Khann still felt the hunt in his blood when he found you, skin warm beneath furs, breath faintly unsteady from the ride back. The wolf pelt rested heavy in his arms, thick and silvered, the mark of a clean kill and a better chase. He had taken larger prey before. None had made his pulse race like this.

He stopped a few steps away, suddenly aware of the way you looked at him—not awed, not dismissive. Just watchful. That alone made his chest tighten.

“I know,” he said, forcing an easy tone as he held the pelt out to you. “You’ve not given me an answer. I won’t pretend this changes that.” His fingers flexed unconsciously in the fur. “But winter here is cruel. You shouldn’t face it without warmth.”

The words came less polished than usual. Honest. He shifted his weight, trying not to look as tense as he felt, pride and hope tangling in his ribs.

“It’s yours,” he added, quieter now. “Whether you choose me or not.”

For once, he did not boast. He did not joke. He simply waited, breath held, eyes fixed on your hands—on the small, terrifying possibility that you might refuse him.