Page 38

SARU

I force my body to move faster than it wants to.

My ribs still ache from the recent poisoning, and each breath sends a dull throb through my chest, but I ignore it.

I’m determined to find Naeva before she slips away.

Some of the guards saw her heading toward the old forge chamber, that hidden place in the Bastion’s lower corridors where she sought refuge once before.

I suspect she’s about to run again, convinced she’s a danger to me and the entire fortress.

I’m not letting her leave.

My heart hammers with every step. She saved me from chaos poison, using that Nullborn trait she’s so terrified to reveal.

I can’t forget the sight of her trembling, eyes glistening, as she harnessed whatever power flows in her veins to pull me back from the brink.

That moment changed everything—her courage, her raw fear, the unbreakable bond that already existed between us.

The corridor slopes downward, torches flickering on the rough walls.

Guards step aside when they see me coming.

It’s late, near midnight, the Bastion hushed but never truly sleeping.

My chest still burns from the lingering effects of the toxin.

Each footstep feels heavier than usual, but my determination pushes me on.

She’s spooked, convinced that if others find out about her Nullborn gift, they’ll exploit or condemn her. I have to convince her otherwise.

At the next junction, I spot a lone guard. He bows his head, gesturing to the door leading into the old forge. My horns prickle with relief. That’s where she is. I wave him off, wanting privacy. He nods, retreating into the shadows. I grip the iron handle and push inward.

The forge chamber is dim, lit only by the faint glow of dying embers in a corner brazier.

An acrid tang of stale coals and ash lingers in the air.

In the middle of the room stands Naeva, facing an anvil, her slender form stiff with tension.

Her hair is half undone, a dark curtain down her back, and she’s still in the same tunic she wore earlier. She doesn’t move when I enter.

I shut the door carefully behind me, heart stuttering as I see how her shoulders are rigid, as if she’s bracing for a blow.

Her sleeve has torn just enough to expose the sigil—my crest. Once imposed, now complicated.

She hears my footsteps and whirls, eyes haunted. Her reaction cuts deeper than I expect.

“I won’t let them use me,” she says, voice thin with panic. “I don’t want to be caged again, not by the Senate, not by anyone.”

I step forward, ignoring the warning ache in my lungs. “Naeva,” I murmur, “no one’s caging you.”

Her face contorts, tears threatening. “You say that, but if they learn about my Nullborn trait—if they realize I can snuff out chaos—they’ll see me as a weapon or a freak. Thakur will twist it. The Senate might force you to surrender me. And you— you might think me unnatural.”

I inhale, horns tilting down in remorse. I recall how she trembled by my side when I recovered, how she fled rather than let me see her fear. “I don’t care if you’re Nullborn,” I say, voice raw. “You saved me. That’s all that matters.”

A half-laugh escapes her, bitter. “You don’t care yet. But once it spreads, you’ll have to choose—stand against the Senate or hand me over.”

I can’t stand the anguish in her eyes. My chest tightens, but I keep my voice steady. “I choose you.”

She falters, breath catching. I see the swirl of disbelief in her face. We stand at opposite ends of the forge, dust swirling around our feet. The faint glow from the brazier casts shadows over her features, highlighting the brand, the bruises, the lips parted in fragile hope.

She tries to turn away, but I cross the space, ignoring the protest in my body. Before she can slip from my reach, I drop to one knee in front of her. My horns dip low in submission—a gesture I rarely, if ever, show. Her eyes widen.

“Naeva,” I say softly, my voice catching in my throat. “You saved my life. I kneel to thank you, but also to show I have no claim over your freedom. Brand or not, you’re not a prisoner.”

She stands rigid, tears shimmering. “Saru, stop. You shouldn’t kneel— you’re the Warden.”

I force a small, pained smile. “A Warden who nearly died of poison. I owe you more than I can repay. This brand was forced. Now, I willingly vow I’m at your side by choice. Not by Senate orders.”

She trembles. I reach up, resting my palm on her hip.

Heat radiates through the rough cloth of her tunic.

For a heartbeat, she doesn’t move, staring down at me in shock.

Then a sob rattles her chest, and she collapses to her knees too, hooking her arms around my shoulders.

I gather her close, ignoring the flare of pain in my ribs.

My muzzle dips against her hair, horns carefully angled away from her face.

She presses her forehead to my chest, body shaking. “I was so scared,” she murmurs, tears clinging to her words. “I thought you’d see me as a monster.”

I cradle her cheeks, lifting her gaze to meet mine. “Never. You risked everything to save me. I see only your courage and heart.”

Her eyes shine. “Even if the Senate tries to tear us apart?”

“I’ll fight them.” My voice is a low rumble. “I’ll fight all of them if I must.”

She exhales, a trembling breath that hovers between relief and raw emotion.

The forging heat around us intensifies the sense of urgency.

The old anvil behind us, the dim coals in the brazier—they remind me of how we first forged a blade together, forging a bond from scraps of distrust. Now we’re forging something else entirely.

I slide my hands up her waist, mindful of bruises, searching her expression for hesitation.

She shivers, leaning in. A hush falls, broken only by our ragged breathing.

Then her lips brush mine in a desperate, trembling kiss.

My horns buzz with unleashed tension. The memory of last night, of that bed and the brand that united us, fuels my entire being.

Her kiss deepens, urgent with the relief that we’re both alive despite poison and secrets. I groan softly, arms wrapping around her back, pulling her closer. She climbs onto my lap with a fervor that crushes the air from my chest, but I welcome it. My heart hammers like a war drum.

We break apart for a breath, eyes locking. I see the swirl of fear and longing. She’s terrified to lose me or be used as a tool. I want to show her I accept everything, Nullborn or not. No matter what the fortress thinks.

She grips my face, voice shaky. “I need— I need you.”

I nod, stirring with an echo of her desperation. “I’m here.”

With careful determination, we fumble to stand, supporting each other against the anvil.

She braces a hand on the metal, wincing.

My instincts urge me to ensure no leftover chaos remains in my system, but the fierce hunger in her eyes drowns logic.

We kiss again, a cascade of heated desire, teeth scraping lips, breath mingling with a pulse-pounding synergy.

My horns graze her hair, sending jolts of sensation through me.

In a blur, we rid ourselves of garments, each piece dropping to the dusty floor with a hushed sound.

The forge’s gloom offers privacy, though faint torchlight from the corridor seeps through a gap in the door.

My fur stands on end, every nerve keyed to her presence.

She slides her hands over my shoulders, feeling the tension beneath.

I cradle her hips, mindful of any bruises.

She sighs against my mouth, half-lidded eyes blazing with the same need I feel. Our bodies align, sweat beading on our skin from the forge’s lingering warmth and our own fevered want. This time, we move with an edge of frantic energy—days of fear coalescing into a heady, unstoppable force.

I guide her onto a low wooden bench near the old coals, carefully checking for splinters or debris.

She laughs breathlessly, nerves colliding with excitement.

I kneel again, kissing along her neck, tasting salt and the hint of smoke from the air.

She arches, moaning softly, and the sound vibrates through my chest. We’re not gentle, not entirely, but our touches remain tender around her bruises. She grips my mane, urging me closer.

My mouth travels across her collarbone, down to the curve of her breasts, each ragged breath a testament to how alive we feel at this moment.

She murmurs my name, voice catching, stoking a wild surge of desire.

Our brand has turned from a forced link into a vow of something deeper.

I let my hands roam, memorizing each scar, each muscle.

She’s strong, a flame tempered by cruelty but never extinguished.

When I enter her, it’s with a desperate hunger that nearly buckles my knees.

She gasps, legs wrapping around my waist. Our eyes meet, mutual awe flickering.

I thrust slowly at first, each motion a reassurance that we exist here, no Senate or Thakur can steal this.

She clings to me, nails biting into my fur, urging more.

The bench creaks under our combined weight.

I grip her waist for balance, horns angled to avoid hitting anything, heart pounding in my ears.

Her moans rise, echoing in the old stone chamber.

I bury my face in her neck, her hair clinging to my horns as I drive deeper, each motion a vow that I won’t abandon her or her secrets.

She cries out, lips brushing my ear, voice trembling with emotion that transcends simple lust. This is re-commitment—an urgent reaffirmation after all the near-loss and confessions.