Page 33 of Nansar
My gaze snagged on the damage to her clothes—the sleeve torn clean through, exposing pale skin to the merciless air. The hem of her pants hung in tatters where thorns and branches had shredded it during our flight.
I would have given anything to wrap her in something whole and warm. A proper cloak, thick enough to keep out the mountain's teeth. But on Palaydium, such luxuries were as rare as rain in the desert.
"A fire would be heaven right now," she said through chattering teeth.
"Too dangerous. The Welati have eyes everywhere, and I don't trust that Persico's men won't double back." I glanced at Starfield, her massive silhouette a comforting presence in the gloom. "Come here, girl."
The kuda lowered herself with a contented rumble, heat radiating from her like a living furnace. I motioned to Chloe. "Better than any campfire."
She didn't hesitate. Chloe melted against Starfield's flank, and I watched the tension drain from her frame as warmth enveloped her.
Then her eyes found mine, still standing apart. "And you?"
"I'll manage." I didn't feel the cold as brutally as her frail human skin, but it did register.
"Nansar." She held out her hand to me, her expression brooking no argument. "You'll turn into an icicle. Get over here."
I wavered. The proper thing would be to keep my distance, to maintain the boundaries that shouldn't be crossed. But the cold was already working its way into my bones, and pragmatism won out over propriety.
I approached slowly, making each movement deliberate and visible. She'd come so far—no longer flinching at shadows, no longer freezing when I entered her space. But I'd caught those moments when her breath would hitch, when something dark would flicker behind her eyes before she wrestled herself back to the present.
Progress, yes. But healing was a journey, not a destination.
I maintained a respectful distance as I settled against Starfield's radiating warmth, leaving enough space between us that Chloe wouldn't feel crowded. The fragile trust we'd built was too precious to risk.
Except Chloe had other ideas. She shifted closer without a moment's hesitation, her body pressing against my side as naturally as breathing. One final shiver rippled through her before the combined heat—Starfield's and mine—melted the cold away.
That's when my horns began to itch.
Not the faint prickle I'd experienced before. This was a searing, relentless burn that made my teeth clench and my fingers curl into fists. Every nerve ending in those cursed protrusions screamed for relief, demanding I rake them against stone until the sensation stopped.
By the ancestors, no.
I locked my muscles in place, forcing my breathing to remain steady even as instinct howled at me to turn, to pull her closer, to eliminate the scant inches still separating us.
This wasn't random. Wasn't stress or exhaustion or the bitter cold playing tricks on my mind. I knew this sensation the way I knew my own heartbeat.
The unmistakable sign of finding one's fated mate.
My lungs constricted. I fixed my gaze on the cave entrance, cataloging shadows and wind patterns, anything to avoid the realization settling over me like a weight.
Chloe was my mate.
The universe had a cruel sense of humor.
Her breathing had already evened out against my side, soft and trusting in a way that made something crack inside me. This woman had survived horrors that would have shattered most beings. She'd been brutalized, traumatized, stripped of everything—and now fate thought it wise to shackle her to me? A disgraced royal. An exile. A prisoner.
She deserved better. Deserved someone unmarred by scandal and shame.
Not this. Not me.
I would see her to safety. Complete this gods-forsaken mission. And then I would disappear from her life, mate bond be damned. She would never have to know.
The itching flared hotter, as though my own biology was rebelling against the decision.
I gritted my teeth and ignored it.
Chloe murmured something unintelligible in her sleep, burrowing closer. Her scent wrapped around me—that intoxicating blend of human sweetness beneath layers of dust and exertion—and my horns blazed with an fervor that bordered on agony.
