Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
I’m painfully hard.
That’s my first thought when I wake the next morning.
Mayah is the second.
The heady scent of frost and winter rose invades my senses, and I greedily inhale it like a dying man.
My eyes crack open—Mayah is coiled around me, our legs tangled together, her arm thrown across my chest like I belong to her.
Her face is burrowed in my neck, gentle breaths fanning across my skin and setting fire to my restraint.
I stifle a deep groan. These past weeks have been torture—mornings spent carefully disentangling our limbs, praying she doesn’t wake.
I’d love nothing more than to remain here, let her wake leisurely, wrapped in my arms. It feels wrong to leave her, especially after all we shared last night. Our pain. Our loss.
But if she woke now—with the evidence of my arousal pressed against her thigh—it might frighten her. Make her feel unsafe.
So I move, gently peeling her off me. Thank the Skies, she’s a deep sleeper.
A quick scan of the clearing reveals nothing. No unfamiliar energy signatures in the vicinity. Still, I don’t venture too far when I head into the trees to relieve myself, scratching at my stubbled jaw—maybe I’ll shave with my dagger and let Mayah sleep in.
Twenty minutes later, when I head back into the clearing, she’s awake, flopping onto her back with a low groan.
A smile tugs at my lips. “Rise and shine, Mayah.”
Her gaze finds me, blue eyes trailing over my freshly shaved jawline. She sucks her lower lip into her mouth before quickly rolling over onto her stomach.
But it’s too late—I already saw her reddening cheeks. A surge of pure satisfaction courses through me.
“I’m still tired,” she mumbles, her voice muffled through the blanket.
I stroll over to her, stopping near her head, trying futilely not to stare at the swell of her ass beneath my cloak.
“Ten more minutes, baby,” I rumble, my lips curving into a smirk. I hope her blush deepens, even if I can’t see it. “Then we go.”
“Don’t call me baby.”
It’s late afternoon when it happens.
Five, maybe six men heading in our direction, electric currents swarming around them like angry bees. In the next heartbeat, I push Mayah against a tree, hand clamped over her mouth.
Her eyes burn into the side of my face, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t shove at my chest, doesn’t question why I’ve pinned her to a tree, body pressed tight against hers. Mayah just waits—she trusts me. The thought warms something in my chest, even as my nerves crackle with anticipation.
I need to protect her. At any cost.
Their energy signatures draw closer.
“Stay here,” I whisper, meeting her blue gaze. “Nod so I know you’ll listen.”
She nods, her lips grazing my palm, though I’m not certain she’ll actually listen. Not for the first time, I wish my truthwielding worked on body language and not just speech.
There’s no time to repeat myself, though.
The men are getting closer.
Every molecule in my body shouts in protest when I leave Mayah alone and creep through the trees.
Six men appear in the clearing, mere feet from where I’m crouched. They’re clad in dark leather with sheathed swords belted at their waists.
Rebels.
“—believe she did that?” one of the men laughs, eyes crinkling in amusement. “I thought the poor man would faint.”
“Mona’s a firecracker,” another rebel agrees, slapping his bulky friend on the back, while the other men chuckle in agreement.
They keep walking, but I don’t let myself relax, don’t let the tension seep from my muscles.
I keep watching, and then—
A sharp whistle echoes through the clearing. Once, twice, then a third, long note.
The men freeze.
Fuck. Another rebel—somewhere in the trees. Too far for me to sense his energy signature.
“Would you look at that, boys?” one of the men says loudly. “Some sneaky bastards are hiding.”
I don’t hesitate.
I bolt through the underbrush, sword in hand. I plunge my blade into one man with a squelch, his neck spurting blood. The other men fumble to unsheathe their swords. Ill-trained bastards. The clang of metal rings out as I block their attacks, searching for openings in their defenses.
Another man falls to the ground, dark blood seeping into the earth.
Block. Duck. Swipe.
One man aims for my knees, but I jump out of the way, elbowing another rebel behind me. My sword cleaves through muscle and flesh.
Another man falls.
The remaining men eye me warily, their confidence fizzling into fear. Good. I move toward another rebel when—
“Zevayr!”
My blood runs cold.
Mayah’s voice, filled with panic.
Her energy signature—as familiar to me now as my own—thrums wildly. She’s coming closer.
One of the rebels pivots, heading toward her.
I turn, sword raised.
She runs faster, nearly reaching us—
The haunting whistle of death.
An arrow hurtles through the air, piercing her side.
Her knees buckle.
The muted thud when she hits the ground echoes in my bones, burrows beneath my ribs and stabs my heart. Her tunic darkens with deathly crimson, lifeblood seeping from her wound.
Her beautiful face contorts with pain, but her eyes—her eyes brim with unadulterated fear.
Not for herself. For me. She took that arrow for me.
Searing fury explodes across my skin.
Blinding, burning rage scorches through my veins.
I can’t think. I can’t breathe.
Skies, her pale face twists with pain. It must only be seconds, but time seems to halt as her eyes flutter, the dark stain on her tunic growing larger with every breath.
An earth-shattering, anguished roar tears from my throat.
The sky rumbles with violence.
It’s happening again. The vague thought flits through my mind, buried deep beneath the rage. Electric currents thrum in the air—sensed, but never controlled—and await my command. Something unlocks inside me, a well of unparalleled power, fueled by my anger.
Teeth bared, chest heaving. The air crackles as the energy signatures turn on the men. The stench of smoke wafts through the air as they vibrate, one by one, bodies jerking unnaturally.
They hit the earth.
The sharpshooter falls next.
My feet slap against the ground, corpses forgotten.
Mayah. I need to reach Mayah.
Skies, she looks so small, crumpled on the ground. I scoop her into my arms.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She’s unconscious. Her pulse is strong beneath my fingers. I agonize for only a second—there’s no time to dress her wound here. There could be others nearby.
Cradling her against my heart, I dart through the woods, trying to keep her as still as possible to avoid jostling the arrow jutting from her side.
Again and again, my eyes return to her pale face, her damp forehead, and anger ignites in me anew.
I should’ve killed them slower.