Page 20

V rok

The rain is relentless, soaking us through as we press forward through the jungle. Cold water slides down my back, mud clings to my boots, and my side…

It burns with every movement, but I shove the pain aside. I can’t afford to focus on it. Not with Emily beside me, her smaller frame trembling from the cold, and her breaths coming in short gasps.

She’s exhausted. I see it in the way she stumbles over twisted roots, in the way her steps drag, and in her shoulders curled inward.

My own body moves with practiced endurance.

The wound in my side aches with every step I take, but I keep my pace steady and my expression impassive.

I can’t let her see my weakness. I can’t be weak. Not now. Not ever.

Up ahead, I spot the dark mouth of a cave peeking out from behind a curtain of vines. It’s small, barely more than a hollow carved in the rock, but it will have to do.

Stopping this soon isn’t wise, but Emily looks like she can’t take another step. And the fast-moving river should have put enough distance between us and our pursuers. At least, for now.

“There,” I say, pointing. “We can wait out the storm in that cave.”

Emily doesn’t speak, instead, she just nods and quietly follows me inside.

The cave is cool and damp, but it’s a reprieve from the rain and the tangled, dripping jungle.

I drop the satchels I managed to save onto the stone floor and lean against the wall, letting the cold stone press into my shoulders.

My side throbs, but I lock my jaw and breathe through it.

Just for a moment. Just long enough to get the pain under control, before she turns around and sees more than I want her to.

Beside me, Emily sinks to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. “Do you think they’re still following us?” she asks. Her dull, rounded teeth chatter together from the cold.

“Not now,” I say, though I keep my eyes on the cave entrance. The Pugj don’t give up easily, but the river might have bought us some time. Time we desperately need.

She nods, but her eyes stay fixed on the ground, her hands trembling as she rubs her arms in a futile attempt to warm herself.

She’s shivering so hard, the clacking of her teeth is loud in the silence of the cave.

The sight of her like this, so small and so fragile, sends a surge of protectiveness through me, tightening my chest like a fist I can’t unclench, and making me forget my pain.

“You’re freezing,” I say, kneeling beside her. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her knees, her whole frame trembling.

I hesitate as my hands flex uselessly at my sides. There’s only one real option, but I sense she’s not going to like it.

Without pausing to think it through, I slide closer and wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against my side. “Stay still,” I say when she stiffens. “You’ll warm up faster this way.”

Even though Emily doesn’t protest, I can feel the tension in her every muscle.

After a long moment, she exhales roughly and melts into me.

Her head rests lightly on my shoulder. Her wet hair brushes against my skin, and I catch that familiar scent I’ve come to crave without fully understanding why.

Soft and sweet, like a flower-filled meadow on a warm day.

Her trust, her willingness to let me help her in this small way, sparks something deep inside my chest. It’s a feeling I don’t have a name for. One I don’t entirely understand, and I’m not sure I’m ready to face. But it’s there, persistent and confusing.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the steady rhythm of the rain and the rumble of thunder. The storm shows no signs of stopping, and the jungle beyond the cave entrance is nothing but a wall of shadows.

“Better?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

Emily nods, her cheek brushing against my arm. “A little.”

I let her rest against me, trying my best to ignore the pain in my side. It’s fine. Just a graze. I’ll deal with it later.

But even as I have that thought, as each beat of my heart passes, the pain grows worse, turning into something that’s fiery and sharp.

And Emily’s eyes are sharper than I expected. She notices my wince, and she shifts, pulling back from me just enough to peer up into my face.

“You’re hurt, aren’t you?” She frowns at me.

“It’s nothing,” I say quickly, dismissing her concern.

Her storm-tossed eyes narrow. “Let me see.”

“It’s just a scratch—” I start, but she cuts me off.

“Let me see,” she snaps, her tone leaving no room for argument. Not that I’d win if I tried. Before I can stop her, Emily’s hands are already at my side, brushing mine away.

“Emily—”

“Vrok,” she says. Her gaze locks with mine. “If you think I’m going to sit here while you suffer, think again. Now, let me see.”

There’s unexpected steel in her voice. Not because she’s angry, but because she cares. And that flicker of protectiveness in her gaze does something to me. She’s small, but by the goddesses, she’s braver than half the warriors I’ve ever fought beside.

Reluctantly, I shift, wincing as I angle my torso toward her.

The torn edge of my loincloth hangs just above the wound, but I tug the waistband down slightly to give her a clearer view.

When she sees the wound, an ugly gash just above my hip where the arrow grazed me, her sharp inhale tells me what I already suspected. It’s worse than I pretended.

It’s not bleeding anymore, but her eyes widen all the same. She presses her lips together like she’s fighting back a string of curses. The tight, worried expression on her face makes my chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with the wound.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I lie, even though the pain is starting to throb more deeply now, pulsing with every beat of my heart.

Her brows draw together. “Lean back.”

“Emily, we don’t have time?—”

“Lean. Back.”

There’s that tone again, and against my better judgment, I sigh and obey. Not because I have to, but because some part of me wants to. Because she’s looking at me like I matter.

Her fingers are cool and confident as she inspects the wound, and her brow is furrowed in concentration.

“I don’t think it hit anything vital. Still, it was too close,” she murmurs quietly.

I let out a low breath. “Close doesn’t count unless it kills you.”

Emily snorts and shakes her head, but I notice a flicker of relief in her eyes.

She doesn’t say anything as she digs into one of the satchels before pulling out the small metal medic kit. She quickly finds the salixa gel and a roll of bandages.

Her fingers are gentle as she spreads the cool substance over the wound. It tingles, easing the burning pain, but it’s her touch I notice most. The way her hand lingers on my skin. The way she’s so careful, like she’s touching something fragile that might break.

And when she begins wrapping the bandage around my torso, her fingers glide over my skin with every pass, brushing beneath my ribs, along the ridges of my waist, and near the edge of my pelvis.

Each time she makes contact, it sends a pulse of heat straight to my cock.

I grit my fangs and try to stay still, but goddesses help me, it’s not easy.

Emily is focused on her task, completely unaware of the storm she’s stirring inside me, and that scares me.

“There,” she says, tying off the end. “That should hold for now.”

I sit up slowly, testing the tightness of the wrap. It holds.

Emily meets my gaze, and neither of us looks away immediately.

“You don’t have to be tough all the time, Vrok. Believe it or not, I can take care of you, too,” she says softly.

Her words hit me like a blow. They’re not painful, just unexpected. I’ve spent so long being the protector, the hardened warrior who doesn’t flinch, doesn’t fall. The one who bleeds in silence, so others don’t have to. It’s my role in life, the only thing I’m good for, according to my father.

I wasn’t raised to be protected. To be cared for. And certainly not to feel this strange, aching warmth that spreads from where her hands just were and lodges itself in my chest.

But hearing her say that— I can take care of you —makes something shift deep inside me. I don’t know how to respond or what to say, so I don’t.

I nod toward the corner of the cave. “Rest. We’ll need to move again soon.” My voice comes out rougher than before, like the sound of stones being dragged over gravel.

Her mouth opens and she hesitates as if she wants to say something else, but she doesn’t. She gives me a small smile and moves a few paces away.

But no matter the distance between us, I can still feel the touch of her soft hands on my skin. The warmth of her pressed against me. The way she looked at me, like I wasn’t a burden. Like I was worth saving. Worth caring for.

I watch as she curls up, pillowing her head on her stacked hands. Her damp clothes cling to every curve of her body, adding to the heat already pulsing inside me. Even now, exhausted and bedraggled, she captivates me.

It’s not long before the soft rhythm of her breathing blends with the rain still falling outside. She looks breakable lying there, curled up so small. But I know better.

There’s an unexpected quiet strength in Emily. It’s not the kind that charges into battle, but the kind that stays standing long after everyone else would have fallen. She should be the one leaning on others, yet she’s the one offering comfort. Even to me.

Emily didn’t hesitate to charge into danger when the magnis attacked.

She didn’t flinch at the blood staining my skin or my wound.

She met it all with quiet tenacity. When she looked at me, she saw more than the blade I wield or the blood I’ve spilled.

And none of that aligns with the poison he’s been feeding me since the humans fell from the sky.

It unsettles me.

Because I’ve spent my entire life believing that strength meant being unbending. That softness was a weakness to be rooted out. That compassion would be our downfall. But then Emily came along and turned those beliefs to ash with nothing more than her presence.

She’s human. She’s not supposed to matter to me.

But she does.

Because when she’s near, everything else fades into the background. My pain, my doubts, even the noise of my father’s voice in my head—it all gets quieter. I shouldn’t want that, but I do.

Yes, Emily is soft where I’m hard and gentle where I’m brutal, but still, somehow, she’s the one who makes me feel safe.

And she doesn’t even realize what she’s doing to me. The way her presence pulls apart the foundation I’ve been standing on. The way she makes me question everything I thought I knew. And in this quiet moment, as I watch over her while she sleeps, I’m left with a truth I can’t ignore.

She’s not mine, and she never will be. But by the goddesses, if anyone tries to take her from me again, they’ll learn exactly how deadly I can be.