Page 39 of Nansar
He'd turned my own body into enemy territory, flooded my system with drugs until I couldn't trust my own reactions, my own desires. Until I'd become something I didn't recognize—desperate, needy, spiraling out of control. He'd made me aprisoner in my own skin, and even though I'd escaped the cell, I could still feel the bars.
Even now, knowing the drug was out of my system, knowing intellectually that I was free of it, I didn't trust myself. Every instinct felt suspect. Every decision felt like it might be compromised somehow, tainted by what Declan had done to me.
Was I really thinking clearly? Or was I still broken in ways I couldn't see, couldn't measure?
I stared down at my hands, turning them over in the firelight. These hands had fired weapons, had defended myself and others, had been steady and sure. Now they trembled slightly, and I couldn't tell if it was from exhaustion or something deeper, something that might never heal.
The woman I'd been felt like a stranger now. Someone I used to know, someone I'd lost along the way.
But Nansar needed me. And that was something I could hold onto, something real and immediate that cut through all the doubt and fear.
I returned to the bed and carefully lay down beside him, pressing close to his side, pulling the furs over us both. His body was warm, solid, real. I draped my arm across his chest possessively, protectively, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath my palm like a promise.
"My turn to keep you warm," I murmured against his shoulder.
Outside, the Welati continued their quiet conversation. The fire crackled and popped, sending shadows dancing across the walls like spirits. And slowly, finally, I let my eyes close, keeping my hand over Nansar's heart like I could keep him safe through sheer force of will.
Chapter 12
Nansar
Consciousness returned in fragments—first pain, sharp and insistent behind my eyes, then the weight of my own limbs, heavy as waterlogged timber. A groan escaped me before I could stop it.
"Easy," came a voice, soft and worried. "Don't move too fast."
I pried my eyes open. The world swam into focus slowly: woven walls filtering amber light, and Chloe's face hovering above mine, creased with worry. She lay beside me on a rough pallet, propped on one elbow, and even through the fog of pain I noticed how the light played in her hair, setting it ablaze with copper fire.
"What..." The word scraped out of my throat like gravel. "What happened?"
"You got knocked out." Her fingers ghosted across my forehead, carefully skirting what felt like an impressive lump. The gentleness of it sent unexpected warmth cascading through me. "The Welati found us."
Memory crashed back—silent figures materializing from the trees, my body moving to shield Chloe, then darkness. My pulse kicked up as understanding dawned.
"They didn't kill me." The words emerged flat with disbelief. I pushed myself up despite the room's sudden tilt. "The Welati let me live."
"Barely." Chloe's hand found my shoulder, steadying me. Her palm burned through the thin fabric. "They had weapons pointed at both of us. But I told them..." She faltered, color blooming across her cheeks in a way that made my chest constrict. "I told them you were my mate."
The air left my lungs. That she would claim me. That they would honor it. Everything I thought I knew about the Welati crumbled like sun-dried clay.
And beneath the shock, something more—a savage satisfaction at being called hers.
"That's... unexpected," I managed, thoughts churning despite my skull's protests. The Welati were supposed to be merciless. No prisoners. No exceptions. Yet here I breathed, tended and sheltered.
Chloe worried her lower lip, those storm-gray eyes searching my face. "Nansar, what if you're wrong about them? About the Welati?"
"Maybe." The admission tasted strange. "I've never actually seen them up close before. Never witnessed them kill anyone." I paused, sifting through memories. "When other prisoners turn up dead, the Welati get blamed. But I never saw it happen myself."
"They've been taking care of us," Chloe said. "Food, water, medicine for your head. They even gave me this." She gestured at the pale blue dress she wore. "Doesn't seem like something vicious killers would do."
I wanted to argue. Couldn't. The evidence surrounded us—I was alive, whole save for the headache, sheltered rather than buried.
Chloe leaned closer, fingers reaching for my temple. "Let me check that again."
I went still as she examined the injury, her touch impossibly light. Heat radiated from her fingertips, and I hadto fight down a shiver that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with how close she was.
My horns began to itch again, that infernal tingling sensation creeping along their length from base to tip. I resisted the urge to reach up and scratch at them, knowing it would do no good. Combined with the throbbing ache in my head, it was almost unbearable.
"It looks better," she murmured, and suddenly the world narrowed to just us—her face so close I could count the silver flecks in those storm-gray eyes, her breath ghosting across my skin like a whispered promise. The scent of her filled my senses, something sweet and wildly intoxicating that made my pulse quicken. "The swelling's gone down."
