Fine-boned paws padded delicately over flowing sugar-soft snowdrifts, barely leaving impressions as the wolfess travelled. She held her body carefully, poised and graceful, seeming to dance with even the simplest movements; the steady churn of her long legs held the breathless elegance of a ballroom waltz rather than a harsh march; and each pause, each adjustment of direction was just another step in her choreography. Losa appeared as though made for this bloodless winter climate—despite everything else about her appearance declaring otherwise. These rugged mountains called for wolves of leather and ice and frozen rock, not charming creatures of spun glass. Nature built Losa to run. Her lithe and lissome physique was designed for vast open spaces . . . not these howling castles of frost-sheeted cliffs.

And yet here she walked.

Shimmering snowflakes caught on the bird’s dark sable fur, blanketing her back in a faint constellation. She didn’t bother to shake them off: Losa’s luxurious robes kept her warm enough even dusted by frigid powder. Only her head shook once in a while, to clear a few melting droplets from her exotic bi-colored eyes. Losa needed very much to see where she was going. She’d never forgive her foolishness if she stumbled past the place where she was supposed to meet him . . .

Hurricane . . .

Delicious warmth coursed under Losa’s pelt as she thought his name. Her light, her love, her hope, her One. Protector. Soul Mate. She still could not bring herself to believe that he was hers, that she belonged to him in turn, how her quest to find family—a home—had ended next to his strong side. Losa had been mad to ever think she could live without him. And she had been. Only deepest madness would have driven her to shatter his heart as she had tried . . . but that was over. Losa barely felt the wound in her chest she’d carved herself with betrayal. Hurricane, noble warrior, had healed that ache and sewn it shut with trust. She bled fear no longer. Never again. Not with her knight there to stand by her.

Instead of pining away into nothingness while her mate set off on his own, Losa had taken time to quiet the demons clawing at her soul. She knew her place now—what was there to haunt her? The earthen dragoness trusted Hurricane completely and believed with all her heart that Hurricane would return. That didn’t mean Losa hadn’t missed the brute. Far from it. Knowing she would one day bury her face in his mane again didn’t crush the bright yearning in her breast. If anything, it intensified her desire—yet it was a sweet expectation. Innocent. Devoid of the wretched grief that haunted her in those early years of torment.

Besides . . . Losa had deviously meditated on just how she would pay Hurricane back for leaving her alone so soon after taking her in. Such planning required time . . . and assiduous studying of her fantasies.

A petulant wind rushed down the mountain’s steep side and sent a bone-chilling wave of snow over Losa’s frame. Sensing a blizzard on the slurry-grey horizon, the chocolate-hued fae altered her course and dove into the nearest shelter: a deep cave splitting the side of one slippery face of stone.

She growled softly to herself as she entered, ducking her head to clear the low entrance. Beyond the doorway, the crevasse opened to a round interior, the floor smoothed by generations of life but the walls empty of any owner’s musk. Abandoned. Losa’s breath plumed before her muzzle as her brilliant topaz-and-peridot lanterns drank in the scene. Perfect. She turned to rub her body catlike against the entrance, melding her pure perfume with the glacial rock, before tip-toeing to the farthest curve of the cave and resting her weary body on the ground. She did not sleep. Her black-gloved forepaws rested in a prim crossed position in front of her while her tail stirred the air behind her haunches—waiting.

“See you soon, Hurricane.”