He’d deceived himself when he believed he’d be alone. Even here in the perpetual night of the North a human lived.
So he remained in his icy cavern as far from the hut as he could, but the burn of blood thirst still edged his dreams and his waking hours.
Worse yet, this scientist was a woman of uncommon beauty.
He refused to be drawn to her. Even one that had to courage to face the hideous Northern winter alone with just supplies and an intermittent radio for company.
Yet, even as he fought the attraction, he found himself following her just beyond her sight, as she checked her markers, took her readings, and went about the daily task of survival in this cruel landscape. He even braved the frequent blizzards to spy through cracks in the shutters to watch her as she huddled before the tiny fire, seeking the warmth it struggled to give.
He could not love this woman, he knew that. She had taken all the love he’d had. In spite of that he would take this one instead and make her his.