Page 30 of Nansar
Something dangerous flickered behind his eyes then—something innate and utterly unforgiving. "And when they send him to Palaydium—because they will—I will be waiting." Hisvoice dropped to a growl that rumbled through his chest. "He will not survive his sentence."
I should have been shocked. Should have recoiled at the naked promise of violence. But instead, satisfaction bloomed in my chest, dark and intense and unapologetic.
"Good," I said, and meant it with every atom of my being.
Silence settled between us after that, comfortable and warm despite the weight of what we'd just promised each other. I became aware of how long I'd been sitting in his lap—how many minutes had slipped by while I let him hold me. I hadn't pulled away. Hadn't felt that crawling need to escape. Even with two corpses cooling a few feet away, I felt nothing but safe.
I let myself sink deeper into his embrace, my head finding the curve of his shoulder like it belonged there. His arms tightened around me, solid and warm and unwavering, and I waited for the familiar panic to appear—the fear, the shame, that sickening feeling of being dirty or wrong for craving comfort.
But it never came.
Nansar's touch didn't frighten me. It didn't make me feel like I was betraying some part of myself. There was no cruel voice in my head hissing that I was being slutty or pathetic for accepting this tenderness.
He just felt... safe.
I liked that. I liked the steady rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. I liked the way he held me like I was something precious rather than something to be conquered. I liked that I could be here, wrapped in his arms, and still feel like myself—whole and real.
Such a simple thing. But after everything Hewes had stolen from me, every way he'd corrupted touch into something toxic and vile, this felt like reclaiming territory I'd thought was lost forever.
Chapter 10
Nansar
The rhythm of Starfield's gait created an unavoidable closeness between us. I kept my hands positioned carefully on either side of Chloe, gripping the reins, but when the kuda navigated rougher terrain, my arms bracketed her more firmly. Each time I steadied Starfield over an uneven patch, my chest pressed against her back, and I felt that initial stiffening—her body's instinctive recoil, a reflex carved into her by trauma.
But something had shifted. The tension didn't linger. She didn't pull away immediately. After a heartbeat or two, her breathing would even out, and she'd settle back into the saddle, relaxing against me by degrees. It was such a small thing, this gradual easing, but I noticed every increment of change.
I wished it didn't matter to me. But something about her resilience—the way she kept moving forward despite everything Hewes had put her through—had burrowed under my skin and taken root.
The image of those two bodies kept flashing through my mind—the Romvesian and the Andorian, sprawled where I'd left them in deliberate display. A message written in blood and bone:This is what happens to those who touch her.
But the thought brought me no satisfaction. Only a gnawing worry that coiled in my gut like a serpent. How did they get past Ahrick? My friend was too skilled, too careful to have simply missed them. Which meant either something hadhappened to him, or the net closing around us was wider and tighter than I'd anticipated.
The realization settled cold and heavy in my chest. Fange City wasn't the only source of hunters. Persico's bounty on Chloe's head would draw predators from across the planet. They could be coming from any direction—from settlements and outposts I hadn't even considered. The wilderness suddenly felt less like cover and more like a maze with enemies at every turn. And I wasn't even considering the threat posed by the Welati.
I adjusted my grip on the reins and scanned the tree line ahead, every instinct alert. We needed to reach the mountains. We needed to disappear.
My thoughts drifted back to what Chloe had told me about Declan. The things he'd done to her, the violations that went far beyond the physical—the systematic dismantling of her sense of self. The memory of her voice as she'd spoken about it—small and distant, as if she were watching it happen to someone else—made my blood run cold and then boil hot.
I had never wanted to kill anyone more than I wanted to kill Declan Hewes. Not in combat, not in the heat of battle—this was different. This was personal. This was primal. The urge to find him, to make him understand the depth of his crimes in his final moments before I ended him, was almost overwhelming. My hands tightened on the reins until my knuckles went white and ached.
But what stayed with me even more than the rage was the way she'd accepted my embrace when the memories became too much. How she'd let herself lean into me, seeking comfort she probably hadn't allowed herself to accept in a long time. The weight of her against my chest, the way her breathing had gradually steadied as I held her—it felt right in a way that terrified me.
I liked holding her. More than I should. More than was safe for either of us.
The forest began to surrender its hold as we pushed forward, the dense canopy giving way to scattered trees that stood like lonely sentries. Then the first mountain revealed itself—a massive dark sentinel rising against the dimming sky, its peak crowned with the dying light of day. The sun bled across the horizon, staining the jagged peaks in shades of molten amber and deep crimson, and that old familiar weight settled in my gut like a stone.
I felt Chloe's eyes on me before I turned. She was studying my face, her brow creased with concern. "You look worried."
I was. But I kept my voice level, controlled. "We're entering Welati territory."
"The Welati?" The uncertainty in her voice was unmistakable. "Who are they?"
My gaze remained fixed on those darkening peaks, though every nerve in my body was aware of her attention on me. "The indigenous people of Palaydium. They were here long before any of us—long before the settlements, before the prison operations." I chose my next words with care, weighing each one. "They don't take kindly to outsiders."
"How unkindly are we talking?"
"They're savage. Merciless." I let the words hang in the air between us. "Anyone they find trespassing on their land—and they consider most of these mountains their land—doesn't get a warning. Doesn't get a second chance." I paused, making sure she understood. "They kill all trespassers. No exceptions."
