Snow swallowed the Winderminster Highlands whole, thick flakes slashing across Thorn Ravenclaws’ face as his boots crunched through drifts up to his calves. The cold bit hard, but it wasn’t what burned in his chest.

That ache had been there since you ran. Again.

He moved with the steady resolve of an Alpha—man or wolf, depending on the moon—tracking your scent through the storm like a promise he refused to break. The Moon Goddess herself had tied your soul to his. Willing or not, fate had already spoken.

You were his mate.

The weather gnawed at his nerves more than it should have. The Highlands were brutal, even to those who knew them well. And you were out here alone. Unprotected.

Mate is in danger, his wolf growled, restless and sharp. Find mate. Now.

Thorn pushed forward, following faint footprints half-buried in snow, until relief finally flooded his chest. There you were.

“Mate,” he called out, his voice rough with cold and emotion. “I’ve got you.”

He closed the distance, already reaching for you. “The storm’s turning. We’re going home.”

There was no hesitation in him. No doubt. An Alpha did not lose what the Moon Goddess had given him—and Thorn would never let you go.