9. Naera #2
Selis watches the glow fade and tilts her head. “That all you’ve got, starlight?”
I glare at her, but it’s all bark and no teeth.
“No more miracles today,” I mutter, breathing hard. “I’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.”
I glance toward her pack, then back to her. “Do you have anything for wounds? Bandages, salve—anything?”
She huffs a rough laugh. “Didn’t peg you for the practical type.”
“I’m full of surprises,” I mutter, already tearing a strip from the hem of my robe to press against the worst of the bleeding. It stains red almost instantly. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
That earns me a look. Sharp-edged. Amused. Dangerous.
She doesn’t answer. Just jerks her chin toward the pack at her side.
I crawl to it, fingers fumbling through the worn leather until I find a battered tin, half a roll of clean cloth, and something that smells vaguely like pine and alcohol. It’ll do.
When I return, she’s slumped against the tree, watching me. Her eyes track every movement like she’s still deciding whether I’m prey or something worth keeping alive.
“Here,” I say, crouching. “Let me take off your cloak.”
She mutters something under her breath, then winces as she starts to shrug out of it.
“Buy me dinner first,” she grits out.
I don’t roll my eyes—but it’s close. “How about not bleeding out all over the forest floor instead?”
She snorts. “Cheap date.”
I ease the cloak down her shoulders carefully, trying not to jostle the gash too much. Her body is warm beneath the fabric—hot, even. The kind of heat that screams pain, infection, too much blood lost too fast .
“Hold still,” I murmur.
“I am still.”
She’s not, but I don’t bother correcting her. Instead, I reach for the edge of her shirt and hesitate, fingers brushing the fabric.
“May I?” I ask, voice low.
Selis raises a brow but doesn’t stop me. Just leans back against the tree with a rough breath and mutters, “You’re already halfway to martyrdom. Might as well make it awkward.”
I lift the hem slowly, carefully, revealing the wound. It’s not as deep as the one I healed—but it’s raw, angry, and still oozing where the blood has crusted to her ribs. The skin around it is flushed with heat, bruised dark. The sight of it makes something tighten in my chest.
I press the cloth to her side, and she flinches beneath my hand. Her muscles tense… then settle. The silence stretches between us again, tighter than the bandage I’m winding.
Her eyes never leave my face.
After a while, she mutters, voice low and unreadable, “Still think I’m a monster?”
I go still.
My hands don’t. They keep working, steady. Gentle.
“Yes,” I say finally. Quiet. Honest. “But you bleed like anyone else.”
Her gaze sharpens. But there’s no heat in it. Just a slow, strange focus—like she’s trying to find the lie in my words and failing. She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t joke. Just watches as I bandage her wounds.
“You know…” Her voice is low. Almost casual. “All this blood, and you haven’t even tried to bite me. Thought vampires couldn’t resist the smell. ”
I blink, startled. Then laugh softly, a surprised breath slipping out.
“I haven’t.”
Selis raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t what?”
“Haven’t tried,” I clarify. “Haven’t been tempted.”
She frowns. “Why?”
I pause, not quite looking at her. “Your blood doesn’t… smell good.”
There’s a beat of stunned silence. Then—
“Wow,” she says flatly. “Thanks.”
I bite back a smile, wrapping the last layer of bandage. I finish tying off the bandage with a knot that presses firm against her side.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, please, keep going,” she drawls. “This is great for my self-esteem.”
“I think it’s because…” I hesitate, then finally meet her gaze. “I think I’m not supposed to hurt you.”
Her mouth opens. Then closes. The silence that follows is different than before. Not angry. Not mocking. Just unsettled. Her eyes search mine like she’s trying to find a lie—but there isn’t one.
“I’ve had visions of you for days before we met,” I admit. “Before I ever knew your name. And I never once dreamed of hurting you.”
Selis looks away, mouth tightening. “Maybe you should’ve.”
I reach out and gently, carefully, tuck the last bandage into place. “Maybe I still will,” I say softly. “But not tonight.”
She doesn’t say anything to that, and I don’t push her. I just sit there beside her in the cold, the chain between us slack for once, the night quiet but watching .
And maybe—for just a moment—we're not captor and captive.
We're just two women caught between gods and monsters, breathing together in the dark.
***
Selis sleeps like nothing can touch her.
Stretched out, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other curled protectively around her blade. Her breathing has evened out, slow and deep, but not soft. Even in sleep, Selis looks like she’s waiting to fight something.
The sunlight kisses the pale braid trailing over her shoulder. We’re both exhausted, covered in gore, and she fell asleep quicker than I’ve seen yet.
I should look away.
I don’t.
The chain between us lies slack now, half-buried in the frost-dusted leaves. She’s still bleeding under the bandages, a slow, steady pulse of red beneath the cloth.
I bandaged her…
I wrap my arms tighter around myself, fingers digging into the blanket she threw at me like a curse.
She’s cruel.
She’s the one dragging me to die.
And yet—
I saw her bleed.
I saw the way she pushed me behind her when the creature lunged. The way her blades came out like reflex, like wrath, like something sacred.
I saw her fight for me.
Because I’m the job, I remind myself. Just cargo. But even that thought rings hollow now, echoing too loudly in the quiet space between us.
Selis shifts in her sleep, brow furrowing. A breath leaves her mouth in a low, pained sound—not a groan. Not quite a dream.
I really should hate her.
I should despise her, and everything she is, and everything she reminds me of.
But I don’t.
I’m not even afraid of her anymore.
I pity her…
And worst of all—some foolish, broken part of me aches for her, for the safety I felt in my dreams of her. I press my face into my knees, trying to breathe through the tangle of guilt and warmth curling under my ribs.
I should let her rot.
I should hope the wound festers.
But I saved her.
And now I can’t stop looking at her face. Can’t stop wondering if she dreams of fire. If she still sees the boy she couldn’t save.
If she knows she’s become the thing that would’ve burned that house down herself for enough coin...
The wind rustles low through the trees. The night holds its breath. I close my eyes, as if I can shut it all out. But even in the dark behind my lids, she’s still there.
Bright and bleeding.
A curse I can’t stop touching.
***
Selis sleeps for nearly a day.
It’s the longest she’s stayed still since the chain first bit into my wrists. Since her knives first flashed in moonlight.
Now, her face is relaxed—almost soft. The angles of her mouth slackened, brow unfurrowed. The sharpness dulled by sleep and healing.
I sit by her side, curled beneath the blanket she gave me. My fingers tremble as I press them to her side again—just beneath the bandage. A soft hum. My skin flickers faintly. The glow that once poured out of me like wildfire now gutters like a dying candle. Thin, tired, aching. But it’s enough.
Just a little more.
I grit my teeth and let it drain. Again. And again.
It warms beneath my palm, threads of silver seeping under her skin where bruises once bloomed and bone threatened to break.
She sighs in her sleep, lashes fluttering. And I sag back against the roots of the tree, breathing hard, stars crowding the edges of my vision.
This is the fifth time I’ve done it. Maybe sixth. I stopped counting after I started shaking.
But I can’t let her stay broken. Not when I can fix her.
Even if it means breaking myself a little more.
** *
I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep sitting up until I feel movement.
My eyes snap open.
Selis is stretching—arms overhead, spine arching. The way she hisses at the last pull of tension is almost... surprised. She blinks down at herself, touches her side, her leg.
“What the fuck,” she mutters, voice thick from sleep. Her fingers probe under the bandage. “This—this shouldn’t be—”
She sits up straighter. Looks at me. Really looks.
I must look like death. Hair matted, skin pale, dark circles under my eyes like bruises from within. I can’t even sit up properly. I watch her through the haze.
“I healed you,” I whisper.
Her brows lift. “When?”
“While you slept.”
She stares.
I shrug weakly. “Little by little.”
A beat of silence.
“You—you did that?”
I nod.
“You fucking glowed on me while I was unconscious?”
“You’re welcome,” I rasp, a little too proud and a lot too empty.
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Tries again.
“Why would you do that, little star? You have a death wish?”
“No,” I breathe. “But you were in pain.”
She goes quiet for a long time.
Then—softer than I expect—she says, “You’ re exhausted.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
Selis leans back against the tree trunk, arms crossed, but her eyes won’t leave me. And for once, there’s no mockery in them.
The silence stretches.
My limbs are heavy. Heavier than they’ve ever felt. It’s like the power burned through everything and left me hollow. My skin feels too tight. My bones buzz with something that isn’t pain exactly—just… absence.
I try to shift. To rise. My body doesn’t cooperate.
The world tilts—
A strong hand grabs my arm, and catches me mid-collapse.
“Whoa there,” Selis mutters, steadying me with one arm and pulling me upright. “You’re not dying on me after all that glowing saint shit. If anyone gets to keel over dramatically, it’s me.”
I want to snap something sarcastic. I want to say I'm fine. But all I manage is a weak huff and a sag against her shoulder.
She doesn’t shove me off. Doesn’t mock me for it, either, surprisingly. Her arm stays firm around my waist, guiding me gently down beside her pack. The moment my knees hit the ground, she crouches too—awkward, a little stiff—but there.
“I’ve got it,” I whisper, trying to wave her off.
“Yeah, no, you don’t.” Her voice is low. Rough. “Shut up and sit still.”
She shrugs out of her cloak, tossing it over my shoulders before I can protest. It’s warm. Smells like cedar, steel, and whatever smoke she always seems to carry with her.
I blink hard.
“You’re being nice,” I mumble, voice cracking. “I don’t trust it.”
She smirks faintly, brushing damp hair from my face with a knuckle. “Don’t get used to it. ”
I exhale, something in my chest easing just a little. For the first time since she chained me, she doesn’t look like a warden. Doesn’t look like a monster, or a mission. She just looks... tired. Human.
“I thought you’d make some cruel comment,” I say, not looking at her. “About me falling on my face.”
Selis huffs. “You’ve got better things to worry about than my sparkling wit.”
She pauses.
Then, after a beat, she says, “But don’t worry. I’ll mock you later when you can stand.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out a wheeze.
She hands me an oilskin pouch and watches me drink. And when I look away, she pulls the blanket up around my shoulders.
My eyelids flutter. Sleep pulls at me again—but not from power this time. Just exhaustion. Just trust. And when I finally do drift, it’s with Selis’s cloak wrapped around me and her arm curled close—still pretending it’s just about balance.
But I feel the way her fingers press into my side.
Like she’s still making sure I’m real.
***
Sleep takes me like a wave I didn’t see coming.
One blink, and there’s the weight of Selis’s cloak, her scent tickling my nose.
The next—the trees are gone. The cold is gone. The world is burning .
I stand in the middle of a city that doesn’t exist .
Stone towers crumble in waves, rooftops collapse in flame, and the sky above swirls black with ash. It shouldn’t make sense, but it does. Somehow, I know this place. I move through the streets barefoot, untouched by the ruin around me. Fire curls through the air like a lover’s hand.
I smell blood. Smoke. Steel.
Then I see her.
Selis.
Standing at the center of it all, sword in hand, braid scorched and whipping in the wind. Her eyes gleam like polished obsidian.
And beside her— him .
The dead boy.
Lior.
He stands barefoot on cracked stone, firelight playing along his cheekbones. His mouth moves.
“She begged the gods,” he says, voice soft, ancient. “They didn’t answer.”
I reach for him, but he steps back and disappears in a flicker of ash.
Selis turns toward me slowly, but it’s not me she’s looking at.
I blink—
I’m on an altar.
Bare back pressed to cold stone, wrists bound in silver, the taste of old prayers still on the air.
Moonlight pours down like milk through a shattered dome overhead.
Selis is screaming.
Her voice cuts through the dream like a blade through flesh.
“Don’t touch her!” she roars.
I try to lift my head, but I’m held in place by something unseen. Figures in ceremonial robes surround me—faceless, chanting, their hands stained red. The priests. I try to call out. No sound.
A man raises a blade overhead—gleaming, curved, wicked.
But it’s Selis who steps between us. She throws herself forward, teeth bared, eyes wide. The blade comes down—and buries itself in her side. She gasps. Staggers. Her hands reach for me, not to push me away—to hold.
Blood runs down her arm and drips onto the altar. Onto me.
The chanting stops.
The fire dies.
Her lips move.
But I wake before I hear the words.