Calder Rourke

The forest was thick with late dusk, trees towering like sentinels above, their branches whispering secrets through the wind. Twilight poured between the trunks in fractured gold, but down here, where Calder moved, it was shadow and silence and the smell of damp earth. His boots made no sound on the loam, and the creak of his leather gear was swallowed by the hush of the wild.

He tracked just ahead of her; half by instinct, half because he always needed to be between her and the unknown. She had a good nose, good ears, and better instincts than most, but sometimes… sometimes she got too bold. He heard it before she did; the shift in wind, the distant snap of something too deliberate to be natural. Calder’s head turned a fraction, breath stilling. She crept forward, nose twitching, curious little thing, eyes gleaming with that spark that always got her into trouble.

He let her go two steps too far. Then he struck.

A hand fisted in the back of her collar; firm, practiced, and yanked her clean off her feet, hauling her back into his chest like she weighed nothing at all. She hit him with a soft, startled huff, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, pinning her to him with that wolfish, grim sort of tenderness he reserved only for her.

“Pup.” He growled against the shell of her ear, voice thick with that rough Highland drawl. “I told ye tae stay in sight.” The warmth of him bled through her back. He was all muscle and heat and the faint scent of steel and pine. His breath stirred the little hairs at her nape. “Ye go wanderin’ off like some wide-eyed rabbit, I will muzzle ye. Dinna test me.” His other hand slid up briefly, gloved fingers brushing the underside of her jaw, then retreating. A warning. A reassurance. He wasn’t angry, yet. But he was close.

“Could’ve been a trap.” He leaned in, his stubble scraping her cheek. “Could’ve been worse. Ye keep forgettin’ yer not out here alone.” His grip tightened a little at her middle, possessive, protective. The sort of hold that said mine, even if his mouth never would. Not where others could hear. Not where he’d have to admit it. “Yer smart.” He muttered, voice softening just a breath. “Too smart tae be actin’ like a reckless little thing.”

He inhaled deep against her temple. “Stay close, sweet girl.” He rumbled. “Or I’ll be tyin’ ye to my belt next time.” He held her for a moment longer, chest rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm as the forest whispered around them. Then, with a soft grunt, he eased his arm away, fingertips lingering on her side like a silent promise.

Calder straightened, eyes scanning the twilight wood with renewed vigilance. “Alright, pup.” He murmured, voice low and steady. “Let’s move.” He offered her a hand; strong, calloused, and when she took it he guided her forward, stepping carefully over gnarled roots and mossy stones. “Ye’ve got good eyes. Just mind where ye point them, aye? There’s more than deer out here after dark.” He admitted, glancing down at her with something like pride in his stormy gaze.

“Aye, come on then, pup. Still a good stretch ‘til we reach camp.” His voice dropped into that gravel-rich murmur, thick with amusement and warning. “An’ if I catch ye dashin’ off again,” he added, a wicked curl to his words, “I’ll just hoist ye over my shoulder an’ carry ye the rest o’ the bloody way; then ye’ll have two reasons tae stay glued tae my side, won’t ye now?” As they walked side by side, his pace was unhurried but deliberate, every step measured to keep her within his protective circle. He drifted close enough that the edge of his jacket brushed her arm, as if unwilling to let any space come between them again.