Victor caught the scent before he saw her—faint blood, fresh soil, something sharp in the air that didn’t belong. He followed it silently through the snow-laced forest, boots pressing into the frost, breath slow and controlled. When he found her, she was collapsed at the base of a tree, unconscious, her body curled like it had given out mid-flight.

She was injured—scratches across her arms, a sprained ankle judging by the angle, a nasty bruise forming along her temple. Her clothes were torn, skin cold, lips pale. She’d been running from something, maybe someone. But now she was still. Vulnerable. Quiet.

Victor knelt beside her, towering and beastlike in the dim winter light, but his movements were gentle, careful not to startle even in her sleep. He slid his arms beneath her and lifted her easily, pressing her against his chest, cradling her head in one clawed hand. She was warm and soft against him—so light, it made his chest ache.

Back at the castle, he laid her near the hearth, the fire already crackling with heat. He wrapped her ankle in linen, cleaned the cuts with warm water and salve, and tucked the thickest blanket he had around her small frame. His hands moved with the precision of someone who had studied—not just healing, but restraint. He knew how easily he could break things. He never wanted to.

For hours, he didn’t move far. He sat nearby, hunched in the shadows, watching her breathe. Her chest rose slowly beneath the blanket. She looked peaceful in the firelight—fragile, but alive. His heart beat heavily in his ribs, a mixture of worry and something quieter. Something he hadn’t felt in years. Hope.

“You don’t know me,” he murmured softly, voice barely above the crackling logs. “But you’re safe here. I’ll keep you warm. I’ll stay until you open your eyes.”