Page 37 of Nansar
Faces emerged from doorways as we passed, painted with the same geometric patterns as the warriors, eyes bright with curiosity and caution. Children materialized like ghosts, peering from shadows with expressions caught between wonder and fear.
The elder guided us toward a modest dwelling near the longhouse. Two young warriors approached Starfield, hands reaching for her reins.
"No!" The word tore from my throat, raw and desperate. My fingers twisted into her mane. "Please, I—"
The elder pivoted, her face unreadable in the deepening shadows.
"The kuda will be honored. We do not harm sacred beasts."
"Sacred?" I blinked at her, uncomprehending.
"Kuda are revered among our people," she said, and something in her voice gentled. "She will receive the finest grasses, pure water, warm shelter. You have my word."
I wavered, looking down at Starfield. The thought of losing her—my last anchor to anything familiar—made my ribs feel too tight, my lungs too small.
But Nansar needed me more.
"Okay," I breathed, dismounting. My legs nearly gave out when my feet found solid ground. Hours in the saddle, hours of terror—it all crashed down at once, leaving me hollow and trembling. I pressed my forehead against Starfield's warm neck, inhaling her familiar scent. "Be good. I'll come check on you soon."
She nickered softly, a sound of understanding, and let the warriors lead her toward a covered shelter at the village's edge.I watched until darkness swallowed her, then turned to find the elder waiting patiently.
She gestured toward a dwelling that crouched low against the earth, and the warriors carrying Nansar ducked through the doorway. I followed, my pulse hammering in my ears.
The interior stopped me short. I'd expected something primitive, cold—but warmth enveloped me like an embrace. Firelight danced across walls of packed earth, painting everything in amber and shadow. A table and chairs sat against one wall, the wood polished smooth by countless hands. Opposite, a bed frame of lashed branches held a mountain of furs that looked impossibly soft, the pelts ranging from silver to deepest black. In the center, a stone-lined fire pit crackled and popped, driving back the night's creeping chill.
The warriors moved with unexpected gentleness as they lowered Nansar onto the bed. Despite their earlier roughness, they laid him down gently, arranging his limbs with care. His head lolled sideways, and the sight of him so defenseless sent a spike of fear through my chest.
"Rest," the elder said, her voice losing its sharp edge. Almost kind now. "I will send food and healing supplies. Your mate will need tending through the night."
"Thank you." The words came out broken. "Thank you so much."
She held my gaze, those obsidian eyes catching the firelight in patterns that seemed to shift and breathe. Then she inclined her head—a gesture of respect that surprised me—and swept out, her warriors trailing behind like shadows. The hide-covered door fell shut with a whisper.
Silence crashed over me. Just me, Nansar, and the fire's steady crackle.
My legs carried me to the bed before my mind caught up. I sank onto the furs beside him, their softness a shock againstmy battered body. My hands shook as I found his wrist, pressed trembling fingers to his pulse point.
Steady. Strong. Thank God.
I flattened my palm against his chest next, felt the reassuring rise and fall beneath my hand. Regular breathing. No rattling. No wheezing.
My medical knowledge was laughable—just mandatory Navy first aid, enough to stop bleeding or perform CPR in a pinch. But I knew enough to recognize stability when I felt it. His vitals were good. He was holding on.
My hand drifted upward of its own accord, fingertips grazing his cheek. The touch sent something warm and frightening through my chest. Unconscious like this, he looked different. Younger. The hard warrior's mask had melted away, leaving behind features that were almost peaceful. Beautiful, even. I'd always known he was attractive in that dangerous, otherworldly way, but now I could really see it—the elegant sweep of his jaw, the sharp architecture of his cheekbones, those dark lashes resting against skin like moonlight. Even his horns seemed to belong, transforming him into something out of myth.
I traced the line of his jaw with my thumb, my throat going tight.
He'd protected me. From the very beginning, through every danger, every threat—he'd been my shield without hesitation. And now here he lay, bleeding and broken because of it.
"My turn," I whispered, threading my fingers through his. Holding on like he was the only solid thing in a spinning world. "My turn to protect you."
A soft knock shattered the silence. My hand flew to my pocket, an useless instinct. The small blade wouldn't do much against warriors who could snap me like kindling.
"Enter," I called, voice scraped raw.
Two Welati females glided through the doorway with that same impossible grace, younger than the elder but no less striking. Their skin held that same luminous quality, like they'd swallowed starlight. Their eyes were fathomless pools that made me feel simultaneously seen and insignificant.
The first carried a wooden tray heavy with food—strips of roasted meat glistening with fat, root vegetables still steaming, flatbread that smelled of herbs and earth. My stomach twisted violently, reminding me I'd forgotten such mundane things as eating. When was the last time? This morning? Yesterday?
