Fiona's POV
The fire was dying.
Its flickering flame smudged the stone, splaying light over the rough edges, throwing shadows long and lean, like fingers reaching toward me. And the crackling—soft... steady... until the sound thinned—like the fire itself stopped breathing.
The warmth barely touched me.
Curled up in Ragnar's cloak, his warm fur against my cheek, I smelled him. His scent varied a lot. Smoke, pine, you name it. But there was something darker under it all. It wrapped around me. But it couldn't take away the chill in my bones.
My chest stirred with the flicker in it. Small and hesitant, like something stirring from a long, dreamless sleep.
I ran my palm over my ribs and felt the faint throbbing beneath me.
It was mine.
My wolf.
Alive.
The thought made my throat tighte
