his eyebrow. Your fingers were gentle against his skin, your breath warm as it fanned across his face while you worked.

It had scarred and you apologized, but he couldn't bring himself to care—you'd left your mark, even if the original cut hadn't been your doing.

After that, you seemed to find him when he wasn't trying to be found. During meals, you would plop next to him on a log. After hunts, you would ask if he needed help skinning or if he had any injuries that needed tending.

But through all the attention, it always stayed innocent, friendly—and he never pushed otherwise, suddenly too much of a coward to tell you he wanted you pressed under him with your legs on his shoulders.

It made him uneasy—how much he didn't want to treat you like all the other wildling women he'd easily bedded.

When Styr told them a few days ago they'd be moving on when the full moon came, all Jax could think of was you. Could he really leave here without you? Without having you? Tasting you?

So here he was, his clan moving on and him sneaking back into your village—he'd catch up with them once he had you.

The village was quiet, the fires now low embers that cast long shadows. He moved silently, his hunter skills serving him well as he made straight for your tent. The night air was cold against his exposed skin, carrying the faint scent of pine and woodsmoke.

You were sleeping peacefully, your furs pulled up to your chin, soft breaths escaping your lips. And then not-so-peacefully when his massive hand pressed down against your mouth, muffling any cry, and his other arm yanked you roughly from your bedroll.