Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Northen Woods
Close to Caerith
Elara pushed at his chest, and she could feel his reluctance to release her, but he did.
She staggered back a step, her breath caught somewhere between her chest and throat.
Her lips still tingled from his kiss, the heat of it lingering like a brand she could not scrub away.
She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, furious that her body still reeled from his touch when her mind screamed sense at her.
She had been foolish to trust him, to let him close, to allow the seed of something tender to spark inside her when betrayal had been in his heart all along.
Her pulse thudded painfully as she stared at him in the dim forest light. Dar stood mere inches from her, chest rising and falling harder than he intended to show, jaw clenched, eyes locked on hers with a hunger he could not quite hide… and a regret he could not fully bury.
“Do not touch me again,” she whispered, though her voice lacked the steel she wished it carried. The ache beneath her ribs betrayed her, an ache she despised.
He took a step toward her.
She stepped back.
“Stay away.”
Something flickered across his face. Not anger. Not the fierce Hunter’s discipline he’d worn like armor since Barloch. Something softer, raw, quickly crushed and hidden as if it had no right to exist.
“Elara—” he began.
“Nay,” she cut sharply. “I was a fool to believe anything you let me see. A fool to trust the man you pretended to be.”
His jaw flexed. “The man I was with you—was not pretend.”
She laughed bitterly, though the sound nearly broke. “Lies come easily to Hunters. It is what you are trained for.”
“I never lied about keeping you safe.”
“That,” she said, her voice finally steadying, “is the worst lie of all. Because part of me still wants to believe it.”
Her eyes burned, but she refused to let tears fall. Not in front of him. Never in front of him.
Dar’s breath left him in a slow, strained exhale. For a moment, he looked as if he might reach for her again, but he stopped himself, hands balling into fists at his sides.
He said nothing and, in the silence, she realized something chilling, the kiss had not been a mistake. It had been a confession. One she could not afford to hear.
Elara tore her gaze from him and strode past him toward the camp, refusing to look back even when she longed to, even when she felt the weight of his eyes follow her through the darkening sky.
She stepped back into the small clearing the Hunters had claimed for the night, the fire spits holding freshly caught meat cooking over them.
Shadows moved between the trees, silent men, watchful, always watching.
She kept her chin high as she crossed into the camp, though her heart still hammered from the confrontation with Dar.
Feena knelt beside Muir near one of the fires, Adira hovering close behind her.
Muir’s sleeve was shoved up past his elbow, the bloody cloth unwrapped, the wound beneath swollen and red.
Feena’s brow was drawn in deep lines of concern as she dabbed a mixture of crushed leaves and boiled water along the inflamed skin.
“You waited too long,” Feena scolded softly, her voice firm but weary. “Far too long. The wound festers, and I fear the rot has already begun.”
Muir snorted under his breath. “You talk nonsense, old woman. I’ve suffered worse.”
“Aye, and some men live to boast of their folly,” Feena replied, tying a fresh cloth around his arm with a tightness that made him hiss. “But this—this is no simple scrape. Infection spreads fast. I’ve done what I can, but whether your body heeds the healing is not mine to say.”
Muir grumbled but said nothing more, as he walked away while Feena finished packing away her herbs in her healing pouch.
Elara approached, hoping to slip past quietly, but Feena lifted her head the moment she drew near. Her sharp eyes took in the stiff line of Elara’s shoulders, the tension in her jaw, the way her breath came too shallow.
“You’ve returned,” Feena said, rising slowly to her feet. She brushed her hands on her skirts and studied Elara’s face with calm, unsettling accuracy. “And burdened heavier than when you left.”
“I am well enough,” Elara said quickly, too quickly.
“A poor lie,” Feena murmured. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I told you once not to doubt him.”
Elara flinched as if struck.
Feena did not relent. “Whatever passed between you in the woods, whatever words or wounds, do not let the moment blind you.”
“I am not blind,” Elara said tightly. “Only wiser.”
Feena’s sigh was soft, almost sorrowful. “Child, wisdom and fear often dress alike. Be sure you know which one you wear.”
Elara turned away, not trusting herself to answer, not trusting her voice to remain steady. Feena let her go, though her gaze followed her with quiet understanding.
Muir watched them from a distance and muttered under his breath, dismissing Feena’s warning even as he rubbed his bandaged arm.
Night pressed close around the camp, and Elara felt it settle upon her like a weight, heavy, cold, and full of questions she wished she didn’t have to ask.
Elara slept near Feena and Adira, the three of them wrapped in thin blankets beneath the lean-to the Hunters had fashioned for them. Exhaustion pulled her down quickly, but her sleep was restless, threaded with unease.
Sometime in the night she startled awake.
Silence lay thick over the camp. Not the ordinary hush of sleeping men, but something deeper, an eerie stillness that pressed against her ears until she wondered if the world had stopped breathing.
She blinked into the darkness.
Was she awake?
Was she dreaming?
Or was this… something else?
She pushed herself slowly upright, careful not to disturb Feena or Adira. The fires had burned down to a faint glow, throwing long, distorted shadows across the clearing.
Then she saw it.
A figure, shimmering faintly as though woven from moonlight, hovered over Muir.
Elara’s breath stilled.
A dark shape bent over the wounded Hunter, its hands moving with graceful, deliberate care, though Elara could not make out fingers or flesh. Only a strange darkness. Only a presence.
Her heart thudded painfully.
Was this a vision… or truth?
She dared not move.
The figure straightened slowly, darkness clinging to it, and turned toward her.
Elara’s breath caught hard in her throat.
A face shimmered beneath the dark hood, but she couldn’t make it out.
The figure lifted a single, slim finger and waved it back and forth at Elara.
Was it a warning to keep her silence? To dare not speak. Or was it a warning to stay away, not search for her?
Elara’s pulse thundered. She opened her mouth. She didn’t know whether to call out, to question, to cry, but in an instant the world seemed to fold, darkness sweeping through her vision like a wave.
Everything vanished.
She woke with a gasp.
Sunlight speared through the branches overhead. Birds called from the high boughs, fires drew their last breaths, and Hunters were up and about. Adira stirred awake, sitting up quickly, looking about for Feena, who was not beside her.
Elara pressed her hand to her racing heart.
Dream? Vision? Or something else?
Before she could rise, she heard Muir’s laugh, gruff, smug, full of self-importance.
“You fret too much, woman,” he said to Feena, bent beside him, checking his arm. “Look at it! Almost healed clean through.”
Elara helped Adira to her feet, and they both hurried to look.
The angry, festering wound from the night before was pale now, the swelling gone, the skin knit together as though many days had passed.
Feena’s brows lifted high. “By the gods…” she whispered. “I did not expect so quick a turn.”
Muir puffed out his chest. “You’re a better healer than you know, old woman. The king will be pleased to speak with you. Perhaps you’ll tell him your secrets.”
Feena looked unsettled, her hand lingering over the wound far longer than necessary.
Elara could hardly breathe. It wasn’t a dream or a vision. Had she seen the remarkable healer herself? Was she an ethereal being? But she was of darkness not light. What did that mean? And why had she awakened at that precise moment? Had the healer wanted to make herself known to her?
Dar approached with long, purposeful strides, his cloak brushing the ground behind him and his expression as dark as the leather he wore. His eyes swept over the small group, lingering on Feena’s unsettled face, then on Muir’s self-satisfied grin.
“What is going on here?” he demanded, his tone sharp enough to cut the morning air.
Muir lifted his arm proudly. “The old woman’s healing worked faster than I thought. Look at it. Near whole already.”
Dar’s eyes narrowed as he examined the wound. His jaw tightened, a sign Elara had come to recognize when something disturbed him. “You said it was festering last night.”
“Aye,” Feena said, her voice steady but edged with confusion. “It was. I did what I could, but such a wound does not mend overnight.”
Dar stared at her, his expression stoic, though something lingered deep in his eyes, unease, or suspicion, or perhaps a thought he did not want to voice.
He straightened abruptly. “When we reach our destination, Muir, you keep Feena apart from the others. King Dravic will want to see her immediately.”
Muir nodded sharply. “Aye, sir.”
Feena’s lips thinned, but she said nothing. She simply gathered her things with quiet dignity, her gaze drifting briefly to Elara with a reassurance she did not feel.
Dar turned away. “Break camp. We ride within minutes.”
At once the Hunters moved, extinguishing the already dying fires, tightening saddle straps, gathering their packs with practiced efficiency. Their discipline was as sharp as their blades.
Elara helped Feena and Adira climb into the cart once more, then stepped back as the Hunters prepared the line. She kept her distance, refusing to seek Dar’s gaze. But it didn’t matter, he sought hers.
“Elara,” he said, his voice firm as he approached, his horse following behind him.
She looked only because she had no choice.
“You ride with me.”
Her breath caught. “I prefer to ride in the cart.”
“It was not a request,” he said, brooking no argument. “King Dravic will expect you unharmed, unshaken, and accounted for. I will see it done.”
She stiffened. “I am not a parcel to be delivered.”
Something sparked in his eyes, anger, regret, the ghost of something softer, but his tone remained iron. “Nay, you’re my wife, whom I mean to protect.”
“There is no need to pretend any longer,” she said, a strange regret filling her.
Dar moved closer, his strong hands landing on her waist and with one swift lift swung her up and onto the saddle. Then he quickly mounted to settle behind her.
He leaned forward to take hold of the reins, his lips a whisper away from her cheek. “You are my wife until I say you are not.”
His warm breath skimmed her cheek, sending a shiver through her. Or it could have been his words, sounding like a declaration that he didn’t intend to let her go. A frightening thought or a sober one, since she had no doubt Dar was a man who would protect his wife with his life.
The stallion shifted beneath them, and the line of Hunters began to move.
The stallion moved with an easy, rolling stride, its warmth rising through the saddle.
Elara kept her back straight, refusing to lean against the hard breadth of Dar’s chest, though the temptation was stronger than she wished to admit.
His arm brushed her side each time he shifted the reins, and every brush sent a whisper of heat spiraling through her, a familiar and comforting heat she didn’t want to welcome, but she did.
Finally, she found her breath, though only one word slipped from her lips. “Why?”
A long moment passed before he answered, his voice low behind her ear. “Word reached us that a healer with silver hair and amethyst eyes, a rare combination, could be found in Birkfell.”
Elara stiffened. “So, you specifically came searching for me?”
His arm slipped around her waist, and he tucked her against him, keeping his voice for her ears alone. “Aye, I was to find you and determine if you were the one King Dravic seeks.”
Her pulse stumbled. “Why not just take me captive like the other healers?”
“Hunters hunt their way and gathering endless prey to find the one we search for is not our way. I was sent to hunt as only Hunters can and deliver what the king wants.”
“But I am not what the king wants. I have no remarkable healing powers—” she gasped. “My visions. You bring me to the king because of my visions.”
His body grew as taut as his silence.
“Dar,” she said, turning her head enough to catch the edge of his jaw, the rough stubble along it grazing her soft cheek. “Tell me that you will not betray me further.”
He stared at her in silence, his manner stoic, his gray eyes cold, and his arm tightened around her as if he never intended to let her go. And why she felt a moment of relief she could not say but she clung to it with hope.
“When we stand before King Dravic, you will follow my lead,” he ordered.
Disappointed with his reply, she sighed. “That is not an answer.”
“It is the only one I can give you just now.”
Elara kept her eyes on his, as if they would tell her more than he would say. “You expect me to trust you after everything you’ve done?”
“I have kept you safe, Elara, and I will continue to do so.”
She was about to tell him that it was his duty to keep her safe until she was delivered to the king, but something stopped her. Why would he tell her that he would continue to keep her safe when it would no longer be his duty to do so?
“You will always be safe with me,” he whispered close to her ear.
A shiver ran through her. “I want to believe that.”
“Then do,” he said, sounding as if he ordered her to do so.
Silence followed, heavy and weighted.
Finally, his voice brushed her ear again. “The king is not a man you refuse.”
She clenched the saddle blanket, torn between fear and the sharp pull she felt toward the man holding her.
She shouldn’t trust him and yet… the closeness of him, the steady strength of his arms, his warm breath against her cheek, and a kiss that said so much more than was spoken cautioned her to pay heed and not condemn him… just yet.
Ahead, the trees thinned, the road winding toward the king’s land and her fate.
Whatever awaited them in Caerith, she knew one truth clearly, her greatest danger might not be King Dravic. It might be the Hunter she feared she had lost her heart to whether she wanted to believe it or not.