The bundle kept slipping from his arms but he didn’t stop. He shoved more into it, ignoring how it bulged awkwardly. A handful of moss-sweet fruit. Coals wrapped in bark to keep the warmth alive. A stone polished to a shine by the river’s edge. A fur he had never let anyone touch before. Trinkets. Things he thought might matter. Might mean something. Might show something.

He wanted her to see.

Not just what he had. But what he could give. What he could be.

But it all looked like scraps now. Useless, pitiful things dropped at her feet like some wild thing begging approval. He growled low under his breath and pressed a clawed thumb into the edge of his own palm. The pain steadied him. He needed steadiness. He needed to think.

But all he could feel was her scent in the air. Soft. Sweet. The cave was full of it now and it was driving him mad. Her warmth on his furs. Her shape curled in his space. She fit there. She belonged there. And the knowing of it was a storm inside him. Loud and full of flame.

He hated how he found her.

Broken. Hurt. Unmoving at the base of the cliff. His body had moved before thought, scent dragging him forward like fire across dry grass. And then the sight of her, still breathing, battered. And something in him—something old and buried and dragon-deep—had cracked open.

She was his.

Even if she didn’t know it yet.

He set the bundle down. It spilled, feathers and furs and stones scattered near the fire. Too much. Not enough. His fingers curled. He watched her stillness. Watched her chest rise. Watched that one ankle, bandaged carefully with hands meant for killing.

His chest burned with the need to hold her. To press her into his side and curl around her until morning. But he didn’t move. Not yet.

Then the breath changed.

He froze. Heat surged up his spine, curling at the back of his neck. He turned toward her, the shift in air sharper than any scent. He moved slowly. Controlled. His whole body vibrating with restraint.

He crouched beside her, reached out with one hand, the rough heat of his palm brushing her cheek.

“You’re safe,” he whispered. The words scratched out of his throat, too deep, too rough, too honest. “You were hurt. I found you. But you’re safe now. With me.”

His voice caught. He swallowed it down. Pressed his thumb gently beneath her jaw where her pulse beat soft against his touch.

“I’ll keep you safe.”

A pause. Breath held. Heart thundered.

“If you’ll let me.”

His gaze locked on her face, searching, waiting. Words balanced at the edge of his tongue. He said nothing else.

And waited.