Page 15 of Bound By the Beast Man

CORVAK

I remain a silent sentinel against the coming dawn.

The pre-dawn air is thin and cold, carrying the strange, wild scents of the Prazh Mountains.

Every rustle of leaves, every distant snap of a twig, has my senses on high alert.

The Purna are out there, and they will be hunting their stolen prize with a relentless fury.

But no harm will come to her. Not while I draw breath.

I look back at where she sleeps, a small, still form huddled in the depths of my cloak.

The fire has died down to a bed of glowing, orange embers that cast a soft, warm light on her face.

Even in sleep, she is not at peace. Her brow is furrowed, and a deep tension lines her delicate features.

I feel a deep protective instinct wash over me, a feeling that is far more powerful than the simple duty to protect a survivor.

It is a primal, possessive urge that is both new and overwhelming to my disciplined mind.

This is what it means to find one’s mate.

It is a fire in the blood, a reordering of the soul around a new center.

My mission, the fate of my King and my people, all feel like distant concerns, memories from another life.

My world has narrowed to this small, cold cave and the woman sleeping within it.

The sight of her soothes me. Then, a soft sound breaks the stillness.

A whimper. It is a quiet, broken sound of pain that cuts through my warrior’s focus and goes straight to my heart.

Her whimpers grow more frequent, more distressed.

She begins to twitch in her sleep, her hands clenching and unclenching in the thick folds of my cloak.

Her breathing becomes ragged and shallow, the breaths of a hunted animal.

The sight of her in such torment ignites a fresh, hot rage within me.

The Purna did not just imprison her body; they branded her very soul with their cruelty, leaving nightmares that hunt her even in the safety of my protection.

I will make them pay for this. I will make them all pay.

Her quiet whimpers escalate into a soft, desperate cry, a sound that tears at me.

I cannot stand by and watch her suffer. I move from my post at the entrance of the cave, my heavy footsteps silent on the stone floor.

I kneel beside her, my intention to place a gentle hand on her shoulder, to wake her from the nightmare that holds her in its grip.

The embers of the fire cast our shadows long and distorted against the cave wall.

My large form, meant to be a shield for her, instead casts a looming, monstrous shadow over her sleeping form.

As my hand reaches for her, her eyes fly open.

But there is no recognition in them. There is only the raw, leftover terror from her dream, a wide, unseeing panic.

In the dim, flickering light, she does not see her rescuer.

She sees a threat. She sees a monster. She sees one of them.

Before I can speak, before I can even process the wild fear in her eyes, she moves with a speed that is born of pure, absolute terror.

A flash of movement, a sharp, tearing pain in my forearm.

I look down in stunned surprise. A deep, ragged gash runs from my wrist to my elbow, my own dark blood welling up and dripping onto the stone floor.

A sharpened piece of flint, a tool for survival, is clutched in her small, white-knuckled hand.

The shock and the sudden, searing pain trigger my own primal instincts.

A low, warning growl rumbles in my chest, an involuntary response to being wounded.

For a single, dangerous second, the beast within me wants to retaliate.

The growl dies in my throat as I look from my wound back to her face.

The raw terror in her eyes is giving way to a new, dawning horror as she recognizes me.

The fight drains out of her in an instant.

The rock falls from her numb fingers, clattering softly on the floor.

Her face crumples, and she is wracked by silent, hiccuping sobs of shame and fear.

Tears stream down her pale cheeks, silver in the dying firelight.

She is not a threat. She is a terrified, traumatized soul, lashing out from a cage of fear.

My anger vanishes, burned away by empathy and renewed, white-hot fury at her captors.

This is what they have done to her. This is the damage they have wrought.

Without a word, I tend to my own wound with one hand, tearing another strip from my tunic to bind the gash.

With my other arm, I reach for her, gently but firmly pulling her into a steadying embrace.

She resists for a moment, stiff with fear and shame, then collapses against my chest, her sobs now audible, shaking her entire body.

I hold her, letting her cry, murmuring quiet, reassuring words into her hair.

“You are safe,” I said. “You are safe with me.”

I repeat the words until her sobs begin to subside, holding her tightly against me.

“They will never touch you again,” I vow, and it is the most sacred promise I have ever made. “I will give my own life before I let them harm you.”