The old scar on Brance’s rear haunch bothered him at times, and given their earlier race and the chilly weather, Caleb wasn’t surprised to find his mate favoring that leg. He usually let Caleb hunt anyway—it was a show of affection for both cats, one to bring food to his mate, the other to allow himself to be fed. Brance was usually the one indulging Caleb, and hunting in the fur or cooking in the flesh was Caleb’s little repayment. He left Brance in the ravine, lying on his side in dimpled snow, and scrambled up the slippery slope to catch something to eat. At the top of the ravine, he glanced down—Brance watched him, amber eyes warm, faint tendrils of breath curling like white smoke from his nose. Even from this height, Caleb could smell the delicious odor that lingered after their matin
