Bearclaw Valley [m] everything i wanted

It hit him like the sharp end of winter—unrelenting, cutting through the grit of his usual composure. The scent clung to the air thick and wild, curling in his chest, coiling like a match ready to strike. Cole’s breath hitched in his throat. Not because he hadn’t expected it—he had. The seasons turned, and so did the tide of instincts. But still... seeing her like this...
Her voice, soft as it was, carried too easily on the breeze.
He was beside her in two strides, muscles taut beneath a scarred frame that knew battle in more forms than one. And this? This was another war entirely.
Cole's nose pressed against her neck, his breath hot and heavy as he inhaled her—like he could bury her scent within himself, protect it from the world. But it wasn’t affection that sparked first. It was something uglier, older. Born from every fight he’d ever had to win. Every damn thing he’d ever had to keep.
His voice was a low growl—gravel dragged through his throat. You best keep your voice down, he said, quiet but clipped, eyes flicking to the tree line, the open wilds beyond. Don’t need another sonuvabitch thinkin’ they can come sniffin’ ‘round what ain’t theirs.
Because she was his.
His to protect.
His to soothe.
His to keep.
And God help any man who thought otherwise.
Cole’s muzzle ran down the side of her jaw, grounding himself. His pulse thudded in his ears. He hadn’t meant to sound harsh—not to her. But it was in his blood, this deep-seated need to claim what was his, to defend it from the wolves of the world.
He exhaled sharply and murmured lower, steadier. You didn’t pull me away from anything that matters. A pause. His chest rose with restraint. I’m here now, ain’t I?