Page 17

KAIRON

I wake abruptly, instincts flaring like a coiled spring. For a moment, confusion grips me. Darkness envelops my surroundings until the firelight flickers back to life in my mind, along with the damp scent of rain-soaked moss and the faint warmth radiating from Ava’s curled form on the cave floor.

She whimpers softly, a sound that pierces through the stillness.

My heart rate quickens as I turn my head to see her huddled tight, skin pale and slick with sweat.

Her breathing is uneven, labored, and I can’t help but frown.

The wound I cleaned is healing—but far too slowly for my liking.

Humans lack resilience; their bodies are fragile things compared to mine.

I glare at her from across the space, frustration knotting in my chest. Not because she’s weak—that’s just a fact of her nature—but because my body reacts before my mind can shut it down. I want to help her. I want her to survive in this hellhole we’ve landed in, even if I shouldn’t care.

A growl escapes me, low and rumbling, filled with irritation directed at myself. The sounds of the jungle filter through the overhang—distant growls and rustling leaves—a reminder of how perilous our situation remains.

I push off from where I crouch and move across the cave floor with calculated silence. Each step carries an urgency I can’t shake off. Ava’s vulnerability gnaws at something inside me—an instinct to protect her even when every rational part of me screams that she is not worth this attachment.

As I reach her side, I take a moment to observe her features: high cheekbones framed by disheveled strands of hair clinging to her damp skin. She looks lost in whatever nightmare plagues her sleep, but beneath that vulnerability lies a fierce spirit that draws me closer.

I crouch down beside her and gently brush a stray hair away from her forehead. The softness surprises me; it’s not something I’ve ever allowed myself to experience with anyone before. My fingers linger for just a moment longer than they should before pulling back.

Lying beside her feels like a concession. The cave’s chill seeps into my bones, and I can’t ignore the tremors wracking her body. She’s colder than I am, and for reasons I refuse to name, I can’t let her shiver alone.

I pull her against me—slowly, awkwardly. The contact is electric, sparking sensations I’m unprepared for. She fits along my body like something carved for me. Too warm. Too fragile. Too right.

It’s the storm, I tell myself, shoving aside the creeping unease gnawing at my thoughts. Only the storm.

As my arms wrap around her, I can feel the subtle movement of her body as she stirs, her eyelids fluttering open just a fraction, revealing the hazy depths of her confusion.

The dim light from the storm outside casts ghostly shadows across her face, accentuating the delicate features that are now so close to mine.

“What… are you doing?” she murmurs, her voice slurred and thick with the remnants of sleep, tangled with a hint of bewilderment. The softness of her tone makes my heart race, thrumming audibly in the silence that envelops us.

Her head shifts slightly beneath my chin, and an electric jolt of warmth courses through me, igniting something primal that I struggle to suppress.

My pulse spikes in response to her movement as she presses closer, instinctively drawing warmth from me like a moth irresistibly drawn to a flame.

It’s both disconcerting and intoxicating, this visceral connection that seems to defy logic.

“I don’t know,” I admit, the words spilling from my lips before I can even think to stop them.

They are raw, unfiltered confessions that hang in the air like a fragile truth, and I curse myself internally for giving voice to them.

Damn it. I can feel the weight of my own vulnerability, a sensation foreign and unwelcome, yet oddly liberating.

Outside, the storm intensifies—an unrelenting wild cacophony of howling winds and torrential rain that lashes against the cave's entrance, creating a chaotic symphony that speaks of nature's fury. Yet, within this cramped space, everything else fades into the background, narrowing to the singular reality of her presence beside me. The world outside may be tumultuous, but here, in this moment, she doesn’t pull away, and I cling to the hope that neither of us wants to.

Instead, she turns slowly in my arms, seeking more warmth or maybe something else entirely. Her eyes remain shut, soft breaths mingling with the sound of the storm as if she finds comfort in our shared shelter.

A knot tightens in my chest as she nestles deeper against me. Her hair brushes against my skin—silken strands that send a strange thrill through me.

Something shifts within me—an unwelcome desire to protect her surges forward like a tide that cannot be held back. My thoughts flicker back to our earlier skirmishes—the anger and disdain we tossed at each other like blades—but they feel distant now.

Her fingers glide along my chest, brushing over the rough planes of my skin. They travel over scars and bony ridges, tracing paths that tell stories of survival. The heat radiates from her touch, igniting something deep inside me.

I fight against the immediate reaction—shame washes over me like ice water. It’s not just arousal. No, this is different. This hunger claws at me, demanding closeness, something I’ve long buried under layers of detachment and brutality.

Ava stirs closer, her breath soft and shallow against my throat.

I stare down at her face, illuminated by the flickering firelight, watching her features soften in sleep.

Every instinct within me screams to pull away—to guard this fragile space I’ve created around myself with walls built from violence and solitude.

Yet here she is, pressed against me, warm and inviting.

My hand hovers near her back, close enough to feel the heat radiating through the damp fabric of her shirt but not touching—never touching.

What would it mean if I crossed that line?

If I pulled her closer instead of maintaining this distance I’ve fought so hard to preserve?

The fire crackles softly in the silence, a heartbeat echoing our shared stillness.

Ava’s hand rests lightly on my chest, her thumb brushing my skin just once—a fleeting touch that sends shockwaves through me.

I wish I could decipher what it means: curiosity?

Trust? Or maybe something deeper that neither of us dares to name.

I study her face again, tracing the delicate curve of her lips with my gaze, imagining what it would feel like if they brushed against mine. The thought ignites a wild surge within me that feels dangerously vulnerable.

A whisper of a thought crosses my mind: What if I kissed her?

What if… she kissed me first?

The idea lingers in the air between us like a promise unspoken—a dangerous proposition that sends a wave of desire curling in my groin.