Page 34 of Nansar
I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to review the topographical map in my mind. Distances. Terrain features. Estimated travel times. Anything to drown out the warmth blooming traitorously in my chest.
It was utterly useless.
Chapter 11
Chloe
The mountain path carved its way upward through impossible forests—trees with silver-white bark that spiraled like DNA helixes, their deep purple leaves catching the light and throwing back iridescent patterns. I couldn't stop staring up through the canopy, watching the alien foliage transform sunlight into dancing shadows that played across the kuda's broad shoulders as Starfield carried us higher.
"It's beautiful," I whispered, not for the first time that morning.
Nansar's chest rumbled with quiet acknowledgment behind me. His arms rested loosely around my waist, one hand holding the reins, the other keeping me steady in the saddle.
Then he shifted, and I caught it—that familiar scraping sound. His fingers scratching at the base of his horns again. He'd been doing it since I woke this morning, that absent-minded gesture I'd noticed before he realized I was watching. The moment our eyes met, he'd dropped his hand like I'd caught him stealing.
Now he was at it again, his left hand leaving the reins to rake across the ridged bone where horn met skull. The motion looked unconscious, automatic—like scratching an itch that refused to quit.
"Does it hurt?" I asked, surprising myself with the question.
His hand froze. "What?"
"Your horns. You keep scratching them."
A pause stretched between us. Then, quietly: "They itch sometimes."
I twisted in the saddle to look back at him. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed on the path ahead, but tension bracketed his mouth.
"How long have they been bothering you?"
"It's nothing." But even as he spoke, his fingers drifted back to trace the base of the left horn before he caught himself and gripped the reins with both hands.
I turned forward again, filing the information away. Another small piece of him. Another glimpse beneath that stoic exterior. He'd spent all night keeping me warm, and all this time he'd been uncomfortable himself. He'd stayed awake—I was certain of it—keeping watch while I'd slept curled against his side like I belonged there, like I had every right to claim that space.
The memory sent heat blooming across my cheeks. When I'd woken at dawn, stiff and disoriented, he'd simply helped me sit up without a word, his blue-green eyes carefully averted to give me privacy. A prisoner, yes. But also a gentleman in every way that mattered.
"You didn't have to do that," I'd said, my voice still rough with sleep. "Stay awake all night."
"You needed rest." Simple. Final. As if there were no other possible choice, as if my comfort was the only thing in the world that mattered.
Now, hours into our journey, I realized I'd stopped tensing every time his arm shifted or his hand brushed mine. Somewhere between the valley and these mountains, between exhaustion and necessity, trust had crept in. Not the blind trust of naivety—something earned in the quiet hours of darknesswhen he could have done anything and chose only to keep me safe and warm.
The path leveled out onto a ridge, and suddenly the world opened up before us like a painting come to life. Peaks stretched endlessly toward the horizon in shades of purple and silver, their snow-capped summits piercing a sky the color of sunflowers—that impossible, vibrant yellow that Earth's pale blue could never hope to match. Starfield's hooves struck a steady rhythm against the stone, and for one perfect moment, I let myself simply exist in the impossible beauty of it all. Let myself feel the solid warmth of Nansar at my back, the gentle sway of the kuda beneath us, the alien sun on my face.
"Thank you," I said quietly, knowing the words could never be enough for everything I felt. "For last night."
Nansar's arms tightened around me—barely, just the slightest increase in pressure, so subtle I might have imagined it. But I didn't imagine it. "You are welcome, Chloe Blackwood."
The way he said my full name, so careful and formal and achingly tender, made warmth bloom in my chest. I was about to tease him about it when I felt him go rigid behind me, every muscle suddenly taut as wire.
"Nansar?"
His hand clamped around my waist, urgent and protective. "Get down—"
The words had barely left his mouth when something whistled through the air—a dark blur I couldn't track—and struck him square in the temple with a crack that made my stomach lurch.
His eyes rolled back, showing only whites, and then he was falling. The weight of him pulled backward, his arms releasing me as he toppled from Starfield's back. I heard the sickening thud of his body hitting stone, heard Starfield whinny and sidestep in alarm.
"Nansar!" I threw myself off the kuda, my legs nearly buckling as I hit the ground. My hands found him immediately—he was on his side, utterly limp, blood streaming from a gash above his left temple. The dark crimson looked shockingly bright against his pale skin, obscene and wrong and terrifying.
