Chapter 8 #2
His hand caught my wrist. Gently. His grip was warm, his palm rough with calluses, and the touch sent electricity up my arm.
"You shouldn't have to," he said quietly.
I stared at him. At the bruises and blood and exhaustion written across every inch of him. At the determination in his eyes that hadn't dimmed despite everything.
"You're going to die in that pit," I whispered.
"Maybe." He didn't look away. "But not before I keep you safe."
"Why?" The question broke out of me. "Why does it matter so much? You don't even know me."
His thumb moved against my wrist. Just a small movement, barely there, but I felt it everywhere.
"I know enough."
My breath caught in my throat, my chest suddenly too tight.
"That's not an answer." I tried to pull my wrist free but his grip held—not forceful, just steady. Unshakeable. The warmth of his palm against my skin made my pulse hammer harder.
"It's the only one I have." His voice dropped lower, rougher, and something in the timbre of it made my stomach clench. "I know you're brave."
"Don't do this. Don't say things like that."
"I know you're smart." His eye—that one golden eye not swollen shut—held mine with an intensity that made me want to look away and lean closer at the same time. "I know you tend my wounds even though you're terrified."
My throat went tight. Heat prickled behind my eyes and I blinked hard against it.
"I know you offered to let someone else win—to sacrifice yourself—so I wouldn't have to fight anymore."
The words cracked something open inside my chest. Something I'd been holding closed with both hands since Declan. Since I'd learned that being seen meant being used. That vulnerability was just another weapon someone could turn against you.
But Ahrick wasn't wielding this like a weapon. He was offering it like a gift.
And I didn't know what to do with that.
"I know," he continued, and his thumb traced a small circle against the inside of my wrist—right over my pulse where it was racing, "that when I'm in that pit and I'm hurting and I'm tired and every part of me wants to quit, I look up and see you in that cage and I remember why I'm fighting."
My breath shuddered out of me. The heat behind my eyes turned liquid, threatening to spill over.
He was lying. He had to be lying. Nobody does this. Nobody fought themselves to death for a stranger. Nobody saw the broken parts and stayed anyway.
But the bruises covering his body told a different story. The exhaustion in his face. The way he'd come back night after night, more damaged each time, and still looked at me like I was something precious.
"Ahrick—" His name came out broken. Barely a whisper.
"I'm not standing down, Merrilee." His hand tightened slightly on my wrist—not enough to hurt, just enough to anchor me. "I'm not letting anyone else have you. I'm not letting them hurt you. I don't care if it kills me."
The words hung between us, raw and honest and terrifying.
My hands were shaking. I felt the tremor running through my fingers, saw it in the way the antiseptic-soaked cloth quivered against his skin. My chest felt like it was caving in on itself, ribs compressing around lungs that couldn't quite remember how to expand.
This was how it started. This was how Declan started. Pretty words and promises and making you feel seen until you were so tangled up you couldn't tell protection from possession.
But Ahrick wasn't Declan.
Declan had never bled for me. Had never put himself between me and danger. Had never looked at me with anything but calculation behind his eyes—what he could take, how he could use me, what I was worth to his operation.
Ahrick looked at me like I was worth dying for.
And that was more terrifying than anything else that had happened in this nightmare.
I should have argued. Should have told him he was being stupid, that his life was worth more than protecting someone he'd just met. Should have pushed him away and built walls between us like I'd built with everyone else since Declan.
But I couldn't.
Because when he looked at me like that I felt something warm and sweet open in my chest. Something I'd thought Declan had destroyed.
"You're an idiot," I said, but my voice came out soft. Almost tender.
"Probably." The corner of his mouth lifted. Just barely.
I pulled my wrist free—and this time he let me go. The loss of contact felt like cold water on burned skin. Relief and loss tangled together until I couldn't tell which was which.
I went back to cleaning his wounds, but my hands were gentler now. More careful. Like I was handling something precious. I traced the edges of cuts and bruises, feeling the heat of his skin beneath my fingers, cataloging the way his muscles tensed and released under my touch.
Noticing the way his breathing changed when I touched certain spots.
Not from pain.
From something else.
Something that made my own breath catch. Made heat pool low in my belly even though I didn't want it to. Made me hyper-aware of every point of contact between us—my fingers on his skin, the warmth radiating from his body, the way the air seemed to thicken with each passing second.
I glanced up and found him watching me. Really watching me. The intensity in his gaze made my stomach flip.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing." But he didn't look away.
I focused on threading the needle, trying to ignore the way my heart was hammering. "This is going to hurt."
"I know."
I made the first stitch and he didn't make a sound. Just kept watching me with that look that made me feel seen in a way I hadn't been in years.
"Tell me about Hewes," he said quietly.
My hands stilled. "What?"
"Tell me what happened. Why the Prime put you in such danger. Why you want to kill him."
I didn't want to. Didn't want to drag that poison into this room, into this strange fragile thing between us. But maybe he deserved to know. Maybe I needed to say it out loud.
"I went to work for him straight out of college," I said, making another stitch. "Executive assistant. Project manager. He was charming. Successful. Everything I thought I wanted."
Ahrick's jaw tightened but he stayed quiet.
"We had an affair." The words tasted bitter. "I thought I was in love with him. Thought he felt the same way. Then I found out what he really was."
"The slavery operation."
"Yes." I tied off the stitch and started another. "I was going to go to the authorities. Turn him in. But before I could, he kidnapped my sister and brother. Ana and Sebastian. He held them hostage."
"To control you."
"To make me his spy." My voice went flat, emotionless. The only way I could get through it. "He had me kidnapped by the Trogvyk. Put me in exactly the right spot for the Bardaga to rescue me. He knew I was smart enough to work my way up in the Alliance. So he gave me ways to gather intel."
"And you did it."
"I did it." The shame of it still burned. "I sent him information. Betrayed people who trusted me. All to keep Ana and Sebastian alive."
Ahrick was quiet for a long moment. Then: "You did what you had to do."
"Did I?" I looked up at him. "Or did I just take the easy way out? Maybe I should have—"
"No." His hand found mine again, stopping my spiraling thoughts. "You protected your family. There's no shame in that."
"I betrayed Jala. The Prime. Everyone who—"
"You survived." His grip tightened. "You did what you had to do to keep the people you love safe. That's not weakness, Merrilee. That's strength."
Something in my chest loosened. Just a little.
"He needs to die," I said quietly.
The words came out steady. Certain. Because that was the one thing I knew with absolute clarity. Declan Hewes needed to stop breathing.
"He will." Ahrick's voice was absolute. "I promise you, he will."
"I want to be the one to do it."
"I know." His voice was gentle. Understanding. "And you have every right to feel that way." He pulled my hand closer, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "But you're not going to kill him."
My hands started shaking. The tremor ran through my fingers, up my arms, into my chest where it rattled against my ribs like something trying to break free.
"Ahrick—"
"Promise me." His eye locked on mine. "Promise me you won't try to kill him yourself."
"Why not?" The words came out sharp. Defensive. "I have every right—"
"Because you don't need that blood on your soul." His voice was fierce. Protective. "You've been through enough. Carried enough. Let me carry this."
"Why?" I asked, and my voice cracked on the word. "Why does it matter whose hands—"
"Because I've done things, Merrilee." There was something raw in his voice now. "Terrible things. One more won't make a difference. But you—you're not like me. You're good. You're—"
"I'm not good." The words burst out of me, sharp and bitter. A reflex. A shield. "I'm broken. Damaged. I've betrayed everyone who trusted me. I've—"
"You're perfect."