Chapter 26 – COSIMA
Chapter
Twenty-Six
COSIMA
I wake with a start, my eyes flying open. For a moment, I'm disoriented, unsure where I am or how I got here. Then it all comes rushing back—the chaos at the airport, my desperate flight into the forest, finding the Knight...
The Knight.
My breath catches in my throat as I realize I'm still curled against his massive frame.
And he's awake.
Those eerie blue eyes are fixed on me, glowing faintly in the pre-dawn gloom. The weight of his gaze is heavy and intent. My heart flutters and pounds against my ribs as I wait for him to move, to attack, to finish what he started in so many of my nightmares.
But he doesn't.
He just... watches me.
Slowly, carefully, I push myself up into a sitting position.
My muscles protest, stiff from sleeping on the cold, hard ground.
A violent shiver wracks my body as the bitter morning air hits my skin.
Without the Knight's fever-hot bulk pressed against me, I'm immediately aware of just how frigid it is.
That's probably the only thing keeping my heat at bay. It's still there, still lurking beneath the surface, but it's tough for me to feel anything but "freezing my fucking ass off" right now.
I wrap my arms around myself, teeth chattering.
My breath puffs out in little clouds as I take stock of our surroundings.
The forest is eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the soft gurgle of the nearby river.
A thin layer of frost coats the dead leaves and branches scattered around us, glittering faintly in the weak light filtering through the skeletal trees.
It's beautiful, in a desolate sort of way.
And deadly, if we don't find better shelter soon.
At least for me. Not sure about him.
I turn my attention back to the Knight. He hasn't moved, those glowing eyes still fixed on me. But there's something different about his gaze now. It's less predatory, somehow. Almost curious.
"Can you understand me?" I ask, my voice rough from sleep and cold.
He doesn't respond.
I need to get him up. Need to get us both moving before we die out here. But how do I communicate with a creature I'm not even sure is fully sapient? Maybe not even sentient.
Wincing at the way my joints crack, I rise to my feet. "Up," I say firmly, making an upward gesture with my hands. "We need to get up now."
For a long time, nothing happens. Then, slowly, laboriously, the Knight begins to move. I step back, giving him space as he struggles to his feet.
Even hunched over as he is, clearly weak from his injuries, he towers over me. I have to crane my neck to look up at him, and for a moment, that old fear threatens to overwhelm me.
But I push it down.
He hasn't hurt me.
He saved me, in a way, by providing warmth and protection through the night.
And right now, he's all I've got.
"Good," I say, trying to keep my voice steady and encouraging. "That's good. Now we need to walk. Find shelter."
I take a few steps, then turn back to see if he's following. He is, but his movements are slow and unsteady. Blue-black blood oozes from some of his wounds where my makeshift bandages and herb packs have come loose. His breathing is labored, each exhale ending in a wet rattle that can't be good.
But we're on our own out here.
And I doubt anyone would try to help him.
I lead the way deeper into the forest, picking my way carefully over fallen logs and through tangles of dead underbrush. The Knight follows, his heavy footsteps crunching through the frost-covered ground. Every so often I glance back, making sure he's still with me.
He always is, those glowing eyes never leaving me.
As we walk, I try to recall everything my mother taught me about wilderness survival. I wonder if she ever imagined a scenario quite like this.
First priority, shelter , her voice echoes in my head. You can survive three hours in extreme temperatures, three days without water, and three weeks without food. Find something to keep you out of the elements.
I scan our surroundings, looking for anything that might serve as a temporary refuge. A cave would be ideal, but those are hard to come by in this type of forest. A fallen tree, maybe? Or we could try to construct a lean-to...
My eyes land on a massive oak tree not far ahead, its thick branches reaching toward the pale sky. It's not perfect, but it'll have to do.
"This way," I say, gesturing toward the tree. I'm not sure if he understands me, but talking helps. It makes this whole surreal situation feel a little more normal. "We can use the branches for shelter."
As we approach the oak, I start gathering fallen branches and dead leaves. My fingers are numb with cold, making it difficult to grip anything, but I force myself to keep working. The Knight watches me in unnerving silence. I can't tell if he's confused or just observing.
"Here," I say, holding out a branch to him. "Can you help?"
He stares at the branch for a long moment, then slowly reaches out. His fingers—not the metal claws—brush against mine as he takes it, and I'm struck by how warm he is, even now. He examines the branch, turning it over in his massive hand.
"Good," I nod, encouraged. "We need more like that. As many as you can find."
To my surprise, he seems to understand. Or at least, he starts mimicking my actions, gathering branches and piling them near the base of the tree. His movements are clumsy, but he's trying. It's more than I expected.
As we work, I keep stealing glances at him.
The silver rays of pale morning light catch on his exposed skin, highlighting every ridge of scar tissue, every place where metal meets flesh in crude surgical seams. Most of the plating is concentrated on his right shoulder, upper right chest, and upper right back, supporting his clawed iron arm.
It looks… painful.
So does his face. The iron mask that haunted my nightmares for so long sits broken, revealing glimpses of the man beneath.
He's mangled to the point of having more scars than unmarked skin, but the structure is there.
A strong jaw. Cheekbones. A straight nose.
He'd be handsome if it weren't for his lips and cheeks being torn away, exposing his razor-sharp teeth, muscle, and jawbone in a terrifying grin.
His messy, bloodied white hair is long enough to cover most of the damage, and if I don't pay attention to his spine, he looks like a normal alpha.
Just insanely tall and muscular. The rods and plating that were blown off have bared a steel reinforced spine that resembles the exoskeletons I've seen spec-ops soldiers wearing.
Only his doesn't come off.
He still scares the shit out of me, sure. But his movements lack the predatory menace of my dreams. The closer he is to me, the slower he moves. Like he's deliberately trying not to scare me more than his presence already does.
I find myself wondering, and not for the first time, what kind of monster would do this to another living being?
What purpose could such cruelty possibly serve?
I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand.
Shelter first.
Existential questions later.
Once we've gathered enough materials, I start constructing a simple lean-to against the trunk of the oak. My mother's voice guides me, memories of long-ago lessons floating to the surface about building on high ground to avoid flooding.
I position the shelter carefully, angling it to protect us from the wind. The Knight watches me work, occasionally handing me branches when I reach for them. It's an oddly domestic scene, considering the circumstances.
"This will keep us dry if it rains," I explain as I work, more for my own benefit than his. "And it'll block some of the wind. It's not much, but it's better than nothing."
He makes a low rumbling sound in his chest that I choose to interpret as agreement.
As I finish securing the last of the branches, I step back to survey our handiwork. It's not pretty, but it should hold. At least for a night or two. Long enough for us to...
To what?
What exactly is my plan here?
I glance at the Knight, who's staring at the shelter with an unreadable expression. What am I supposed to do with him? I can't exactly waltz back into civilization with an eight-foot-tall killing machine in tow.
But I also can't leave him here to die.
Which is fucking ridiculous, considering how many years I've spent living in terror just at the idea of him finding me.
How many nights Azarel spent holding me against his chest as I sobbed and shook, traumatized by yet another nightmare as he promised to protect me even though I was pretty sure he thought I was nuts and was just humoring me.
But it isn't the Knight's fault he's a monster.
The shelter is crude, but it'll have to do.
I eye our handiwork critically, already cataloging improvements we can make if we end up staying here longer than a night or two.
Which is looking increasingly likely, given the Knight's condition.
He may be a hulking mass of metal and muscle, but even he has limits.
The low rattling growl in his chest when he breathes concerns me more than I care to admit.
But shelter is only the first step. We need food, and soon. My stomach clenches painfully, reminding me that it's been far too long since I've eaten anything substantial. The "food" Nikolai's lackeys brought me in that godforsaken tower feels like a lifetime ago.
I turn to the Knight, who's still watching me with that unnervingly intense gaze. "We need to find food," I say, gesturing to my stomach. "Food. Eat. You understand?"
He just stares at me.
Again.
Zero indication whether he understands or not.
I sigh, running a hand through my tangled hair. "Right. Well, let's see what we can find."
I walk down the slope, scanning the surrounding area and looking for anything edible. Most of the vegetation is dead or dying, victims of the harsh climate and lingering radiation.