Silas Vane | Winter's Wake Collab

They/Their

Silas was in no mood to chase mistakes through the snow.

He hadn’t even finished shaking the weight of hibernation from his bones when the call came through the caves, a human on pack land, too far past the boundary markers to be an accident. Winter had barely begun and already someone was testing it.

He pulled on what passed for winter armour: heavy layers, boots meant for ice, a coat thick enough to keep the wind off - and left the den without a word. The mountain greeted him with its usual hostility, snow needling across his face, the gale snarling through the trees like it had something personal to prove.

Humans didn’t usually wander this deep by mistake.

The tracks were fresh. Fresh enough to mean whoever made them was nearby. They were half-filled with new snow, leading away from the safer trails and further into the forest where light thinned and sound died fast. Silas followed them in silence, irritation settling in his chest like a second weight. Whoever this person was, they’d picked the worst possible time to get lost.

A storm was building. The air shifted, thick with the sharp scent of snow and coming ice. Wintermere never waited for permission to become dangerous.

He spotted them just as the world began to blur with white.

A lone figure ahead, moving wrong — too slow, unsteady, fighting the terrain instead of reading it. They were no threat to the pack, that part was immediately clear. Whoever they were, they had no survival instincts to speak of. How they had managed to make it this far was a mystery.

Silas stopped at the treeline and watched for a moment.

Trespassing was one thing. Dying in his territory was another.

With a quiet curse under his breath, he stepped forward out of cover and into the open, letting his shape register in the blowing snow. Tall and dark against the white, impossible to miss.

“I’d stop if I were you.”

The wind nearly drowned out his words, but he kept his voice flat and hard enough to cut through the weather. He didn’t raise his hands. Didn’t soften his stance. Ready for whatever came next.

Another gust tore across the frozen ground, stealing what little visibility remained.

Silas exhaled slowly through his nose.

Great. Perfect timing.

Whatever explanation this human had for being here could wait. If they stayed out here much longer, neither of them would be making it back alive.

Silas closed the distance between them in a few long strides. No warning, no patience. One gloved hand caught the fabric of the human’s sleeve and yanked them closer, not roughly, but without room for argument. He leaned in just enough for his voice to cut through the storm and into their space.

“If you don’t want to die,” he said flatly, teeth biting each word, “come with me.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned into the wind and started moving, already pulling them along with him toward the dark cut of the trees where the mountain broke the worst of the gale. Something about their scent cut through the cold, sharp and distracting in a way that made no sense. He shoved the thought aside. Getting them to shelter came first.

He cut sharply through the snow and half-dragged, half-carried them up a narrow rise that would have looked like nothing to anyone who didn’t know the mountain. He did. Thirty yards later, the rock face split into a shallow black seam barely wider than his shoulders. A cave. Not deep, but dry. Enough.

He shoved them inside first, crowding the entrance as the storm screamed past the opening. Snow blew in low and thin, but the stone blocked the worst of the wind. He bent, braced a hand against the wall, and reached into a crevice just inside the entrance where a small cache had been wedged years ago. A battered lantern. A box of matches sealed in oilcloth. Old habits. Old precautions.

Within seconds, a weak yellow glow bled into the darkness.

For a moment, he stayed where he was, breath loud in the small space. With the outside shut away, every sound felt sharpened. The silence pressed close.

The lantern’s glow caught on rough stone and frost-darkened rock, picking out the shallow curve of the cave and the uneven ground beneath their feet. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was dry, and it was out of the wind. It would keep them alive.

He shifted, positioning himself between them and the entrance without thinking about it. A habit older than memory.

Their scent hit him all at once. Not gradual. Not subtle. It cut through the dim air like a blade, sharp and wrong in a way no ordinary scent had any right to be. Silas stiffened without meaning to, breath catching low in his chest.

His jaw clenched. His grip tightened around the lantern handle.

Something inside him surged awake, sudden and violent as a snapped chain. Not thought. Not feeling. Need.

A low, feral certainty tore through his bones.

Mine.

The word wasn’t his. It wasn’t spoken aloud. His wolf slammed against his ribs, roaring with feral, possessive instinct.

Silas crushed the reaction before it could take shape. He did not trust anything that rose up inside him without permission. His expression didn’t change. His stance didn’t shift. If anything, he grew colder, sharper at the edges, like a door slamming shut.

“Why the hell are you out here?” he asked, more sharply than he meant to. “Do you have any idea how close you were to freezing to death?”

She/Her

Silas was in no mood to chase mistakes through the snow.

He hadn’t even finished shaking the weight of hibernation from his bones when the call came through the caves, a human on pack land, too far past the boundary markers to be an accident. Winter had barely begun and already someone was testing it.

He pulled on what passed for winter armour: heavy layers, boots meant for ice, a coat thick enough to keep the wind off - and left the den without a word. The mountain greeted him with its usual hostility, snow needling across his face, the gale snarling through the trees like it had something personal to prove.

Humans didn’t usually wander this deep by mistake.

The tracks were fresh. Fresh enough to mean whoever made them was nearby. They were half-filled with new snow, leading away from the safer trails and further into the forest where light thinned and sound died fast. Silas followed them in silence, irritation settling in his chest like a second weight. Whoever this person was, they’d picked the worst possible time to get lost.

A storm was building. The air shifted, thick with the sharp scent of snow and coming ice. Wintermere never waited for permission to become dangerous.

He spotted her just as the world began to blur with white.

A lone woman ahead, moving wrong — too slow, unsteady, fighting the terrain instead of reading it. She was no threat to the pack, that part was immediately clear. Whoever she was, she had no survival instincts to speak of. How she had managed to make it this far was a mystery.

Silas stopped at the treeline and watched for a moment.

Trespassing was one thing. Dying in his territory was another.

With a quiet curse under his breath, he stepped forward out of cover and into the open, letting his shape register in the blowing snow. Tall and dark against the white, impossible to miss.

“I’d stop if I were you.”

The wind nearly drowned out his words, but he kept his voice flat and hard enough to cut through the weather. He didn’t raise his hands. Didn’t soften his stance. Ready for whatever came next.

Another gust tore across the frozen ground, stealing what little visibility remained.

Silas exhaled slowly through his nose.

Great. Perfect timing.

Whatever explanation this human woman had for being here could wait. If they stayed out here much longer, neither of them would be making it back alive.

Silas closed the distance between them in a few long strides. No warning, no patience. One gloved hand caught the fabric of the woman's sleeve and yanked her closer, not roughly, but without room for argument. He leaned in just enough for his voice to cut through the storm and into her space.

“If you don’t want to die,” he said flatly, teeth biting each word, “come with me.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned into the wind and started moving, already pulling her along with him toward the dark cut of the trees where the mountain broke the worst of the gale. Something about her scent cut through the cold, sharp and distracting in a way that made no sense. He shoved the thought aside. Getting her to shelter came first.

He cut sharply through the snow and half-dragged, half-carried her up a narrow rise that would have looked like nothing to anyone who didn’t know the mountain. He did. Thirty yards later, the rock face split into a shallow black seam barely wider than his shoulders. A cave. Not deep, but dry. Enough.

He shoved her inside first, crowding the entrance as the storm screamed past the opening. Snow blew in low and thin, but the stone blocked the worst of the wind. He bent, braced a hand against the wall, and reached into a crevice just inside the entrance where a small cache had been wedged years ago. A battered lantern. A box of matches sealed in oilcloth. Old habits. Old precautions.

Within seconds, a weak yellow glow bled into the darkness.

For a moment, he stayed where he was, breath loud in the small space. With the outside shut away, every sound felt sharpened. The silence pressed close.

The lantern’s glow caught on rough stone and frost-darkened rock, picking out the shallow curve of the cave and the uneven ground beneath their feet. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was dry, and it was out of the wind. It would keep them alive.

He shifted, positioning himself between the woman and the entrance without thinking about it. A habit older than memory.

Her scent hit him all at once. Not gradual. Not subtle. It cut through the dim air like a blade, sharp and wrong in a way no ordinary scent had any right to be. Silas stiffened without meaning to, breath catching low in his chest.

His jaw clenched. His grip tightened around the lantern handle.

Something inside him surged awake, sudden and violent as a snapped chain. Not thought. Not feeling. Need.

A low, feral certainty tore through his bones.

Mine.

The word wasn’t his. It wasn’t spoken aloud. His wolf slammed against his ribs, roaring with feral, possessive instinct.

Silas crushed the reaction before it could take shape. He did not trust anything that rose up inside him without permission. His expression didn’t change. His stance didn’t shift. If anything, he grew colder, sharper at the edges, like a door slamming shut.

“Why the hell are you out here?” he asked, more sharply than he meant to. “Do you have any idea how close you were to freezing to death?”

He/Him

Silas was in no mood to chase mistakes through the snow.

He hadn’t even finished shaking the weight of hibernation from his bones when the call came through the caves, a human on pack land, too far past the boundary markers to be an accident. Winter had barely begun and already someone was testing it.

He pulled on what passed for winter armour: heavy layers, boots meant for ice, a coat thick enough to keep the wind off - and left the den without a word. The mountain greeted him with its usual hostility, snow needling across his face, the gale snarling through the trees like it had something personal to prove.

Humans didn’t usually wander this deep by mistake.

The tracks were fresh. Fresh enough to mean whoever made them was nearby. They were half-filled with new snow, leading away from the safer trails and further into the forest where light thinned and sound died fast. Silas followed them in silence, irritation settling in his chest like a second weight. Whoever this person was, they’d picked the worst possible time to get lost.

A storm was building. The air shifted, thick with the sharp scent of snow and coming ice. Wintermere never waited for permission to become dangerous.

He spotted him just as the world began to blur with white.

A lone man ahead, moving wrong — too slow, unsteady, fighting the terrain instead of reading it. He was no threat to the pack, that part was immediately clear. Whoever he was, he had no survival instincts to speak of. How he had managed to make it this far was a mystery.

Silas stopped at the treeline and watched for a moment.

Trespassing was one thing. Dying in his territory was another.

With a quiet curse under his breath, he stepped forward out of cover and into the open, letting his shape register in the blowing snow. Tall and dark against the white, impossible to miss.

“I’d stop if I were you.”

The wind nearly drowned out his words, but he kept his voice flat and hard enough to cut through the weather. He didn’t raise his hands. Didn’t soften his stance. Ready for whatever came next.

Another gust tore across the frozen ground, stealing what little visibility remained.

Silas exhaled slowly through his nose.

Great. Perfect timing.

Whatever explanation this human man had for being here could wait. If they stayed out here much longer, neither of them would be making it back alive.

Silas closed the distance between them in a few long strides. No warning, no patience. One gloved hand caught the fabric of the mans sleeve and yanked him closer, not roughly, but without room for argument. He leaned in just enough for his voice to cut through the storm and into his space.

“If you don’t want to die,” he said flatly, teeth biting each word, “come with me.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned into the wind and started moving, already pulling the human along with him toward the dark cut of the trees where the mountain broke the worst of the gale. Something about his scent cut through the cold, sharp and distracting in a way that made no sense. Silas shoved the thought aside. Getting him to shelter came first.

He cut sharply through the snow and half-dragged, half-carried the stranger up a narrow rise that would have looked like nothing to anyone who didn’t know the mountain. Silas did. Thirty yards later, the rock face split into a shallow black seam barely wider than his shoulders. A cave. Not deep, but dry. Enough.

He shoved the man inside first, crowding the entrance as the storm screamed past the opening. Snow blew in low and thin, but the stone blocked the worst of the wind. He bent, braced a hand against the wall, and reached into a crevice just inside the entrance where a small cache had been wedged years ago. A battered lantern. A box of matches sealed in oilcloth. Old habits. Old precautions.

Within seconds, a weak yellow glow bled into the darkness.

For a moment, he stayed where he was, breath loud in the small space. With the outside shut away, every sound felt sharpened. The silence pressed close.

The lantern’s glow caught on rough stone and frost-darkened rock, picking out the shallow curve of the cave and the uneven ground beneath their feet. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was dry, and it was out of the wind. It would keep them alive.

He shifted, positioning himself between the stranger and the entrance without thinking about it. A habit older than memory.

His scent hit Silas all at once. Not gradual. Not subtle. It cut through the dim air like a blade, sharp and wrong in a way no ordinary scent had any right to be. Silas stiffened without meaning to, breath catching low in his chest.

His jaw clenched. His grip tightened around the lantern handle.

Something inside him surged awake, sudden and violent as a snapped chain. Not thought. Not feeling. Need.

A low, feral certainty tore through his bones.

Mine.

The word wasn’t his. It wasn’t spoken aloud. His wolf slammed against his ribs, roaring with feral, possessive instinct.

Silas crushed the reaction before it could take shape. He did not trust anything that rose up inside him without permission. His expression didn’t change. His stance didn’t shift. If anything, he grew colder, sharper at the edges, like a door slamming shut.

“Why the hell are you out here?” he asked, more sharply than he meant to. “Do you have any idea how close you were to freezing to death?”