Page 12

V rok

She’s too different. Too human.

And yet, despite her fear of the jungle and the beasts that lurk within it, she refuses to give up. It would almost be admirable, if it weren’t so infuriating.

Her stubbornness and her refusal to admit she doesn’t belong here only compounds my problems. She has neither the strength nor the natural armor or camouflage that protect a Laediriian.

Instead, she’s soft. Soft in a way no Laediriian—not even our long-dead females—would ever be.

Her skin is smooth where mine is thick and ridged, and her curves are unmistakably female.

That kind of softness is a liability here.

Everything about her—her soft form, her dulled senses, her rounded ears—screams fragility. She doesn’t even have functional teeth. Instead, they’re blunt and dull compared to my fangs. She doesn’t belong here, and she never will.

It is exactly as my father has said from the beginning.

The humans are too fragile and too alien.

From the moment their vessel fell from the sky, he ranted that they were unworthy of a Laediriian’s care.

Soft meat dropped into a world made of stone and fire, he called them as he paced the length of our hut with that familiar scowl carved into his face.

At the time, I agreed. I still do. Mostly.

Even their most vital organs are inferior to ours.

According to Warrix, they only have one heart.

No amoris heart that lies dormant until the amoris bond is awakened.

Without it, they could never truly experience the bond that defines our species.

They’ll never know what it is to feel another spirit as if it were their own.

So why do I tense every time she stumbles? Why does the sight of her flinching at shadows send a slow burn of frustration through my chest? Not at her, but at the jungle itself for daring to scare her.

What I feel when I look at her isn’t disdain like my father would expect. It’s something else. Something I don’t have a name for.

She’s ill-equipped for this world. Any fool could see that. Laedirissae was not made for delicate creatures like her. It’s too dangerous for her, no matter the stubborn argument she made back in the village. It chews up the unprepared and spits out their bones. I was certain she’d be next.

She never should have come. This place will swallow her whole if given a chance.

And yet she hasn’t broken.

I expected her to crumble as soon as we left the safety of the village walls. I waited for the tears, for panic, for her to beg to turn back. Instead, she squared her shoulders and asked which direction we were heading first.

Even now, as we dismount Dania and begin picking our way across a stretch of uneven, rocky ground, she keeps going.

On one side is a sheer drop, while the other ascends into a steep embankment, but she doesn’t falter.

Her breath is labored, her steps are sluggish and sweat beads on her brow.

Dirt smudges her flushed cheeks, but she presses on as if sheer willpower is enough to keep her upright.

I’ve seen warriors—trained fighters who have stared death in the face—grumble over less. But this human? She defies my every expectation.

There’s a fire in her I didn’t expect. A strong will that doesn’t match the frailty of her frame.

I tell myself that’s the only reason I keep watching her. That my gaze lingers only because I am assessing her weaknesses and measuring how much longer she can last.

But that’s a lie.

My gaze catches on the sway of her hips as she walks and on the gentle curves barely hidden beneath the thin dress she wears. My hands flex at my sides before I force them to still.

She is too different. Too human. And I shouldn’t notice her like that.

My father would say this is the first sign of the humans’ danger, the way they slip beneath your guard. He warned me not to get close. You’ll start seeing them as something to protect, and then you’ll start believing they matter, he would say.

But there’s something about her stubborn, reckless fire that I can’t ignore. It’s more than just defiance, it’s a force I’ve never seen before. Whatever drives her is stronger than her fear and louder than her exhaustion.

I should admire it. Instead, it grates on me.

I should be focused on the path ahead and on the dangers I know await us, but I can’t stop noticing her. The determined set of her jaw. The way she glares at the jungle as if daring it to test her resolve. She may be reckless, but she’s also brave. Stupidly, stubbornly, frustratingly brave.

A low growl rumbles in my chest as I force my gaze forward. She doesn’t need my admiration. She needs my protection, whether she realizes it or not. And it’s that fact, the weight of responsibility she represents, that frustrates me most.

“Keep your eyes on the ground,” I snap, unable to keep the irritation from my voice. “You’ll trip if you’re not careful.”

“I’m fine,” she mutters defensively.

Fine. There’s that word again. The little female has been saying it since we left. As if speaking it makes it true. But she isn’t fine. She’s exhausted. She’s scared.

But she’s here. And no matter how much her reckless determination grates on me, I can’t deny that she’s earning my grudging respect with each step she takes.

Still, if she gets herself killed before this journey is over, I’m not sure if my frustration will outweigh the loss.

With a sharp intake of breath that draws my attention, she stumbles.

A loose stone shifts under her foot, sending small rocks skittering down the incline next to us.

She curses under her breath as she tries to catch herself, but before I can even think, I’m already at her side.

My hand wraps around her upper arm as she teeters dangerously close to the edge.

Her head snaps up, her gray eyes wide and stormy. “I had it,” she says breathlessly. There’s a tremor in her voice she probably wishes I didn’t notice.

“You didn’t,” I growl, pulling her back away from the edge. My grip on her arm tightens for a moment before I force myself to let go, though my instincts scream to keep her tethered to me. “One slip and you would have gone over.”

“I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that,” I mutter as I scan the terrain. The incline here isn’t steep enough to kill her, but an injury this far from a medic could be dangerous. “Does it mean something else in Humanish?”

She exhales sharply, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “I’m not helpless, Vrok.”

“No, but you’re human. You’re weak, and this jungle doesn’t care about your stubborn pride,” I reply. My voice is edged with the frustration that makes my heart pound out a beat like it’s a drum.

Her lips press into a thin line. “And I suppose you think I should just sit down and wait for you to carry me through it?”

My gaze flickers over her before I can stop it. Over the rise and fall of the two orbs that protrude from her chest, the soft curves of her hips and backside. My cock twitches beneath my loincloth.

Wrenching my gaze away from her, I clear my throat. “If that’s what it takes to keep you alive, then yes.”

The air between us shifts, thickening with something unspoken. She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, a low, guttural growl rolls through the trees. And just like that, every thought of her curves, her fire, and her infuriating stubbornness is erased.

My muscles go rigid as my hand instinctively moves to the blade at my side.

Emily freezes beside me, her gray eyes darting around in fear, looking for the sound that sent a shiver of foreboding through the air.

Just behind us, Dania snorts, and the muscles along her back quiver with agitation as she comes to a sudden halt, refusing to move another foot.

“What was that?” She whispers.

“Stay here.” I step in front of her. My eyes sweep over the terrain and my ears swivel, straining to determine the location of the growl, but the steady rhythm of my pounding heart is the only other sound I hear.

Until another growl cuts through the stillness that has fallen over the jungle. It’s louder this time. And closer.

Tilting my head back, my gaze narrows as I catch a flicker of movement in the shadows above us.

It’s a young magnis, judging by its size and reckless boldness.

It slinks between branches heavy with hanging vines, dislodging small stones and clumps of soil that tumble down the slope in a quiet cascade.

The underbrush rustles in a warning that comes a heartbeat too late.

Almost as soon as I’ve sighted it, the creature leaps.

Its massive form is silhouetted against the dappled light as it descends with terrifying speed before landing with a deafening thud on the rocky trail in front of us, kicking up a cloud of dust. Its knife-like claws scrape against the rock, sending a high-pitched screech into the stillness.

Behind me, the little female gasps.

The magnis stands at least twice my height, its sinewy frame is a map of scale-covered muscles that quiver with the urge to lunge.

Its slick blue and black mottled hide gleams with a faint iridescence in the dappled light.

It lifts its head slowly, its nostrils flaring wide as it scents the air.

The creature’s elongated snout twists into something that looks like a grin, and its unblinking yellow eyes fix on us with hungry intent.

“Vrok,” she whispers.

The fear trembling in her voice nearly breaks my focus. For one irrational heartbeat, the urge to turn around and comfort her rises inside me. I want to tell her everything is going to be alright. But I don’t do that. Instead, I keep my gaze on the beast in front of me.

“Stay behind me,” I order, locking eyes with the magnis. With one fluid motion, I draw my sword.