Page 62 of Nansar
His blue-green eyes captured mine, intense and unwavering. "I couldn't stand the thought of him touching you," he said quietly, each word weighted with meaning. "The way he looked at you, the way he spoke about claiming you..." His jaw clenched. "I would have taken a hundred wounds to keep his hands off you."
My breath caught. No one had ever—
My father, perhaps. But no one else. Not in the Navy, where my ambition made me 'difficult.' Not in the FBI, where my independence sent men running. Not in any of the relationships I'd attempted over the years, where partners claimed they wanted a strong woman but couldn't handle what that truly meant. I'd learned to stand alone, to fight my own battles, to never expect anyone to sacrifice for me. I'd built walls so high and so thick that I'd forgotten what it felt like to have someone choose to stand beside me—not out of obligation, not out of duty, but because they wanted to.
But Nansar had. Without a moment's hesitation.
"Earth men are idiots," Nansar declared with such conviction that I realized I must have spoken some of my thoughts aloud.
A surprised laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me, watery and broken, catching in my throat. I bent back to my work before he could see the fresh tears threatening to spill over, carefully applying extra salve to the deep wound with trembling fingers. The herbal mixture was cool and slick against my skin, its pungent earthiness grounding me as I worked. Each gentle stroke of my fingers across his torn flesh felt intimate, necessary—a claiming of my own.
When I finished bandaging the last of his wounds, I sat back on my heels, suddenly aware of how close we were. How alone. The pile of bloodied rags beside me told the story of his sacrifice in crimson and rust. Nansar was watching me withan expression that made heat pool low in my belly—something fierce and possessive and achingly tender all at once.
Unable to stop myself, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. Gentle. Reverent. Tasting copper and salt. "Get some rest," I whispered against his mouth, my breath mingling with his.
His hand caught mine before I could retreat, fingers threading through mine with surprising strength for someone who'd just been half-dead. "Stay."
The single word held a universe of meaning.
"I'm not going anywhere," I promised.
I settled beside him on the sleeping platform, hyperaware of every point where our bodies touched. Despite the pain he had to be in, he pulled me close against his uninjured side, his arm a band of warmth around my shoulders.
His heat seeped into me, chasing away the bone-deep chill that had been clinging to my bones since the arena. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm became my anchor, proof that he was alive, that we had survived. I let myself melt into him, my body fitting against his as if we'd been designed for exactly this.
"Nansar?" I murmured, drowsiness already pulling me under.
"Mm?"
"Thank you. For fighting for me."
His arm tightened possessively around me. "Always."
I closed my eyes and surrendered to sleep, wrapped in his warmth and the intoxicating certainty that I was exactly where I belonged.
Chapter 17
Chloe
I woke to the sound of the door opening and the rich, savory aroma of roasted meat drifting through the cottage. Disoriented, I blinked against the soft light filtering through the woven slats, my body still curved against Nansar's warmth. How long had I been asleep?
A female Welati glided into the room, carrying a wooden tray laden with food. She was tall and willowy, with intricate markings flowing along her arms like living art—whorls and geometric patterns that shimmered in the firelight. Everything about her screamed confidence, from her impeccable posture to the deliberate sway of her hips as she moved with the kind of natural grace that made even the mundane act of carrying a tray look seductive.
Her gaze swept over me with all the interest one might give a dust mote, then locked onto Nansar with the intensity of a cat spotting a mouse.
And stayed there.
A knot of something hot and possessive twisted in my chest. I recognized that look. I'd seen it countless times back home—in bars, coffee shops, anywhere women gathered when an attractive man walked by. But this felt different. More threatening. Her eyes traveled over Nansar's bare chest with undisguised hunger, lingering on the bandages I'd so carefully wrapped around his torso, and her lips curved into a smile thathad nothing to do with politeness and everything to do with invitation.
"I brought food for the warrior," she purred, her voice like honey dripping from a spoon—sweet, syrupy, and entirely too deliberate. She set the tray down on the small table near the sleeping platform, taking her time, making sure to lean forward just enough that her loose tunic gaped suggestively. I'd noticed that Welati females varied in their endowments, much like Earth women. This particular female had clearly won the genetic lottery and knew exactly how to use it to her advantage.
Nansar stirred beside me, his arm still possessively circling my waist. "Thank you," he said, his tone polite but distant, almost bored.
The female either didn't notice or didn't care. Instead, she straightened slowly, deliberately, tilting her head as she studied him with open appreciation. "I watched your challenge. Very impressive." Her eyes flicked to me for just a heartbeat—dismissive, calculating, as if measuring the competition and finding it lacking—before returning to him like a magnet to steel. "I also heard that you have not yet fully claimed your human."
My stomach dropped. Heat flooded my face—part mortification, part fury that burned through my veins like wildfire.
"If she does not appeal to you," the female continued, her voice dropping to something sultry and inviting that made my skin crawl, "perhaps you would consider a female of our kind instead. A warrior such as yourself deserves..." She trailed off meaningfully, running one hand down her side in blatant invitation, her fingers tracing her curves. "Someone who can properly appreciate your strength. Someone who knows how to satisfy a male of your... caliber."
