Updated Nov 7, 2025 • ~9 min read
The storm rolled in three days after they’d claimed each other, announced by a sudden drop in temperature and a sky gone bruise-purple by early afternoon.
Briar was in the kitchen making bread—using Magnus’s starter, which she’d officially adopted as her own—when the first gust of wind rattled the windows hard enough to make her jump.
“That doesn’t sound good,” she said as Magnus came in from outside, his arms full of firewood.
“It’s not.” He dumped the wood by the fireplace and immediately went to check the generator. “This one’s going to be worse than the last two. Weather service is calling it a once-in-a-decade storm.”
“Should we be worried?”
“We’re prepared. I’ve got enough wood to last a month, generator’s topped off, pantry’s stocked.” Magnus moved to the windows, checking the shutters. “But yeah, it’s going to get rough. Power will probably go out.”
As if on cue, the lights flickered.
“Jinxed it,” Briar muttered.
Magnus flashed her a quick smile. “Help me secure everything? I want to be buttoned up before it really hits.”
They spent the next hour in controlled chaos—Magnus boarding up the more vulnerable windows, Briar filling every container she could find with water, both of them bringing in extra wood and supplies. The wind picked up steadily, howling around the cabin with increasing fury.
By four o’clock, the snow was falling so thick Briar couldn’t see the tree line. By five, the power went out with a final flicker of protest.
“Generator should kick in—” Magnus started, but nothing happened. He cursed and grabbed his coat. “I need to check it. Stay inside.”
“Magnus, you can barely see three feet—”
“I’ll be fine. Five minutes.” He was already heading for the door.
Briar watched anxiously from the window as Magnus disappeared into the white. Five minutes stretched to ten, then fifteen. Just as she was about to go after him, he reappeared, covered in snow and scowling.
“Generator’s dead. Something’s wrong with the fuel line—I can’t fix it in this.” He stripped off his coat, shaking snow everywhere. “We’re going dark for the duration.”
“How long will that be?”
“Could be hours. Could be days.” Magnus moved to the fireplace and started building up the fire. “Good news is, this fireplace heats most of the cabin if we keep it going. Bad news is, we’ll need to stay close to it. The bedrooms are going to get cold fast.”
“Define close.”
“Sleeping-in-the-living-room close.” He glanced at her. “Sorry. I know you probably wanted a bed—”
“Magnus, I’ve slept on your couch with you multiple times. I think I can handle camping out by the fire.” Briar moved to help him arrange blankets and pillows near the hearth. “Besides, this is kind of cozy. Like we’re pioneers or something.”
“Pioneers had it rougher.”
“Pioneers didn’t have you.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll take this over the Oregon Trail any day.”
They made dinner by firelight—soup heated over the flames in Magnus’s cast iron pot, bread from yesterday’s baking, hot tea in camping mugs. It should have felt primitive, but instead it felt intimate. Just the two of them, the fire, and the storm raging outside.
“I used to love storms like this,” Magnus said as they ate, sitting cross-legged on the floor near the fire. “When I first moved up here, I’d sit and watch them for hours. Found them peaceful.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m just worried about you being cold.” His brow furrowed. “Are you warm enough? I have more blankets—”
“Magnus, I’m fine. Stop fussing.” But she smiled, touched by his concern. “I’m actually really warm. You’re like a portable heater.”
“Shifter metabolism. Runs hot.” He set aside his empty bowl and pulled her against his side. “Still. Let me know if you get cold.”
As darkness fell completely, they huddled closer to the fire. The temperature was already dropping in the outer rooms, and Briar could see her breath when she moved away from the hearth.
“This is going to be a long night,” Magnus said, feeding another log to the fire.
“I don’t mind.” Briar nestled under his arm. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“Even with no power, no heat, and questionable bathroom facilities?”
“Even then.” She looked up at him. “I’m with you. That’s all that matters.”
Magnus’s expression softened, and he kissed her forehead. “How did I get so lucky?”
They talked for hours, voices soft in the firelit darkness. Magnus told her about his childhood before things went bad—his mother teaching him to cook, weekends spent hiking with cousins, the first time he’d shifted into his bear form at age thirteen. Briar shared memories of her grandmother’s bakery, the tiny apartment they’d shared, the way she’d felt safe for the first time after her parents died.
“Do you miss her?” Magnus asked. “Your grandmother?”
“Every day.” Briar traced patterns on his chest. “She would have liked you. Would have said you needed feeding up and then proceeded to bake you approximately ten thousand cookies.”
“I would have let her.” Magnus smiled. “She raised an incredible woman. I’d have wanted to thank her for that.”
Around midnight, the fire burned lower and Briar found herself pressed fully against Magnus’s side, seeking his warmth. The wind outside had reached a fever pitch, and even with the fire blazing, cold air seeped through every crack.
“You’re shivering,” Magnus said, pulling more blankets around them.
“Just a little.” But her teeth were starting to chatter.
Magnus muttered something in frustration, then shifted so he was lying down, pulling Briar on top of him. “Body heat. Most efficient way to stay warm.”
“Is this another one of your survival skills?” But Briar was already settling against him, seeking his warmth like a cat.
“Yep. Standard cold weather protocol.” His arms came around her, holding her close. “Better?”
“Much.” She tucked her face into his neck, breathing in his scent. “You smell good.”
“I smell like wood smoke and sweat.”
“Like I said. Good.” She pressed a kiss to his throat. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“Always.” His hand stroked through her hair. “I’ll always take care of you, Briar. That’s what mates do.”
They lay like that for a while, listening to the storm, the fire crackling beside them. Briar felt herself starting to drift, warm and safe despite the blizzard raging outside.
“Briar?” Magnus’s voice was soft, uncertain.
“Hmm?”
“I need to tell you something.” He paused, and she felt tension creep into his body. “When this storm is over, when the roads clear, you’re going to want to get back to your café. Back to your life in town. And I—” He stopped.
Briar pushed up to look at him. “You what?”
Magnus met her eyes, and the vulnerability in his expression made her chest ache. “I don’t want you to leave. Not just for a few days. At all. I want—” He swallowed hard. “I want you to stay here. With me. Permanently.”
“Magnus—”
“I know it’s too fast. I know you have the café and your life and I’m asking you to give up your independence after you just got it back.” The words tumbled out like he’d been holding them in for days. “But I can’t stand the thought of you leaving. Of going back to sleeping alone, of not having you here when I wake up. Of this cabin being empty again.”
Briar felt tears prick her eyes. “I don’t want to leave either.”
Magnus froze. “What?”
“I’ve been dreading it. Going back to town, to the apartment above the café, sleeping without you.” She cupped his face. “I love my café, but I love you more. I love this cabin, this life we’re building. I don’t want to give it up.”
“You don’t have to.” Magnus’s voice was urgent now. “We can figure it out. You could open the café just weekends, or we could find someone to manage it during the week, or I could come down and help run it so you’re not doing everything alone—”
“Magnus.” She kissed him to stop the flow of words. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, I’ll stay. Yes, I want to build a life here with you. Yes to all of it.” She smiled through her tears. “You’re my home now. Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.”
Magnus pulled her down into a kiss that was fierce and desperate and full of relief. When they broke apart, they were both breathing hard.
“You’re sure?” he asked. “Because once you move in, I’m never letting you leave. My bear will probably guard the door.”
“I’m counting on it.” Briar settled back against his chest. “Besides, where else would I go? You’ve ruined me for other men. I can’t date someone who doesn’t carry me through blizzards and give me his sourdough starter.”
Magnus laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Those are pretty specific criteria.”
“What can I say? I have high standards now.” She yawned, suddenly exhausted. “We’ll figure out the logistics tomorrow. The café, the cabin, all of it. Right now I just want to sleep here with you and not think about anything else.”
“I can do that.” Magnus arranged the blankets around them more securely. “Sleep, love. I’ve got you.”
Briar closed her eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. Outside, the storm raged. Inside, wrapped in Magnus’s arms by the fire, she felt perfectly, completely safe.
“Hey, Magnus?” she murmured, already half asleep.
“Yeah?”
“I love you. In case I haven’t said it enough today.”
“You could say it a thousand times and it wouldn’t be enough.” His arms tightened around her. “I love you too. More than I thought possible.”
“Good.” Briar smiled against his chest. “Because you’re stuck with me now.”
“Best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
They fell asleep like that, tangled together by the fire, the storm outside forgotten. Two people who’d been running from different demons, finally finding peace in each other’s arms.
Tomorrow they’d figure out the details—how to balance the café with mountain life, how to merge their worlds, how to build something permanent.
But tonight, they just held each other and let themselves believe in forever.
Because sometimes love wasn’t about grand gestures or perfect timing.
Sometimes it was about huddling together through a storm and admitting you didn’t want to face the world alone anymore.
And that was enough.
More than enough.
It was everything.
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