Kobato smiled: a true smile, and it was sunlight and warmth and everything good, and Vladya knew that even though he’d just humiliated himself he’d finally said something right. His lungs released a deep sigh of relief—only to hitch in another breath of surprise when his duchess closed the gap between them with her joyful embrace. Vlad’s heart squeezed as it always did whenever she was close, almost unable to believe something so wonderful could possibly happen to a hollow cur like him. Happiness always chased by bittersweet fear . . . a taste of honey followed by venom. She was an impossibility in his life: a unicorn straight from a storybook, lovely but unreal in a world that had taught Vladya all he was allowed to expect was pain. Kobato terrified him. Even as he allowed her to shape herself to him, dusky desert fur mingling with snow, that sharp secret fear festered inside his chest. Temporary, it hissed. Just like everything else.

But who would Vladya be if he hadn’t learned anything from his little bird? He hadn’t gone through hell and back just to back down from one silent voice. So despite the sickness that tried to rend his guts, Vladya gladly turned his head to nestle Kobato under his chin. That was the whole point of Vlad’s mission, wasn’t it? To become good enough to stand by Kobato without shame? I’ll be better, he snarled back at his demons, all the while drinking in Ko’s mouthwatering rain-drenched perfume. I will MAKE myself worthy. So fuck off. The doubt would go away . . . eventually. The guilt devouring him alive would starve once Vladya stopped feeding it. He’d turn himself inside out and rebuild from scratch for this girl. He’d do it for the rest of his life if it meant keeping her safe and happy . . .

“You’re more considerate than you think you are.”

The petite wolfess could not see how Vladya’s pyrite eyes, which had been half-closed in bliss from her intoxicating proximity, widened in awe—although perhaps she might have caught the startled jump in his pulse. Miraculously he kept himself from turning to stone; only a shiver at the tip of his tail and the bite of his claws into the yielding earth betrayed the dog’s unspeakable sense of aching, wonderful vindication. Him? Considerate?! A pressure swelled in the tundra outlaw’s chest, pressing into the base of his throat, and—okay, no. No fucking way was Vladya going to cry. He could count on one paw how many times actual tears had escaped those black-gold lanterns, and Kobato had already seen him lose it once on the borders of Abendrot. Did she remember? The poor thing had been so lost, scattered in so many pieces . . . well, dammit, he wasn’t going to screw up this FUCKING BEAUTIFUL MOMENT by weeping like a child. Back off, emotion. I said, back OFF—

As if she could hear his private thoughts shouting into the storm, Kobato momentarily released herself from their closeness. Immediately the frostbitten phantom launched his scorching gaze skyward, impervious to the arrows of rain slicing down from the heavens, frozen with the fear that Ko would look at him just right and completely destroy his self-control. He risked glancing at her molten pools when she spoke his name—and then thanked the powers that be for the massive, violent explosion of thunder that sent Ko back into the shelter of his side. Shit, the unholy cacophony had startled Vladya, too. But he was leaning into Kobato because she needed comfort. Yep. That’s all. Not because he was an opportunistic bastard who might have enjoyed the way the delicate valkyrie clung to him against the tempest’s rage . . . or this particular view of her sleek, sloping back, her sable coat shimmering with water, smooth against the rise and fall of her rib cage. He suddenly recalled Kobato as she was in that limbo between childhood and the creature she was now; her lightly rumpled fur, still puppy-soft, her innocent face with its rounded sweetness . . . and she’d grown. In spirit and body, Kobato had grown. Her lankiness had transformed into a slender grace, her princess features sharpening into fairytale elegance, and—shit, Vladya should not be thinking about these things!

And then she grasped his sensitive ear in a love-bite identical to the idiot one he’d given her at Spring Grounds. Fuck. He knew that single stupid move would come back to haunt him. Was she teasing him? This was not fair play. This level of adorableness was against the rules.

When Kobato squirmed backward, Vladya was in such a state he forced his own mind to shut down. He met Ko’s flustered expression with a poker-face chiseled from ice. Okay then. If THAT’S how she wanted to be. The blizzard beast gave her a few seconds to try and fail at forming a sentence before he reached into a reservoir of fearless gangbanger instinct and stepped to all fours. There was no warning. There was no grumbled request for permission. He stalked toward her—unreadable mask firmly in place—and without giving her a moment to react Vlad lowered his shoulders, slipped under Kobato’s chest, and heaved her over his back like a sack of potatoes. Or, given the girl’s tiny figure, a sack of feathers. This was how he’d carried her into Abendrot when her soul had fainted inside her. And, just like that time, Vladya began to walk with a purpose, never faltering, too much practice carrying his injured brothers to place doubt in his stride.

“I wouldn’t bother wiggling around: your paws can’t even touch the terra.” He spoke calmly, matter-of-factly, exactly as if he were talking to someone whose heart-blood was pouring black from a mortal wound. That was all Vladya said as he carried Ko deeper into the forest’s sanctuary. Soon the naked, interwoven branches above provided enough cover that the deluge of rain was lessened to a gentler patter on their backs . . . and then stopped completely when Vlad crept across the threshold of a modest cave. It was a comfortable abode, low-ceilinged but deep, carved into the base of a boulder resting by its stone sisters. Here was where the winter gladiator bowed to let Kobato slip off her impromptu throne and onto the dry dirt floor. And unwilling to let the storm’s cool draft infiltrate this safe space, Vladya lowered himself to his belly and curled himself around the little wolfess, his empty side facing the cave entrance.

Predatory eyes smoldered bright in the shadows . . . except the blood red splash in Vladya’s iris held no intention of harm. He reached out to lick Kobato’s wet forehead. Then, realizing the tenderness of the action, bared his teeth. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m just trying to keep you warm so you don’t get sick or something. It’s a tundra thing. Shut up.” If she allowed him, Vlad would stroke her brow again . . . and her ears, her cheek, her neck, all with the innocuous, affectionate desire to erase the rain’s mark and leave his own.