Imara
TWENTY-NINE
The blood-wards flare.
Kharvek goes rigid beside me. His scars surge with crimson light—that bright warning I’ve come to recognize. I’m on my feet before conscious thought engages, reaching for power, reaching for him.
“Something’s wrong.” He crosses to the window. Peers through the gaps. “The ward network just—”
I sense it then. In my own scarification, in the residual magic that permeates even this barren territory. A shift in the blood-ward matrix. A surge of power directed toward us.
Toward us specifically.
“She can sense the resonance.” The realization hits like ice water. “The Matron. She’s tracking us through our own blood.”
Kharvek’s jaw tightens. “Movement on the eastern ridge. Half a mile out, maybe less.”
The hunters. What remains of them, after the Sacrificial Pit, after Tomek’s diversion. They should have been hours away. Instead, they’re nearly on top of us.
Because the Matron guided them here. Because she sensed what hums between us and used it as a compass.
“How many?”
“Six. Maybe eight.” He turns back to me. “We can’t outrun them. Not if she’s tracking the resonance.”
“Then we fight.” I grab my knife. The small blade I’ve carried since my harvester days. “Here. Now.”
“Stay behind me.” He crosses to me. Cups my face. Kisses me hard—quick, urgent, a promise and a prayer. “Feed me what you can. And if I fall—”
“You won’t fall.”
“If I fall,” he repeats, “you run.”
I kiss him back just as hard. “I’m not leaving you standing.”
Something stirs in his gaze—frustration, resignation, and beneath it all, something warmer. Something that might be love.
“Stubborn woman.”
“Stubborn man.”
He almost smiles. Then he steps out the door, and I follow, positioning myself behind him, reaching for the resonance that pulses between us.
The hunters see us. Spread into a formation designed to flank, to overwhelm, to capture rather than kill. The Matron still wants us alive. Still wants what our blood could create.
She won’t get it.
Kharvek’s scars flare. His channels open. I sense it as a surge in my own blood—that resonance amplifying his magic, feeding it, making it stronger than it was before.
He moves.
And I move with him.
The fight is brutal and brief.
Kharvek tears through the hunters with terrifying efficiency. I work from behind, disrupting what I can—pinching blood vessels, throwing off balance, creating openings he exploits without hesitation. We move in concert, anticipating each other’s needs, covering each other’s weaknesses.
The resonance makes us devastating.
When the last hunter falls, Kharvek stands in the center of the carnage, blood dripping from his hands. I cross to him without hesitation. Wrap my arms around his waist from behind. Press my forehead to his spine.
“It’s done.” My voice is muffled against his back. “You did it.”
His hands cover mine where they rest on his stomach. “We did it.”
He turns in my arms. Looks down at me with eyes that hold none of the killing fury from moments before. Just exhaustion. Relief. Want.
“Imara.”
“I know.” I rise on my toes. Kiss the corner of his mouth. “I know.”
He pulls me closer. Buries his face in my hair. We stand there in the aftermath, surrounded by bodies and blood, holding each other like the world might end if we let go.
“More will come.” His voice is rough. “She knows where we are now.”
“I know.”
“We need to move. Plan. Figure out how to—”
He goes still. Waiting.
“I don’t want to fight it.” The words come easier than I expected. “Whatever we’re becoming—whatever this thing between us grows into—I want it. I want you. Not because the Matron designed us to be compatible. Because I choose you.”
His breath catches. Something breaks open in his expression—walls I didn’t even know were there crumbling to dust.
“Imara—”
“You don’t have to decide now. I just wanted you to know. Whatever comes next—the Matron, the Sanctum, all of it—I’m choosing you. I’m choosing us.”
He stares at me. The midday light catches the blood on his skin, makes his scars gleam.
Then he kisses me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
We retreat into the farmstead as the light shifts toward afternoon.
There’s planning to do. Strategies to discuss. A clan to destroy. But first, we need rest. Need each other.
Kharvek settles against the wall and pulls me into his lap. I go willingly, straddling his thighs, my arms around his neck. We’re both filthy—blood and dirt and sweat—but I don’t care. I just want to be close to him.
“You’re sure?” His hands rest on my hips. Gentle despite their strength. “About choosing this? The resonance will only grow stronger. We’ll never be able to hide from each other.”
“I’ve spent ten years hiding.” I trace the scar that bisects his eyebrow. “I’m tired of it. With you… I don’t have to pretend. I don’t want to pretend.”
“Neither do I.” He turns his head, presses a kiss to my palm. “I didn’t know it was possible to want something this much. I do now.”
The confession makes my heart stutter—he says it like it’s obvious, like wanting me is the most natural thing he’s ever done.
“Kharvek—”
“You don’t have to say it back.” He pulls me closer. Rests his forehead against mine. “But you should hear it. You’re mine. And I’m yours. That’s not going to change.”
I kiss him. Soft. Sweet. Full of promises I’m only beginning to understand.
He holds me tighter. We sit there in the warmth of the afternoon, wrapped around each other, the resonance humming between us.