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15

ROLFO

I move methodically through the market square, watching. Always watching. It's what I do best—seeing things others miss. The morning crowd pulses around me, demons haggling over fresh dreelk and spiced meats, merchants calling their wares. I nod at Thorn, the fruit vendor who tips me off to pickpockets, and sidestep a group of matrons comparing fabric swatches from the eastern merchants.

The crowd parts briefly, and that's when I spot them.

Two figures in dark cloaks moving against the flow of traffic. Their hoods are pulled low, but I catch the gleam of obsidian horns beneath the fabric. My veteran eyes immediately catalog the weapons—too many for casual carry. The slight bulge at the hip where a crossbow rests. The twin daggers barely concealed at each thigh. The outline of throwing stars strapped to their forearms.

Bounty hunters.

My muscles tense automatically. I've spent enough years in the shadows to recognize predators when I see them. I drift closer, keeping my movements casual, just another guard on patrol. They've stopped a merchant—Grayvis, who sells herbs and tinctures.

"Human female," one says, his voice a low growl. "Auburn hair. Hazel eyes. Would've been heavily pregnant a few weeks back."

The cold that floods my veins has nothing to do with the morning air. They're looking for Aurelie.

Grayvis shakes his head. "Haven't seen any humans in months."

I duck behind a vendor's stall, keeping them in my sightline.

"What about a baby?" the second hunter asks. "Human infant, newborn. Seen one of those?"

Sephy. My hands curl into fists, claws digging into my palms. The pain centers me, keeps the rage at bay. If these bottom-feeders think they're getting anywhere near Aurelie or her daughter, they'll leave this market in pieces.

They move to the next merchant, asking the same questions. Kaelith must have put out the contract. The thought of that pompous bastard makes my blood boil. I've heard stories about him—none good.

I need backup. Not because I couldn't handle these two myself, but because I need this done officially. Clean. No loose ends that could lead back to Aurelie.

I slip through the crowd toward the guard headquarters at the edge of the market. Dezoth will be there. He might be a cold bastard most days, but he runs the most disciplined unit in the city, and we've worked together enough times for me to trust his discretion.

The headquarters buzzes with activity when I push through the doors. Guards coming off night shift, others preparing for patrol. I spot Dezoth immediately, his imposing frame bent over a map, silver cord glinting in his black hair.

"Captain," I say, approaching his table. "Got a situation in the market."

His golden eyes flick up, pupils narrowing as they adjust to the interior light. "Steelclaw." His voice is clipped, efficient. "What kind of situation?"

"Bounty hunters. Two of them. Armed heavily and asking about a human woman and infant. Outside their jurisdiction, making civilians uncomfortable."

I don't mention Aurelie by name. Don't need to. The slight stiffening in Dezoth's shoulders tells me he understands the implication.

"Show me," he says, straightening to his full height, a good couple inches taller than me.

We move through the streets with purpose. Guards part to let Dezoth through—the effect of earned respect. The market comes into view, and I spot the hunters still working their way through the stalls.

"There," I nod toward them. "The pair in cloaks."

Dezoth's eyes narrow. "Wait here."

"I will not," I growl.

His mouth twitches—the closest thing to amusement I've ever seen from him. "Fine. Flank right."

We approach the hunters from opposite sides. They sense Dezoth first—his authority radiates like heat. The shorter one turns, hand instinctively moving toward a weapon before freezing when he recognizes the captain's insignia.

"Gentlemen," Dezoth says, voice cold as mountain ice. "You appear to be heavily armed for a simple shopping trip."

"Official business," the taller one grunts.

"Not in my district, it isn't." Dezoth steps closer, towering over them. "I know every authorized bounty in Sarziroch. Yours isn't one of them."

"We have a contract?—"

"From outside the city," Dezoth cuts him off. "Which means you need clearance from the city guard before pursuing it here. Do you have such clearance?"

The hunters exchange glances. I position myself to block their escape route, letting my hand rest casually on my blade.

"Thought not," Dezoth continues. "You have one hour to leave the city or surrender your weapons and apply for proper authorization. Your choice."

The shorter hunter steps forward. "This is just a simple retrieval of stolen property?—"

My growl cuts through the air before I can stop it. People aren't property.

Dezoth gives me a sharp look before turning back to the hunters. "One hour. Starting now." The finality in his tone leaves no room for argument.

The hunters glare but back down, slinking away through the crowd. I watch them until they're out of sight.

"Come," Dezoth says, turning toward a quiet alley off the main square.

When we're alone, he faces me directly. "These are connected to your... house guest, I take it?"

I nod, tension still riding my shoulders. "Kaelith's men, has to be."

"I suspected as much." Dezoth crosses his arms. "Don't worry. They won't get anywhere near her or the child."

Dezoth's gaze lingers on the marketplace where the bounty hunters disappeared. "I'll have the city gates watched. They won't make it far if they ignore our warning."

"And Kaelith?" I ask, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

"Lord Shadowfall is... politically complicated." Dezoth's face gives away nothing, but I catch the subtle shift in his posture. "He sits on the royal council. We must tread carefully."

"I'd rather tread on his throat," I mutter.

A ghost of a smile crosses Dezoth's face. "Your subtlety remains unmatched, Steelclaw." He straightens his uniform. "I'll handle the official report. You should... attend to your household."

The implication is clear. Get back to Aurelie. Make sure she's safe.

"Appreciated," I nod, already turning to leave.

"Rolfo." His voice stops me. "Whatever you're involved in... be careful."

I don't respond, just offer a curt nod before disappearing into the crowd.

The sun has long since set when I finally make my way home. I've spent the day checking every possible avenue of approach to my house, marking security weaknesses, watching for anyone paying too much attention. My senses remain on high alert, skin prickling with every shadow that moves in the periphery of my vision.

Standing outside my own door, I listen. All quiet. The scents are familiar—no strangers have been here. I unlock the door silently and move inside, scanning every corner before letting my shoulders relax even slightly.

The house is dim, lit only by the dying embers in the fireplace. My ears pick up Sephy's gentle breathing from the nursery—the even rhythm of deep sleep. I follow the sound of another heartbeat to the living room.

Aurelie lies curled on the couch, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other dangling over the edge. Her auburn hair spills across the cushion like liquid fire. She's stunning, that familiar rush of attraction automatically crushed beneath guilt.

Even in sleep, there's a slight furrow between her brows. She never fully relaxes, this one. Can't blame her.

I move silently across the room, crouching beside the couch. Up close, I can see the slight hollows beneath her eyes, the way her fingers twitch in her sleep. Fighting demons even now. I know what that's like.

Carefully, I brush my knuckle over her fingertips, unable to help myself when I'm always aching to touch her, a featherlight touch meant to wake her gently.

Her reaction is anything but gentle.

Aurelie bolts upright with a piercing scream, her body flailing wildly. Her eyes are open but seeing something else entirely, something horrific from the terror on her face.

"Blood," she gasps, rubbing frantically at her hands. "Hands—my hands—they're covered?—"

I catch her wrists, keeping my grip firm but gentle. "Aurelie. It's Rolfo. You're safe. You're in my home."

Her eyes dart frantically, not seeing me yet, still trapped in whatever nightmare has its claws in her.

"Look at me," I say, lowering my voice to the soft rumble that seems to calm Sephy. "Find my eyes. I'm right here."

Her breathing hitches, then slowly steadies as recognition dawns. "Rolfo?"

The relief in her voice when she says my name tugs at something deep in my chest.

"Yes. You were dreaming." I release her wrists, giving her space. "You're safe."

She looks down at her hands, still rubbing them together. "I can feel it. The blood. I can't get it off."

Whatever haunts her dreams, it's as real to her as I am. I don't hesitate. I stand, lifting her into my arms in one smooth motion. I try not to notice how perfect she feels in my arms. She weighs nothing, this fierce survivor, this wounded warrior.

"What are you—?" she starts.

"Trust me," I murmur, carrying her down the hall to the washroom.

I set her gently on the edge of the bath and turn the copper taps, filling the tub with warm water. Steam rises between us as I kneel before her, taking her trembling hands in mine.

"The mind believes what it feels," I explain softly, dipping a soft cloth into the water. "So we give it something else to feel."

I wash each of her hands methodically, the cloth moving in slow circles over her palms, between her fingers, across her wrists. All the while, I murmur in the old tongue, ancient words my mother once used to chase away my childhood fears—words about safety, about peace, about the passing of shadows.

Slowly, the rigidity eases from her spine. Her hands stop trembling. Her breathing deepens.

"Better?" I ask, still holding her hands in the warm water.

She nods, not meeting my eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I?—"

"Never apologize for surviving," I cut her off gently. "Whatever you did to escape him, whatever you had to do—it kept you alive. It kept Sephy safe."

Her head drops forward until her forehead rests against my shoulder. I freeze, uncertain, then cautiously bring up a hand to rest between her shoulder blades. She's trembling again, but differently now—silent sobs that shake her entire frame.

I hold her, saying nothing, offering the only comfort I know how to give—presence. Steadiness. A port in the storm.

Later—I don't know how much later—we end up on the nursery floor beside Sephy's cradle. Aurelie's head rests on my chest, her breathing finally even. My arm curves protectively around her shoulders. I stare at the ceiling, listening to the twin rhythms of their heartbeats, these two humans who have somehow breached every defense I've built over decades.

Sleep comes slowly, creeping in at the edges of consciousness. But for the first time in years, I don't fight it. For tonight at least, everything that matters in the world is within the circle of my arms, safe and sound.