Page 15 of We Were Meant to Burn (Ashes and Ruin Saga #1)

The next morning, while Malakai and his crew ate a breakfast of mangoes, avocados, and dried meat, I sat apart, my appetite gone.

The weight of everything pressed down on me, thick and suffocating.

Mother lied.

Had abandoned me.

The words churned in my gut, sick and hollow.

I had spent my entire life worshiping her, doing everything in my power to prove I was worthy. Every kill, every mission, every ounce of blood I spilled—I had done it all in her name. And in the end, she had left me to rot.

She had known.

She had known.

And she had done nothing.

I dug my nails into my palms until I felt the skin break. The sting was nothing. A small pain in comparison to the ache festering inside my chest.

Malakai and his crew murmured amongst themselves as they ate. Lian handed a slice of mango to Elías, who accepted it with a drowsy smile. Kerun stuffed an entire avocado half into his mouth, earning himself a reprimand from Malakai to eat like a human instead of a bear. Meanwhile, Dom was ever silent, sharpening his hatchet with slow, deliberate strokes.

I was barely a shadow among them.

My throat was tight, my head pounding with the effort of keeping my thoughts contained, of holding back the storm rising inside me.

A part of me whispered that I should just keep going with them, that I should see this through and make it to Tiepaz. That going back would be foolish.

That there was nothing left for me in Rojas.

But another part of me, a smaller, weaker part, still wanted to believe.

Still wanted to prove that Malakai was wrong.

That Mother hadn’t abandoned me. That there was some explanation for why she hadn’t come.

The words felt pathetic.

Even inside my own head.

An hour later, when the sun climbed higher in the sky, we resumed our hike, Dom taking the lead. I followed with my head low, my feet dragging against the dirt.

I had always thought failure was something that came with shame. That it was something deserved. But this wasn’t shame.

This was something worse.

This was humiliation.

I had been discarded. Thrown away. And now, everyone knew it.

No. It was worse than that. They had already known.

I was just the last to figure it out.

As the sun beat down, burning hot against the nape of my neck, I finally gathered the courage to turn to Lian.

“It all makes sense now,”

I said, my voice hoarse.

"Why Dom hates me so much. My mother killed his family.”

Lian blinked, slow and measured, nodding as if he already knew.

Of course, he did.

And still, he had stayed at my side.

My throat constricted, but I swallowed it down.

“And yet Malakai took this job anyway,”

I murmured, shaking my head.

"Doesn’t that seem callous to you?”

Lian exhaled through his nose. He was silent for several breaths, his gaze fixed ahead.

"I don’t always agree with his methods,”

he said carefully.

"But I think he made the right call.”

I disagreed.

Dom might not have been in the line of succession—male heirs weren’t allowed to rule in Rojas—but he had still been a prince in his own right.

Whereas I was the daughter of a usurper.

And now, I had no idea what that made me.

Lian walked beside me in silence, his fingers drifting toward the silver device in his ear before pulling back again. I could tell he was working up to something, his brows furrowed in thought, his lips slightly parted as if debating whether to speak. Finally, he sucked in a breath and turned to me.

“Can I ask you something?”

His voice was hesitant, almost careful. Like he was afraid the wrong words might shatter me.

"Did you really never question it? The stories your mother told you?”

A sharp pain twisted in my chest, but I refused to let it show.

I had questioned it. I wasn’t a complete fool.

There had been moments—small, fleeting moments—when doubt had crept in. Whispers in the halls, nervous glances exchanged between servants, the way my name was spoken in hushed voices when they thought I wasn’t listening. I’d caught the way Mother’s advisors flinched at her commands, the way even the most ruthless among them averted their eyes when she passed judgment.

I had noticed everything.

But noticing and accepting were two different things.

If I had allowed myself to question her, to pick apart her stories, to really see her for what she was, I would have had to acknowledge the truth.

That my entire life was a lie.

That every mission I had completed, every throat I had slit, every body I had left in my wake had been for nothing.

That I was nothing more than a weapon in her hand. And weapons did not get to ask why.

I forced my voice to remain steady.

"Why would I have? She’s my mother.”

Lian’s lips pressed together, his expression skeptical.

"Didn’t anyone ever gossip in the palace? The slaves?”

His voice softened.

"Last night can’t have been the first time you heard about this.”

I let out a hollow laugh.

"Of course, people gossiped. But Mother warned me, ever since I was a child, to ignore it. That people lied, that they spread rumors to weaken her rule. She executed anyone who said otherwise.”

I let out a slow breath, rolling my shoulders as if I could shrug off the weight pressing down on me.

"I guess I was afraid to question her. Afraid of what she’d do if I did.”

Lian’s jaw clenched. His gaze turned sharp, filled with something too close to understanding.

“I know what that’s like,”

he murmured.

"To live in fear. To think that you deserve it when they hurt you.”

His fingers twitched at his side, his gaze distant.

"But that kind of thinking is wrong. No one deserves to be beaten into submission.”

His words struck something inside me, a painful truth I had spent years trying to bury.

I had always convinced myself that Mother’s punishments were necessary, that I had failed her in some way.

That if I had just been stronger, faster, smarter—if I had been better—she wouldn’t have needed to be so cruel.

But what if that was never the case?

What if no amount of strength would have ever been enough?

My throat constricted, and I swallowed hard.

"Can I tell you something?”

My voice was barely above a whisper. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, watching as the warm breeze toyed with his auburn hair.

He met my gaze, his blue eyes open, gentle.

"Of course.”

I hesitated for a moment, then exhaled as if my lungs were coated in ash and I could finally breathe clean air.

"I never liked what I did.”

The words felt foreign on my tongue, like I had stolen them from someone else’s mouth.

"The killing, I mean.”

I forced my gaze to the jungle floor, my fingers idly tracing the buttons on my bolero jacket.

"I did it because I was trained for it. Because I was good at it.”

I clenched my jaw before admitting, “Because I wanted her to be proud of me.”

Lian stopped walking.

A second later, I felt his hand rest lightly on my shoulder. A warm, steady weight. I stiffened, but he didn’t pull away.

“I never once thought otherwise,”

he said, his voice quiet but firm.

I blinked up at him, searching his face for any sign of pity—because I couldn’t stomach that, not from him. But there was none. Just quiet understanding.

“From the moment I met you,”

he continued, “I could tell there was more to you than the rumors let on. That behind the fire in your eyes, there were shadows you never let anyone see.”

I looked away, not trusting myself to speak. My fingers tightened briefly around his hand, a silent thanks.

Lian squeezed back.

We didn’t say anything after that. We just kept walking, side by side, the ghosts of our pasts trailing behind us.

A few more hours passed, the setting sun bleeding across the sky like a fresh wound.

The deep crimson hues stretched across the horizon, swallowing the last traces of daylight, casting long shadows through the thick jungle canopy.

My breath had turned shallow, my lungs protesting with every step.

My body had never felt heavier, as though my bones had been replaced with iron.

Lian stayed close, adjusting his pace to mine, never rushing me, never complaining.

The others, however, had long since outpaced us.

Their voices had faded into the rustling leaves, distant echoes swallowed by the jungle.

I hated this.

Hated the way my muscles burned, the way my legs trembled, the way my feet throbbed inside these boots that weren’t even mine.

But more than anything, I hated the weakness.

The reminder that I wasn’t at my best, that I had allowed myself to become something fragile.

I needed a break, though admitting it felt like slicing into my pride with a dull blade.

“I need a minute,”

I muttered.

Lian didn’t question it. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease. He simply nodded and scanned the area, his sharp blue eyes searching. A moment later, he gestured toward an uprooted tree, its massive roots twisted into a gnarled, natural seat.

“That should work,” he said.

I swallowed what little was left of my pride and limped over, groaning as I lowered myself onto one of the thick knots.

Relief swept over me as my aching legs finally got a reprieve, but I refused to show it.

Instead, I huffed and unlaced my boots, loosening them just enough to ease the pressure against my swollen ankles.

I kept my movements slow, deliberate, careful to keep the ebony whittling knife tucked in my boot hidden beneath the hem of my pants.

Lian flopped down beside me, stretching out his legs with a heavy sigh.

“I think Malakai is trying to kill us,”

I murmured between heaving breaths.

"This whole trip is just an elaborate scheme to see how fast he can break me.”

Lian snorted.

"That, or I’m in worse shape than I thought.”

He grabbed his canteen, tilting his head back to take a long swig, water dribbling down his chin and the curve of his throat.

"We should start walking in our sleep. That way, we’ll be ahead of the others and they can catch up with us for once.”

I snorted a laugh. “Truly,”

I said as I leaned back against the tree and let my head rest against the bark, staring up at the canopy overhead.

The sky had deepened into a dusky purple, fractured patches of light filtering through the thick jungle leaves. The sounds around us began to shift—day creatures retreating into silence while the night stirred awake.

A low trill echoed in the distance, the unmistakable call of a jaguar.

A chorus of insects followed, their sharp chittering filling the air, blending with the distant hoots of owls.

The jungle was alive.

I let my eyes close, just for a moment, letting the sounds of the night wash over me. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

Then—

A soft crunch.

The unmistakable sound of movement.

My eyes snapped open, my entire body going rigid.

“Lian,”

I whispered, my voice barely audible over the growing hum of the jungle.

"Something is out there.”

Lian’s head snapped up, his relaxed posture vanishing in an instant. His hand went to the knife at his waist, fingers tightening around the hilt. His blue eyes scanned the underbrush, flicking over the shifting shadows, searching.

"I don’t see anything,”

he murmured after a few tense moments.

I shook my head, swallowing hard.

"I can’t see anything either, but I can feel it.”

My skin prickled, a shiver running along my spine like icy fingers trailing down my back.

"Something is watching us.”

Lian’s jaw clenched, his grip shifting on his blade.

"What do you want to do?”

His voice was steady, but I caught the flicker of unease in his eyes.

My mind raced. We were too exposed out here, too vulnerable. But venturing deeper into the jungle could be even worse—we’d have no clear escape, no way to see what was creeping through the shadows.

I bent down, fingers working quickly as I relaced my boots, just in case we had to make a run for it. The leather dug into my swollen ankles, but I barely felt the discomfort over the growing dread coiling in my gut.

Then it came.

That feeling.

Cold. Suffocating. Ancient.

Like mist creeping over a graveyard, fear slithered over my skin, sinking into my very marrow. My breath caught. I knew this fear. I’d felt it before.

The cuegle.

The realization struck at the exact moment the beast stepped into view, emerging from the thick undergrowth with a slow, deliberate prowl.

It was worse than I had imagined.

Tall, wrongly built, its body rippling with corded muscle beneath its leathery hide. It walked on two legs, but its proportions were all off, the angles of its limbs grotesque and unnatural. A single twisted horn jutted from the center of its forehead, sharp as a spear, and its three burning eyes glowed in the encroaching dark.

It had three arms, long and sinewy, each ending in talons sharp enough to tear through flesh like paper. Saliva dripped from its gaping maw, trailing down its chin in thick strands. The stench of blood and rot rolled off it in waves, making my stomach lurch.

I couldn’t move.

A violent shudder ran through me, instinct screaming at me to run, but my legs had locked up, frozen in place.

Lian was just as paralyzed, his breath coming fast, his mouth slightly parted as if caught mid-word.

I forced my body to move, yanking the paring knife from under my shirt and hurling it at the creature’s head.

The blade never even reached its target.

The cuegle swiped it aside midair, its clawed hand knocking it into the trees with a metallic clatter. It let out a guttural growl, its gaze locking onto me with an eerie, unshaking intensity.

I felt it.

A judgment. A sentence being passed.

It knew who I was. What I’d done. What I was.

“Run!”

I seized Lian’s hand and tore through the jungle, dragging him behind me as I dove headfirst into the dense underbrush.

The cuegle roared, a bone-rattling sound that sent every bird in the canopy shrieking into the sky.

And then it gave chase.

Branches whipped at my arms, thorns tore at my legs, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. The thing was too fast. Too strong. Too close.

The moment my foot caught on an exposed root, I knew I was going down. Gravity wrenched me forward, and I hit the ground hard, my knees and palms scraping against sharp twigs and damp moss.

Lian skidded to a halt. “Get up!”

He grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet with more strength than I expected, shoving me forward.

The jungle blurred around us. The cuegle’s snarls were right behind us, its long, muscled legs devouring the distance between us with terrifying ease.

We weren’t going to make it.

The moment the thought entered my mind, we burst into a clearing.

Light. Firelight.

Malakai. Dom. Kerun. Elías.

They were right there.

The cuegle exploded into the clearing after us, its hulking form crashing through the underbrush—

And then it stopped.

Dead.

The creature let out a high-pitched, unnatural whine, its entire body shuddering.

I watched, panting, as its three glowing eyes flickered wildly between me and—

Malakai.

It recognized him.

And it was afraid.

The cuegle let out one last, gurgling snarl before staggering backward into the jungle, disappearing into the shadows as swiftly as it had come.

The moment the cuegle disappeared into the shadows, Malakai strode forward, his violet eyes flashing in the firelight. His grip was firm but steady as he caught my arm, yanking me into the center of camp.

“What the hell happened?”

His voice was low, edged with something sharp—something dangerous. His anger wasn’t like Dom’s, hot and reckless. Malakai’s was controlled, measured, something that could turn lethal with little effort. And right now, it was aimed at me.

“We fell behind,”

I said, breathless.

"That thing was tracking us.”

Malakai turned to Lian next, “Are you hurt?”

Lian shook his head. “No.”

Malakai studied him a beat longer before exhaling.

"Good. Then stay here with everyone else.”

He unsheathed his sword just enough for the steel to catch the light.

"I’m going after it.”

I started to object, but Malakai cut me off with a smirk and a wink.

"I’ll be careful, love. Don’t worry about me.”

The casual arrogance should have been infuriating. But it wasn’t the smirk that unsettled me—it was the way he said it. The way his voice dropped just enough to feel like a reassurance. A promise.

I caught his elbow before he could step away.

"It’s the cuegle,”

I said, my grip tightening.

"Do you have a death wish? You can’t take that thing on by yourself. We’ll come with you.”

Malakai exhaled a sharp breath and pried my fingers from his arm, his touch deceptively gentle.

"No, you’re not.”

His voice had lost its usual humor, replaced with something quiet and deliberate.

"Have you forgotten what I am?”

I swallowed. He wasn’t asking for an answer. We both knew what he was—something more than human, something dangerous in ways I didn’t yet understand.

His eyes flicked over my face as if searching for something. Then, as if deciding I hadn’t quite pieced it together yet, he leaned in.

"You remember what I told you?”

I inhaled slowly.

The cuegle wasn’t just a monster. It was a thing of judgment, a relic of the old world. It could see into a person’s soul, weigh their worth, and when it deemed someone unredeemable, it hunted them.

It had set its sights on me.

I nodded stiffly.

Malakai’s expression didn’t change, but I felt the shift in him. Like he had been waiting for me to understand.

“Then you know why I have to go after it.”

The words settled heavily in my chest.

I knew. Of course, I knew. The cuegle wouldn’t stop—not until it had what it wanted. Which meant Malakai wasn’t just chasing it off. He was going to kill it.

I clenched my jaw.

"And what about the rest of us? Won’t we be exposed with you gone?”

Malakai ran a hand through his silver hair, his shoulders slumping slightly.

"Yes. But the cuegle is the bigger threat. Keep your eyes open. Don’t leave the group.”

His voice was steel.

"You still have your knives?”

I hesitated.

"Only two left. I lost one to the cuegle.”

Malakai arched a brow.

"You had three? Where’d you get the third?”

I pressed my lips together.

He sighed, shaking his head.

"You know what? Forget I asked.”

Then, after a pause, “You’re worse than a little coati.”

Despite myself, I let out a quiet huff of amusement. Coatis—raccoon-like creatures—were notorious for stealing and hoarding trinkets.

Malakai smirked and pulled a dagger from his belt, flipping it in his palm before holding it out to me.

"Don’t lose this one.”

I hesitated before taking it, my fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. It shouldn’t have meant anything—just skin against skin, nothing more. But something in my chest tightened anyway. A trick of exhaustion, no doubt.

“Be careful,”

I murmured, my voice quieter than I intended. I shouldn’t have cared if he was careful or not. If he came back alive or not. But the truth was that there was already too much upheaval in my life. I didn’t want to see more of it. Didn’t want to be the cause of it.

Malakai’s smirk softened, the ever-present mischief in his eyes dimming to something unreadable. He didn’t answer right away, just held my gaze for a breath too long.

Then he smiled—just a little.

"Always am.”

And without another word, he turned and strode into the jungle, vanishing into the dark.

I stared after him, gripping the dagger tight.

I woke to the sound of rustling—soft, deliberate, but clumsy enough to make me stir. My instincts sharpened, my breath hitching as I strained to listen. The camp was quiet except for the crackle of the dying fire and the distant hum of the jungle.

I peered out of my tent and found Malakai moving through the dark, his steps uneven as he hunched over, fumbling with something in his hands. Moonlight slanted through the trees, casting silver over his face. His usual sure-footed grace was absent, replaced with an uncharacteristic exhaustion.

Curious, I slipped from my tent, padding toward him in silence. He was crouched beside the fire, a length of linen clenched between his teeth as he clumsily attempted to wrap his hand. Blood gleamed dark against his skin.

“What are you doing?”

I asked, my voice low but firm.

Malakai startled, jerking so suddenly that the bandage slipped from his grip and tumbled to the ground. “Shit.”

He dove to grab it, but I was faster.

I snatched up the scrap of linen and, in doing so, caught sight of his palm—an oozing gash stretching from the base of his thumb to his wrist.

“You’re bleeding.”

I shot him a sharp look, my pulse quickening.

"Why didn’t you wake Elías?”

“Didn’t want to make a fuss.”

He smirked despite the pain, as if I were the one being ridiculous for pointing it out.

"I’ve had worse.”

I sighed, shaking my head. Stubborn idiot.

I didn’t ask permission before kneeling beside him and taking his wrist in my hands. He stilled beneath my touch, his muscles coiling like he might pull away, but then he exhaled, letting me work.

I cleaned the wound with the practiced ease of someone who had done this before—far too many times. The familiarity of it should have been comforting. It wasn’t.

“You can’t set up your own tent, but you know first aid?”

Malakai teased, amusement tugging at his lips.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I reached for the bottle of tequila Elías had left out earlier and splashed a generous amount over the wound. Malakai hissed through his teeth, his whole body tensing.

“Wicked princess,”

he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

A small smirk played at the corner of my lips.

"Hold still.”

He grumbled under his breath, but I ignored him, focusing on wrapping the linen around his hand. I made sure it was tight but not restrictive, allowing him to still use his fingers.

“Mother often refused to send me to the Curadors for my injuries,”

I murmured, surprising myself with the confession. The words had slipped out before I could stop them. I didn’t look at him, keeping my eyes on my work.

"I had to figure it out myself. Infection, sterilization, proper bandaging . . . It didn’t matter how deep the cut was. Or if a bone was broken. I was still expected to train the next day.”

The silence that followed was thick. Heavy.

I risked a glance at him and found his gaze already fixed on me, unreadable and piercing. His expression had lost its humor, replaced by something else—something quieter, something that made my stomach twist.

I didn’t know what prompted me to say it, the words spilled from my mouth before I could stop them.

"You hesitate every time you look at me. Do I scare you, or is it something worse?”

Slowly, Malakai reached out, lifting my chin with a single finger. His touch was featherlight, but it sent a jolt of something unfamiliar down my spine.

"Something worse,”

he whispered, his voice rough and low, like gravel smoothed over time.

"Definitely worse.”

My face warmed, so I pulled away from him and busied myself with rinsing the cloth I’d used, my fingers shaking as I wrung it out. Anything to keep my hands occupied. To keep him from seeing the traitorous heat rising to my cheeks.

“Thanks,”

he said after a few moments had passed.

"I could have done it myself, but it warms the heart to know how much you care,”

he added, a teasing lilt in his tone.

I rolled my eyes and scoffed.

"Arrogant man.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and velvety, and I swallowed a lump in my throat, my pulse hammering against my ribs. He was too close. I could see the flicker of firelight dancing in his violet eyes, the humor that rested there, the way the playfulness had melted the tension from his shoulders.

I wasn’t used to this.

This quiet kind of gratitude. This gentle acknowledgment of something unspoken between us.

But as I focused on the task in front of me, I realized something.

I recognized that look in his eyes. The hesitance. The difficulty in accepting help, in trusting another person to care for him.

Because it was the same one I wore.

Malakai and I weren’t so different after all.