Page 5

CHAPTER

FIVE

The heavy pounding of hooves echoes in my brain. Geralt has been racing flat out for at least twenty minutes while Solan keeps pace. Sweat soaks my shirt and plasters my hair to my forehead. The hammering of my heart is so intense, it’s difficult to register where we’re going or what we’re going to do.

I don’t even know if we’re heading in the direction of Solan’s, where I hope Jamie is safe inside the thick walls of rock.

Geralt shakes his head. He’s almost done. Such a fast-paced run, especially after the exertion of yesterday, is more than he’s used to.

I risk a glance over my shoulder, not seeing anything but trees and jagged rocks. “Is it safe to slow down?” I holler, hoping the wind doesn’t steal my words and carry them to the guards in pursuit.

How has this become my life? How did the thought of my words carrying into the distance become a fear so terrifying that it threatens to make me numb?

Solan’s intense gaze is on me in an instant, ensnaring me. The moment gives me barely a reprieve, a minuscule distraction, but then he parts his lips and says, “Head to the grove of silver drungas.”

I follow his line of sight and spot towering spikey silver stalks that look a little like bamboo. They’re slimmer, though, and covered in thorns I absolutely don’t want to get close to even as I steer Geralt in that direction.

We remain silent as we reach the copse of drungas, and I finally ease back on the reins, slowing Geralt down when Solan reduces his pace. Without the wind blasting my face, I inhale deeply. It’s shaky, and fuck if it doesn’t remind me of the time when I was twelve and was out on a muster with my dad and Uncle Dirk and had been responsible for riding to the nearest ranch for help when Uncle Dirk broke his leg and collarbone.

Until this moment—hell, the past forty-eight hours—that had been the most frightened I’d ever been. There’s nothing like an interdimensional clusterfuck to remind you that you’re only human and nothing can prepare you for shit being this insane.

“Can you breathe okay?” Solan’s gruff concern has fresh goose bumps springing to life while I jerk my attention to him, taking in his expression. His whole body is rigid, his hands clenched at his sides, a couple of his digits twitching.

The motion reminds me of what it felt like when he held my hand. In fairness, he gripped the fuck out of it and tugged hard as we ran as if a pack of… well, like a goddamn army was after us. But now, it’s easy to recall the sensation. Which is weird, right? That I can remember the touch of his skin. The flare of heat before it cooled and seemed to match mine, feeling almost like his body was an extension of my own.

Yeah, definitely strange as fuck.

A rough whine-like sound grumbles out of Solan. I widen my eyes at the noise. He sounds distressed, and from the force of his gaze, it takes me barely a second to register that I’ve been staring at the palm of my hand. I didn’t even realise I’d lifted it.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat, returning my hand to the reins. “I can breathe okay. Geralt needed a break.” I have no issue using my horse as an excuse for my meltdown.

Solan’s gaze remains fixed on me, and even in the heavy silence, the intensity of it anchors me more than I care to admit. His brow furrows slightly, and he nods, accepting my explanation about Geralt’s exhaustion. He continues to study me before he bobs his head and focusses on the path ahead. For a few tense moments, we catch our breaths in the shade of the towering silver drungas. We’re shielded from prying eyes, but their spikes feel like a warning of their own.

Without another word, Solan gestures for us to follow him eastwards, skirting around a thick copse of low-hanging branches. The relentless gallop slows to a quiet but steady jog, allowing Geralt some relief and my pulse to calm. My mind’s still swirling—fear and adrenaline mixing in a potent cocktail that keeps me from asking more questions. But Solan keeps glancing my way, waiting.

Finally, I give in, forcing my breathing to even out. “What’s the plan?” I ask. “Where are we going?”

His gaze sharpens as if the question grounds him. “East first. Then we’ll double back, avoid the merge point entirely. After that, we’ll follow a path the guards don’t often patrol.” He glances over his shoulder, ensuring we’re not followed. “But first, we’re going to see my brother-in-law’s father.”

“The chief merchant?” I ask, recalling what he told me earlier.

Solan’s lips tilt upwards just slightly. “That’s right. To Myra’s Crossing. His store is like a Schwarzenegger safe house. Not exactly impenetrable, but he’s got enough muscle to keep most people from poking their noses in. And enough hiding spots should they be needed.”

The comment catches me off-guard, and I laugh, partly because of the absurdity of Schwarzenegger even existing in this world and partly because I could use the levity. Solan’s chuckle is rich and low, a warm rumble that has me grinning despite myself.

“All right, fine. If we’re heading to your Arnie’s stronghold, do I need to do anything? Like… blend in?”

He grins wider at that, glancing at me with that playful spark that feels like a lifeline right now. “Yes,” he says with mock severity. “We’re going to make you as inconspicuous as possible. And that’s where the flowers come in.”

He stops at a break in the trees where a trickling stream runs over a rocky bed, the water glistening under the sun. Blooms that are a bright almost neon blue cluster along the stream, their five-petalled heads stretching towards the light.

“These flowers can be used to make dye,” he explains, kneeling by the stream to gather a handful, while I make sure Geralt drinks. “It should help you blend in better once we get to the market town.”

Wiping the sweat off my brow, I push off my dusty Akubra. “So, what? We just… rub the petals on my face and call it good?”

He grins, shaking his head as he begins to crush the petals into a thick paste with water. “It’s not quite that easy. Hold still.” He glances at my shirt, nodding. “You’ll need to remove that. It’s the only way the dye will cover evenly.”

My pulse quickens, though I tell myself it’s from adrenaline alone. I pull my shirt over my head and glance up to find Solan staring at me, his own cheeks a slight shade darker than normal. For a moment, we’re both frozen in place, tension humming in the air between us, thick as molasses.

“All right,” I murmur, swallowing hard, “just get on with it.”

He dips his hands into the paste, then spreads a warm layer of blue across my shoulders and down my arms, his touch careful, almost reverent. His fingers move smoothly, but each pass over my skin leaves a tingling trail of warmth that makes it hard to breathe. Every now and then, I sneak a glance at him, his focus so intent on the task, it’s almost disconcerting.

Unable to help myself, I blurt, “Is that… your tongue?” He’s still focussed on the dye, but when his lips part slightly, I catch a glimpse of a long, slender tongue, dark and slightly forked.

He raises an eyebrow, glancing at me with amusement flickering in his gaze. “Curious, are we?”

“What?” I flush. “I mean, I didn’t know if… uh, if monsters, uhm… different species, you know, use it the same way we do.”

He chuckles softly, though there’s something intense in his gaze. “My species may be different, but we experience… closeness… in our own ways.”

As he says this, his hair flickers, the tendrils seeming to float, almost reaching, like they have a life of their own. They undulate subtly in time with his breathing, reacting to something beyond my understanding. It’s enough to distract me that he immediately responded to my interest in context to “closeness” rather than tasting food.

“What’s going on with that?” I ask, gesturing to the strands. “It’s… your hair… it’s like it’s responding to me?”

“Not just you,” he says quickly. “These aren’t exactly hair, not in the way you understand. They’re—” He hesitates, the tips of the strands curling as if considering how to explain. “—a part of my sensory system. A kind of living flame, in a way. They react to my surroundings, to people… and yes, to emotions.”

“Emotions?” I whisper, transfixed by the gentle, flickering movements. The bright strands sway and shift, a physical embodiment of whatever emotions he’s trying to contain. “So, they respond to what you’re feeling?”

His voice drops, quiet, almost vulnerable. “They do. And they’re sensitive, in more ways than one.”

“And… if someone were to touch them?” I ask, my curiosity piqued. “Would it hurt?”

He considers my question, his gaze softening as he watches me. “For a human, it would. They carry a heat that can burn on contact. My species has to learn to control it. It’s part of becoming fully grown.”

“Has anyone ever…?” I start but pause, feeling my own cheeks heat. Because yeah, asking the guy if damage is caused when he’s fucking and things get out of control, resulting in someone gripping his hair, is definitely not what I should be thinking, let alone asking. But screw it. Focussing on this gets my mind off other shit. “Like, do they… interact with your emotions like that? If you feel out of control?”

He holds my gaze, a beat of silence stretching between us. “They can,” he says slowly, and it’s crystal clear he’s read between the lines. “For us, there’s… a bond. A mate. One person who’s like a second soul.” He clears his throat, looking down at the dye as he continues applying it to my shoulders. “When the connection forms, it’s a link deeper than anything else. Physical, biological… emotional.”

I can’t look away from him, my mind racing with questions I can barely find the words to ask. “A mate… like… a soul bond?” That’s a thing, right? In books, in movies? And bloody hell, in real life, too, apparently.

He nods. “It’s rare. But when it happens, it’s as if every part of us, from those ‘tendrils’ to our emotions, is in tune with that other person. It’s… consuming. And no part of me—my flames—could ever hurt my mate. It’s physically impossible. I would rather my heart and soul perish before I hurt them.”

His voice is soft, but the emotion there is real, raw in a way that makes me ache. I want to know more, to ask if he’s ever experienced anything like that, if there’s someone out there who’s felt that connection with him. But before I can find the words, his hands glide down my arms, his touch lingering just a moment too long.

The final bit of dye applied, he releases me, pulling back to give me space. “There,” he says, voice low. “You’re ready.”

I’m almost disappointed when his touch is gone, replaced only by the cool weight of the blue dye on my skin. But the air between us is electric, charged with an unspoken pull neither of us seems able—or willing—to break.

Who am I kidding? My dick is hard, and not even my confusion can get it to behave.

He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. But as we gather ourselves, preparing to head back into the wilderness, I can’t shake the thought that maybe this strange connection, this intensity, isn’t so one-sided after all.

It’s not something I should be thinking about. But the very idea of “mates” constantly swirls in my thoughts even as we draw closer to the market town.

It’s obvious we’re almost there. What’s also worryingly obvious is, I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.

I’ve spent a good portion of my time talking to cattle and living in my own bubble. The sight before me is the result of a thick, sharp needle that’s exploded it well and truly.

How the hell do I “blend in” when surrounding me are more and more varying shades of blue monsters? I’m doing a stellar impression of a dying fish, but it’s impossible not to gawp. And if I carry on, I’m going to give myself away.

We’re on foot, having stashed Geralt away from prying eyes. A cloth of sorts covers my head and part of my face. Another is wrapped around my jeans, much like a sarong. Honestly, when Solan dressed me, I was more than a little dubious, but the further we walk into the hustle and bustle of the town, the greater variety of species I see.

Not that there are many compared to the number of Glowranth.

The Glowranth is definitely the dominant species—obviously being born in this world will do that. But after spotting at least five different types of creatures, it’s clear that rifts have been happening more regularly than I thought. That or some of the dimensional merges happened in built-up areas and resulted in a huge population growth.

Solan remains close, his familiar heat a steady presence, which sounds crazy, considering it’s only been a day since the world showed me its arse, so nothing should be feeling “steady.” As we walk, several Glowranth and almost every other species dart their attention Solan’s way. The majority offer a barely perceptible up-nod. It would be easy to miss, I’m sure, but since I’m wide-eyed and not being subtle, I notice every single one.

But it’s the sometimes-wide-eyed looks of fear that capture my attention, closely followed by the terrified monster scuttling off. Two go as far as doing an about-turn and bolting down the closest alley.

“Does everyone know you?” I say quietly, fully aware speaking English in the bustling streets is likely to cause more heads to turn. The buildings around us are mostly single-storey. They’re brightly coloured in various shades of the rainbow. Another time, I’d be joking about preparing for a Pride parade and feeling right at home. But I’m certain that’s not what’s going on here.

While market-type stalls are visible, they’re staggered apart with storefronts separating them, and smaller side streets break off from the large open walkway that’s clearly the main path. With the increasing number of monsters around me, I can only imagine how sprawling this place is. It’s nothing like the outback towns I’m used to.

I side-eye Solan when he doesn’t respond, my hidden brows shooting high when his strands react in a gentle wave.

He’s embarrassed. Fuck knows how, exactly, I’m so sure, but without a doubt, he is.

“What is it? Are you some kind of celebrity or something?” I’m only half-joking. But if he is, I’m not sure how long I can get away with blending in. It’s the few legit terrified expressions I’d caught, though, that make me suspect that he’s far from holding some sort of celebrity status.

After the briefest of hesitations, he shoots a glance my way. “No,” he answers gruffly, his voice quiet as he steps to the side, his palm touching my back and sending a bolt of awareness to every nerve ending. He guides me away from something blue and sticky on the ground and then drops his hand.

Inhaling a ragged breath, I pretend like the storefront selling some sort of metallic-looking pot is the most interesting thing in the world. It’s safer than chasing Solan’s touch while wanting to race back to Jamie and hide somewhere until another freak explosion happens.

Yeah, talk about mixed fucking feelings.

I’m dancing between hating the sensation of contemplating all these bullshit thoughts and feeling so incredibly grateful that Solan was the one to come to our rescue.

Maybe that’s all this is: gratitude. Getting a boner for the monster who saved us shouldn’t make sense in any universe. But here we are.

Solan saying, “I have a role here. It is why I am known,” makes me jump. He’d been quiet for so long, moving with sure, certain movements through the increasingly busy streets, it was easy to forget I’d asked a question. After his “No,” I hadn’t expected anything else.

I angle my face to peer up at him, meeting his eyes briefly before he looks ahead. “And what’s your role?” I keep my voice even despite a flurry of nerves waking up in my gut. That Solan’s being evasive is obvious.

Nothing he’s done has made me doubt him or his intentions, but I’ve made more than one decision over the years that’s ended up biting me on the arse. And sure, I might like the idea of Solan scraping his sharp fangs over my skin a little too much, but it’s not sensible to put my complete faith in him.

So why the fuck does even thinking that I can’t trust him implicitly send a slither of wrongness dancing up my spine?

“Solan?” I push, keeping my voice quiet but threading as much of a demand through it as I can.

His throat moves in a swallow, tugging my attention there, and I follow its path. I dart my gaze back to his face as he turns it my way, hauls me to the side, and pauses.

Nerves send a shiver down my spine, causing a fresh outbreak of goose bumps.

But fuck if he doesn’t look equally as nervous.

His gaze searches mine, the flash of his fangs appearing as one pinches against his bottom lip. He parts his lips, his voice a deep cadence as he says, “I’m… I’m the Kelvarra .” Despite the hesitation that preceded his statement, he manages to keep his voice steady. The unfamiliar word rolls off his tongue with an almost-reverent weight, but it leaves me blinking in confusion.

“The what now?” I ask, leaning closer to ensure I’ve heard him correctly.

“The Kelvarra, ” he repeats, his gaze shifting away from mine to scan the bustling street. A couple of Glowranth pause mid-stride, their eyes darting between us before they hurry on. Solan doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he does and chooses not to care. “It’s… a title. A role given to me by the town’s Harethrin. You might call her a mayor or governor, though she serves the sovereign state.”

My confusion deepens. “Okay, so what does a Kelvarra do, exactly?”

His jaw tightens, and the strands of his sensory “hair” ripple faintly, betraying his discomfort. “I am this town’s protector,” he says, his voice low enough that I have to strain to hear him over the clamour of the market. “When someone or a creature threatens the borders, when something unnatural breaches the safety of Myra’s Crossing, I am called upon to eliminate the threat.”

That part makes sense. He saved me and Jamie, after all. His accuracy was true and deadly. But there’s something more in his tone, a gravity that tells me he hasn’t shared the whole truth yet.

“And?” I press, my voice quieter now, coaxing rather than demanding. “That’s not all, is it?”

Solan exhales through his nose, his head tilting downwards as if the weight of what he’s about to say has become too much. “No,” he admits. “I am also… the executioner. When the queen’s law must be upheld and punishment delivered, it falls to me to carry it out.”

I stagger back a step, my chest tightening as I process his words. The picture of Solan I’ve built in my mind—gentle, compassionate, with those sparks of humour that keep me grounded—is suddenly painted over with shades of violence and death.

An executioner.

My throat feels dry. “You kill people,” I say, the words blunt and unpolished as they tumble out of my mouth.

His sharp intake of breath makes me flinch. His gaze meets mine, and for the first time, there’s something like shame simmering beneath his glowing eyes. “Only when there is no other choice,” he says firmly. “Only when the Harethrin decrees it necessary to uphold order. The Kelvarra must serve the town and its people. I do what is required to keep them safe.”

The bustling street seems to fade around us as the implications settle in. Fear prickles at the edges of my mind, but it’s not for me—it’s for him. I’ve seen how others look at him, with that blend of respect and terror. I can only imagine what it must feel like to carry that burden.

“How long?” I ask, my voice softer now. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Since the rift,” he answers. “The Harethrin saw my… abilities and deemed me fit for the role. It was all Harith—my brother-in-law’s father—could arrange to keep me from being sent to the queen’s domain. He… he called in every favour he could to ensure I remained here.”

The weight of his words hits me square in the chest. Solan isn’t some coldhearted killer revelling in his power. He’s a monster caught between survival and duty, forced into a role he didn’t choose but one he fulfills with unwavering resolve.

“And the monsters here?” I ask, glancing at the retreating figures who give him such a wide berth. “Do they respect you? Fear you?”

His lips press into a thin line, the tendrils of his sensory hair flickering faintly. “Both,” he says after a pause. “Many respect what I do because it keeps their families safe. But there are those who fear the Kelvarra, who see only the death I bring and not the lives I save.”

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. What can I even say to that? My gut churns with the knowledge of what he’s endured—what he’s still enduring—but more than anything, I’m grateful. Grateful that Solan is here, by my side, using that lethal precision to protect me and Jamie. Grateful that despite everything, he’s not some heartless monster.

“You’re not what I expected,” I finally say, my voice trembling with the weight of my emotions. “You’ve been through all of that, and you still… you still care. About these monsters. About me.”

His gaze snaps to mine, surprise appearing in his glowing eyes. For a moment, the hardened exterior he wears so well seems to crack, revealing a vulnerable core beneath. “Of course I care,” he says softly. “If I didn’t, I would have become the very thing I’m meant to protect against. I couldn’t let that happen.”

The sincerity in his words sends a lump to my throat, and I nod, swallowing it down. “I’m glad you’re on my side,” I say, my voice firmer now. “Grateful as hell for it, actually.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Always,” he promises, and the single word feels like an anchor in the storm of uncertainty swirling around us.

I don’t press him further as we continue through the market. I need time to process everything he’s just shared, but one thing remains crystal clear: No matter how dangerous Solan’s past—or his role as the Kelvarra —might make him, there’s not a single doubt in my mind that I’m safer with him than anywhere else in this fractured world.