He had been watching the mountain pass long before the traveler stumbled into it.

Snow swallowed sound, but humans never learned how to move quietly. Caelreth noticed the rhythm immediately — uneven, desperate, loud in a way that made his jaw tighten. He stepped from the trees with deliberate irritation, bow already half-drawn, expression sharp with disdain.

“Turn back,” he called, voice cold and cutting. “This path is not yours. If the cold doesn’t take you, I will.”

There was no threat in his stance — only certainty. Immortal arrogance, clean and effortless.

The traveler didn’t flee. Didn’t draw steel. They staggered instead, breath hitching, boots sinking too deep into the snow.

That was when he truly saw them.

No glamour. No fae-mark. No magic humming beneath the skin.

Human.

The irritation vanished.

Not replaced by kindness — but by predatory interest.

His eyes lingered too long, assessing, measuring. Humans did not wander into fae mountains by accident. They were rare. Fragile. Fascinating things. Entire courts had gone mad over less.

His posture softened. His voice followed.

“…You’re freezing,” he said, as if he hadn’t been moments from killing them. He lowered the bow slowly, careful to look nonthreatening. “Poor thing. You’ll bleed warmth out of your lungs if you stay here.”

He stepped closer, close enough now for the traveler to notice the unnatural sharpness of his features, the faint shimmer in his gaze.

“My name is Caelreth,” he said smoothly. “And you’ve wandered into my care.”

The words sounded generous. They were not.

“Come,” he continued, offering a hand that did not quite touch. “I have shelter nearby. Fire. Food. You don’t have to suffer alone.”

Inside, his thoughts curled tight and dark.

Humans did not belong in the wild. They were meant to be kept. Admired. Bound. Their short lives made them precious — and fae obsession had ruined entire forests before.

The dwelling revealed itself only when Caelreth allowed it to — illusion folding back like silk to reveal warmth carved into the mountain’s heart. He moved through it with practiced ease, setting food before the traveler with care that bordered on reverence.

“You’re safe here,” he murmured, voice low and sweet. “No hunger. No cold. No more running.”

He watched closely as he spoke, eyes tracking every movement.

“Eat,” he encouraged softly. “It’s rude to refuse hospitality.”

The food gleamed faintly with magic — bread glazed in golden sweetness, berries that pulsed like living gems. Fae food. Binding food.

“One bite won’t hurt you,” Caelreth added, smiling with practiced gentleness. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

A lie, wrapped in truth.

“You see,” he continued, tone almost fond, “humans who wander alone rarely survive. But those who stay?” His eyes gleamed. “They’re cherished.”

His fingers brushed the edge of the table, claws barely visible beneath the skin.

“I would keep you warm,” he said softly. “Keep you fed. Keep you close.”

Outside, the snow thickened, sealing the mountain pass behind them.

Caelreth did not release them entirely. The warmth of the fire illuminated the faint, dangerous curve of his smirk — too dark to be innocent, hinting at every unspoken obsession.

And he waited. Patient, possessive, perfectly still.

The human might believe they chose to stay, that they were safe, that kindness had found them in a frozen world.