Chapter 15 #2
The battle had ended while he held her. Izaean warriors moved through the canyon, dragging feral corpses into piles for transport.
Someone barked orders about tissue samples.
Another voice called for tracking teams to follow the survivors.
The mechanical roar of transport engines filled the air, but it all seemed muffled, like his ears were stuffed with cotton.
He could only feel the wrongness of her weight in his arms.
He shifted her in his arms, needing to see her face. His hand trembled as he smoothed dark strands back from her forehead, the gesture gentle despite his shaking. Her skin had already started cooling, taking on a waxy pallor that made his stomach clench.
"You fought for me." The words came out raw, his throat tight.
"You saw that thing and you still... Gods, kelarris.
You're so strong. Stronger than any warrior I've known.
" His thumb traced the curve of her cheekbone, memorizing the feel of her skin.
"I love you. Should have said it better. Should have said it more."
His vision blurred again, fresh tears spilling over. He'd only had her for days. Just days of her touch, of the way she looked at him without fear. She'd argued with him, challenged him, and broken open parts of him he never knew existed.
"I was going to keep you." The confession tumbled out, even though she couldn't hear. "Was going to claim you properly when we got back. Move you into my quarters. Spend weeks learning every inch of you." His voice broke on a sob. "We were supposed to have time."
Movement at his wrist caught his eye. He almost ignored it, too lost to care about anything beyond the female in his arms. But the dark lines spreading across his skin demanded attention, pulling him from the spiral of despair long enough to focus.
Mating marks.
The vine-like patterns wrapped around both wrists, dark as ink beneath his skin. They pulsed faintly with his heartbeat, intricate whorls and curves that looked like they'd been etched by an artist's hand. Beautiful and damning all at once.
A bitter laugh escaped him, the sound jagged. "Now? The gods choose now to mark us?" He held his wrist up to the light from the hovering transports, watching the marks in the light. "She's dead, and now you tell me she was mine? My soul's match?"
Of course. The gods gave him their blessing only after they'd taken her away.
"Sir?" Kraath's voice penetrated the fog around him, careful and distant. "The feral that was commanding them—she had yellow eyes. Like Zeke. We need to—"
Footsteps approached through the mud and blood. Zeke's muscles coiled, his legion stirring despite his grief. If someone tried to take her from him, he'd kill them. Simple as that.
"Easy, brother." Raaze's voice, closer than expected. “We need to get you both on a transport. Get you back to the garrison."
"No." The word rumbled from deep in his chest. "No one touches her."
"Zeke." Raaze moved into his peripheral vision, hands raised peacefully. "You're bleeding out, and she needs—"
The snarl that ripped from his throat made Raaze step back. "I said no one touches her!" His legion armor spread across his arms, responding to the protective rage flooding his system. "She's mine. She stays with me."
"Look at yourself." Raaze's tone stayed steady, but his red eyes tracked the way Zeke hunched over Michelle's body. "You're bleeding all over her."
The observation cut through Zeke's aggressive haze.
He looked down and saw the truth of it… his blood ran in steady streams from the gashes the monster had inflicted.
The cuts in his sides hadn't closed, the poison keeping his legion from healing him properly.
Blood dripped from his arms, his chest, pooling where he held Michelle against him.
More than that, the blood was moving.
He watched in stunned confusion as the crimson streams didn't just drip onto Michelle—they flowed toward her injuries. The blood reached the horrific punctures in her abdomen and began to change, darkening to black as it spread across the damaged tissue.
"What..." His voice came out hoarse, barely audible.
"Legion armor." Raaze stepped closer, his red eyes fixed on the transformation. "Your blood is turning into armor over her injuries."
The black substance spread, sealing the gaping holes in Michelle's stomach. It hardened as he watched, taking on the same shine as his own armor when his legion fully manifested. The edges melded seamlessly with her skin, looking like it had grown there rather than formed from his blood.
Raaze's gaze snapped to his. "It's protecting what's yours."
Zeke's own words, thrown back at him. He'd told her that when Kraath noticed his legion cast on her leg. But this was different. This was his legion acting independently, pouring his life force into protecting her even after—
His hands shook as he pressed two fingers to her throat, searching for what couldn't possibly be there. The silence stretched, his own heartbeat thundering in his ears as he tried to find—
There.
Faint as a butterfly's wing. Barely a flutter against his fingertips. But unmistakably present.
A pulse.
"She's alive." The words came out strangled, disbelieving. "She's—Michelle!"
He pressed his ear to her chest, holding his breath to listen. The thready whisper of a heartbeat, so weak he might have imagined it. But his hearing didn't lie.
"Transport!" The word exploded from him as he got to his feet, Michelle cradled against his chest. "I need a transport now!"
"Already here." A female voice answered him, clear and confident and a human appeared at his elbow.
Zeke's scattered thoughts took a second to process her presence.
Maeve—Raalt's mate. She wore pilot gear, her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun.
"I've got a shuttle prepped. We can be at the garrison in twelve minutes if we push it. "
Maeve. Which meant Raalt had led the rescue party. Made sense—Raalt's search for the missing females must have brought them north.
"She needs—" Zeke started moving toward the shuttle Maeve indicated, his legs unsteady but functional.
"I know what she needs." Maeve kept pace beside him, her expression focused. "Trauma team is already prepped and waiting. Prince Isan himself is standing by." She glanced at the legion armor covering Michelle's injuries. "Though it looks like you've already started treatment."
Zeke followed her to the sleek shuttle, its loading ramp already down. Raaze appeared at his other side, steadying him when his steps faltered. The blood loss from his cuts made him weak, but he wouldn't let go of Michelle.
Couldn't let go.
"Strap in," Maeve ordered, dropping into the pilot's seat. "We're going to be pulling some high g and some aggressive maneuvers."
The shuttle lifted before Zeke could protest, acceleration pressing him back into the seat Raaze had shoved him into. His eyes stayed locked on Michelle's face as Maeve pushed the shuttle, the engine screaming protest.
Through his growing dizziness, one thought crystallized with perfect clarity: he'd mocked Michelle for being weak, told her she needed protection.
But here he was, trusting a human female to fly them through dangerous terrain at speeds that would challenge even an Izaean pilot.
Trusting a human to save the female he loved.
So much for humans being fragile.