Page 39

Tara couldn't breathe under the weight of her emotions—the questions, the ache in her chest. It crushed her, suffocating her with every shallow breath.

She wandered the camp, desperate for space, for air. She thought she could escape the storm raging inside her, but the truth was, she couldn't. The image of him with another woman was like poison, seeping into her veins, clouding her thoughts, filling her with a torment she could not silence.

She needed to get away.

So she had left.

She hadn't meant to wander so far, but her feet carried her beyond the camp, beyond the firelight, beyond the place that had begun to feel like a cage.

Now, she stood in a clearing bathed in moonlight, the world around her hauntingly silent.

Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as if she could hold herself together—just for a little longer.

But she was breaking. She could feel it.

A sob tore from her throat before she could stop it, raw and desperate. It echoed through the trees, swallowed by the darkness.

Then—

"Hey?"

A voice, low and edged with concern. She stiffened.

Turning slowly, she found herself staring at a man a few paces away. He wasn't from the camp—his clothing was finer, his posture too self-assured. A merchant, perhaps, passing through these lands. She saw the sharpness in his gaze as he studied her.

"You're alone," he observed, his voice careful.

Tara swallowed hard, hastily wiping her tear-streaked face.

He stepped closer, not imposing, but not hesitating either. "Forgive me, but you don't look fine."

When she didn't respond, he sighed. "A girl like you shouldn't be out here alone at this hour." His tone was gentle.

Tara wanted to tell him to leave her be.

But she didn't have the strength to.

The merchant studied her for a moment before unfastening the light cloak draped over his shoulder. "You're shivering," he said simply, holding it out to her.

Tara hesitated.

But then, slowly, she reached out, fingers grazing the fabric as she took it from him.

And for a moment—just a moment—she didn't feel so alone.

"Here, let me help you," he said.

"No, you don't have—" Before she could finish, he took the cloak from her hands and draped it over her shoulders.

She stared at him, eyes confused.

The merchant stepped back, watching her in silence, his gaze steady, waiting.

But then—

A shadow tore through the night.

The moment she saw him, a chill rushed through her veins.

Oman.

A storm given flesh, his presence crackling with fury. His breath came heavy, his chest rising and falling like he had been running—like he had been hunting. And when his eyes locked onto her, she felt the force of them in her bones.

The merchant barely had time to react.

Oman struck without hesitation. A brutal, punishing fist to the man's jaw sent him sprawling to the ground. The impact echoed through the empty desert, a sickening crunch that made Tara gasp.

The merchant groaned, dazed. Blood dripped from his lip as he tried to push himself up. "What—"

Another blow.

Tara flinched, breath catching as Oman descended upon him like a beast. His hands, his fists—they were relentless. He struck with the kind of fury that only came from something deeper than rage. Something possessive. Something uncontrollable.

"Oman!"

Her voice sliced through the air, sharp and desperate.

But he didn't stop.

Not until the man collapsed, unmoving.

Oman stood over him, breath ragged, knuckles bloodied. Then his gaze snapped to her.

He looked like a raging animal. Her animal.

Her stomach clenched at the thought.

His chest rose and fell with exertion, his fingers still curled into fists, but his eyes—

A storm.

His pulse hammered as he took in the sight of her standing in the moonlight, dark hair tangled from the wind, lips parted in shock, eyes still glistening with unshed tears.

Oman took a step forward.

His knuckles throbbed from striking flesh and bone, but he welcomed the pain. It was nothing compared to the inferno raging inside him.

His hands itched to grab her. To drag her back to camp. To lock her away where no man could look at her.

He just stared at her.

And she—

She looked at him as if she didn't know him at all.

Something twisted violently in his chest.

"Tara," he said, her name like a curse and a prayer all at once.

Then his gaze fell to her shoulders.

He saw the cloak.

His hand shot out, yanking it from her, flinging it aside like something filthy. The fabric drifted to the ground, forgotten.

"You let him touch you?" His voice was low, dangerous.

A man who had no right to be near her.

Tara stiffened, lifting her chin despite the trembling in her limbs. "He was just—" she whispered, her heart pounding so hard it hurt.

Oman's gaze darkened. "Just what?"

Her silence was a blade against his ribs.

Did she know this man?

A fresh wave of rage threatened to consume him, but he forced it down. He was hanging on by a thread, and if he let himself slip, he wasn't sure what he would do.

But she only stared at him, her silence a quiet defiance.

Before she could react, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her wrist in a grip just shy of bruising. Tara gasped, her breath stalling, but he didn't let go.

His thumb brushed over the delicate skin of her pulse point, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath it. Her heart was racing.

The thought only fed the fire inside him.

With a sharp tug, he pulled her flush against his chest. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her there with a force that left no room for escape.

She gasped, palms pressing against his chest.

He dipped his head, his lips grazing her hair as he spoke, his voice low and strained. "Did you run here on your own will?"

Tara's breath hitched.

"What?"

His grip tightened. "Yes or no?"

The air between them crackled.

"Yes," she whispered.

Silence stretched between them before he spoke again.

"So you came here willingly... with him?"

There was something lethal in the way he said it—something that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Tell me, do you want to be free from me? Is that why you fled?" he demanded, his voice raw, cracking at the edges. "Did you want him to touch you or did you already gave him the right to touch you while you behaved like a little shy girl with him?"

Tara sucked in a breath, but before she could respond, Rashid's voice cut through.

"Oman—enough," he commanded, stepping between the raging man and the trembling figure of Tara. His tone was calm but unyielding, a beacon of reason amid the storm. "Let her go. This isn't the way."

"Shut up" he said. Oman's voice was like a whip, sharp and venomous.

Oman pushed yanked her away.

The air between them thickened but Rashid didn't move, didn't yield.

Oman's jaw clenched.

Tara felt it. The storm inside him, the war between fury and something deeper, something dangerous.

But before anyone could say another word, Oman turned sharply and strode toward his horse. His movements were sharp, fueled by something volatile, something he couldn't afford to unleash any further.

In one swift motion, he swung onto the saddle.

And then, without looking back—he tore into the night, vanishing into the darkness.

Leaving only dust and silence in his wake.

Tara stood frozen, her breath uneven, her chest aching with something she couldn't place.

'Was he doubting her?'

Rashid exhaled, running a hand down his face before stepping toward her. "Come," he said softly.

She barely registered it when he helped her onto his horse, his movements careful, steady. Her body was numb, her mind drowning under the weight of everything that had just unfolded.

Without another word, Rashid turned the horse toward the camp, leading her back into the remnants of a night that had changed everything.

Other men followed behind them, one carrying the merchant on a horse as if he were dead.

Tara wanted to confirm if the man was still alive, if he was okay—but the doubt that had crept into Oman's mind because of him stopped her from doing so.

As they reached the outskirts, the first tentative rays of dawn began to pierce the darkness.

As Rashid guided the horse through the camp's entrance, Fatima rushed toward Tara the moment she saw her, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Without hesitation, she pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her as if she had nearly lost her forever.

"I thought—" Fatima's voice broke, and she swallowed hard before pulling back just enough to cup Tara's face. "I was so afraid. When you didn't return with him..." She trailed off, shaking her head, her relief evident.

When Oman came back without her, she had assumed something had happened to Tara—that was the only reason she wouldn't have returned with him. She had tried questioning him and after that they had a heated conversation. Which had made fatima warn him.

But now she was relieved Tara was safe.

Tara could hear the murmurs—the uncertainty rippling through the camp. The women stole glances at her, some whispering amongst themselves, while the men stood still, their expressions unreadable.

Fatima had questioned her but Tara remained silent and it stopped fatima to questioning her further.

–––

Tara sat in her tent, staring at the untouched food in front of her. The entire afternoon passed without any sign of Oman—she neither saw him nor heard anything about him.

The faint murmur of voices outside her tent barely reached her ears. The entire camp was shifting—preparing for something.

Then, a voice rang through the air.

"Everyone to the battlefield! Gather at once!"

Tara flinched.

Fatima pushed aside the tent flap and rushed inside, breathless. "Tara, did you hear?"

Tara met her gaze, her stomach twisting. "What's happening?"

"They're announcing something" Fatima's voice was laced with unease. "Kasim is calling everyone."

The camp fell silent as Kasim stepped into the center, his tall figure cutting a commanding silhouette against the backdrop of the setting sun. His expression was stoic, his eyes scanning the gathered men and women, his voice steady but firm when he spoke.

"Attention, all of you." His voice boomed, drawing the crowd's focus.

The whispers and murmurs that had filled the camp over the past hours slowly faded, leaving only the heavy rustle of wind against the tents.

"The decision has been made. As you all know, the Sultan's forces are drawing closer, and danger is upon us. "

Tara looked through the crowd to find Oman but she couldn't find him anywhere.

"To ensure the safety of the women and our strength in battle," Kasim continued, "they will be sent to a secure location. A town far from here, where they will be protected under constant watch but out of harm's reach." His words were precise, cutting through the tension with sharpness.

Women started to protest, and the increasing voices and murmurs made it clear that they were not happy with this decision. They had trained, prepared for this moment.

Kasim raised his hand, silencing the voices. His gaze shifted over the men, meeting each pair of eyes with unyielding resolve.

"This is not a decision made lightly," he said. "It is for the survival of the camp, for our people. The men will remain here, ready for battle. The presence of the women could risk their focus. Their safety is our priority, and we cannot afford to be distracted."

The men would be stronger without the distraction of caring for their families, their women.

There was a pause—then, Kasim's voice dropped, low and commanding, almost like a final decree.

"You will leave tomorrow at dawn." A chill ran down Tara's spine.

Oman wasn't there. Where was he? Why hadn't he stopped this?

He had let this happen. Had he even tried to stop it?

Or had he 'wanted' this?

But somehoow she knew that this decision, this separation—it had his name written all over it.

Why it seemed like a punishment.

For her and only her.