Page 42 of Feral Gods

KAIA

C onsciousness returns in fragments—the cool press of stone beneath my back, the tang of medicinal herbs in the air, a dull throbbing at my temple that pulses in time with my heartbeat. I open my eyes to find Zephyr leaning over me, turquoise gaze intent as he applies a salve to my forehead.

"She wakes," he announces, relief evident in his typically measured voice.

Thane appears in my field of vision, crimson eyes shadowed with concern. "How do you feel, little warrior?"

"Like I've been trampled by a herd of mountain oxen," I mutter, attempting to sit up. The world tilts alarmingly, forcing me back to the stone altar. "What happened?"

The two gargoyles exchange a glance heavy with unspoken meaning.

"The ceiling collapsed during the... disagreement," Zephyr explains carefully. "You were struck by falling debris."

Memories flood back Ravik's fury, the violent confrontation, the terrifying sound of stone giving way above us. And before that, the possessive rage in Ravik's amber eyes when he saw Zephyr touch me.

"Where is he?" I ask, though I already suspect the answer.

Thane's massive shoulders tense. "Maintaining the perimeter. He hasn't returned to the inner chambers since..."

Since he nearly killed me in his jealous rage, the unfinished sentence implies. Except that's not what happened—not exactly. Through the fog of my returning memory, I recall the horror on Ravik's face as I fell, his desperate lunge to protect me from the falling stones.

"How long have I been unconscious?"

"Nearly a full day," Zephyr replies, helping me into a sitting position with gentle hands. "Your injury wasn't severe, but the body often requires time to recover from such shocks."

A day. An entire day lost while our enemies draw closer, while the fractures in our fragile family widen into chasms. I swing my legs over the edge of the altar, ignoring the renewed pounding in my head.

"I need to speak with him."

"Absolutely not," Thane growls, stepping forward to block my path. "He's unstable, unpredictable. Until he masters his possessive instincts?—"

"He won't hurt me," I interrupt, meeting Thane's concerned gaze steadily.

"He already has." Thane gestures to the bandage at my temple.

"Unintentionally," I insist. "And that's precisely why he's staying away—he believes he's protecting me from himself."

Zephyr moves to stand beside Thane, their unified front more frustrating than their individual objections. "Your assessment has merit," the scholarly gargoyle concedes, "but your physical condition makes immediate confrontation inadvisable."

"We don't have the luxury of time." I slide from the altar to prove my point, suppressing a wince as my bare feet touch the cold stone floor.

"King Kres's forces approach from the south, purna from the east, and our strongest fighter has exiled himself out of misplaced guilt.

The sanctuary lies damaged from your confrontation. And you're worried about my headache?"

Thane's expression darkens, wings mantling slightly at my challenge. "Your safety is non-negotiable."

"My agency is non-negotiable," I counter, straightening to my full height—still laughably small compared to their massive forms, but what I lack in stature I make up for in conviction. "I'm not asking permission, Thane. I'm informing you of my decision."

Something shifts in his crimson gaze—surprise, then a grudging respect. He exchanges another glance with Zephyr, who gives an almost imperceptible nod.

"Then at least allow me to accompany you to the upper levels," Thane concedes, his tone making it clear this is his final offer. "He's taken position in the northern watchtower."

"Alone," I specify, softening my stance slightly in recognition of their concern. "I'll call if I need you, but this conversation must happen without an audience."

Reluctantly, Thane agrees, escorting me through the sanctuary's winding passages toward the northern tower.

The evidence of yesterday's confrontation marks our path—cracked walls, collapsed sections hastily shored up, scorch marks where magical energy discharged against stone.

The sanctuary bears the physical scars of emotional wounds still raw and bleeding.

At the tower's base, Thane pauses. "He is not himself," he warns, one massive hand gently squeezing my shoulder. "Approach with caution, little warrior."

"I know what I'm doing," I assure him, though in truth, I'm navigating uncharted territory.

Before my escape from Liiandor, relationships meant only exploitation and power imbalance.

Now I find myself at the center of something unprecedented —three powerful beings offering different forms of connection, each vital, each overwhelming in its own way.

Thane reluctantly retreats, leaving me to climb the narrow spiral staircase alone. Each step requires concentration, my balance still compromised by yesterday's injury. By the time I reach the uppermost chamber, my head throbs in earnest and perspiration dampens my tunic despite the mountain chill.

The watchtower opens to the sky, its ancient roof long since collapsed. Ravik stands with his back to me, wings folded tightly against his obsidian form, silhouetted against the vast mountain panorama. He doesn't turn at my approach, though I know he's sensed my presence.

"You shouldn't be here," he says, voice rough with emotions kept rigidly in check.

"Yet here I stand." I move closer, stopping a few paces behind him. "Will you at least look at me?"

"To what end?" Still he keeps his back turned. "To see the damage I've caused? To witness the fear I've planted where trust once grew?"

"To see that I'm healing. That I'm whole. That I'm choosing to be here despite what happened."

A tremor passes through his powerful frame. When he finally turns, the anguish in his amber eyes steals my breath. Gone is the imposing commander, the territorial alpha. In his place stands a being stripped to raw nerves, self-loathing etched into every line of his face.

"I swore to protect you," he rasps, gaze fixed on the bandage at my temple. "Instead, I became the threat I vowed to shield you from."

"You made a mistake," I acknowledge, taking another step forward. "One born of emotion, not malice."

"The distinction matters little when the result is your blood spilled by my hand." His talons flex at his sides, then curl into tight fists. "I am what I have always been—violence given form, possession given voice. Unworthy of your trust. Your touch. Your—" He breaks off, jaw clenching.

"My love?" I finish for him, the word hanging between us like a challenge.

His wings mantling slightly, a reflexive response to emotional exposure. "A concept I barely comprehend, let alone deserve."

"Love isn't earned like battle honors, Ravik. It's given, chosen, created between equals." I close the remaining distance between us, standing close enough to feel the heat radiating from his stone-like skin. "And I choose to create it with you, despite your flaws. Perhaps even because of them."

Confusion clouds his amber gaze. "I endangered you. Nearly killed you in my jealous rage."

"You lost control," I correct gently. "Then found it again at the critical moment. Your first instinct when the ceiling collapsed was to protect me, not yourself."

"Too little, too late."

"No." I reach up, ignoring his flinch to lay my palm against his cheek. "That moment revealed your true core beneath all the possession and jealousy. When life was truly at stake, your instinct was protection, not control."

He remains rigid beneath my touch, disbelief warring with desperate hope in his expression. "How can you stand before me without fear after what I've done?"

"Because I see all of you, Ravik. The rage and the tenderness. The possessiveness and the sacrifice. The beast and the being. I choose all of it—all of you."

Something breaks in his carefully maintained facade. With a sound that's half growl, half sob, he pulls me against his chest, arms encircling me with exquisite care, as if I might shatter at any moment.

"I do not deserve this chance," he murmurs into my hair.

"Perhaps not," I acknowledge, nestling closer. "But you need it. And so do I."

We stand entwined as morning light strengthens around us, neither speaking, each absorbing the other's presence. Gradually, the rigid tension in his frame subsides, replaced by a different kind of alertness—the vigilant protection that defines him at his core.

"The others," he finally says, pulling back slightly. "I owe them apologies as well."

"Yes, you do." I don't soften this truth. "But first, we need to talk about what truly triggered your rage yesterday."

His jaw tightens, gaze shifting away from mine. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters completely if we're to prevent a recurrence." I take his face between my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. "Tell me. Please."

The request, offered without demand, seems to reach him where commands could not. After a long moment, he sighs, the sound carrying centuries of burden.

"It was not the physical intimacy," he admits reluctantly. "I had... prepared myself for that inevitability. It was the other connection I witnessed—the intellectual bond, the magical harmony. Something I cannot provide with my limited... capacities."

Understanding dawns. "You believe Zephyr offers something you cannot."

"It is not belief but fact. His knowledge, his control, his understanding of magic and history—these are valuable beyond measure in our circumstances. While I offer only brute strength and battle strategy."