Chapter 6
The first thing Tarek became aware of was warmth, a soft, encompassing warmth that had nothing to do with the embers of the dying fire.
The second thing was weight. Not an unpleasant weight, but the kind of weight that made his beast rumble with contentment even before his conscious mind fully surfaced from sleep.
He opened his eyes.
Dawn light filtered through the pine branches overhead, painting the world in shades of white and grey.
The air was crisp and cold against his face, but the rest of him—the rest of him was wrapped around a human woman who had somehow, during the night, migrated from his side to sprawled half across his chest.
Jessa’s head rested in the hollow of his shoulder, her breath warm and even against his throat.
One of her hands had curled into the fabric of his vest, her fingers clutching the material like she was afraid he might disappear.
Her leg had slipped between his at some point, tangled with him in a way that felt far too intimate for a stranger.
Not a stranger, his beast corrected. Ours.
He gritted his teeth against the surge of possessive satisfaction that accompanied the thought. She was not his. She was a human. A temporary inconvenience who had wandered into his territory and would soon wander back out of it. Nothing more.
But his beast didn’t care about logic. It only cared that she was here, pressed against him, her scent filling his lungs with every breath. Sweet and warm and utterly, impossibly right.
And then he became aware of another problem.
His body had reacted to her presence in the night—reacted in ways that were entirely inappropriate and completely beyond his control. The evidence of it pressed against his thigh, undeniable and deeply inconvenient.
This cannot happen.
He needed to move. He needed to put distance between them before she woke and realized the situation. Before she looked at him with fear or disgust in those warm hazel eyes.
Carefully, slowly, he began to shift her off his chest. His movements were gentle despite his urgency. He had no desire to startle her awake, only to extricate himself before—
She stirred.
A soft sound escaped her throat, something between a sigh and a murmur, and she burrowed closer. Her nose pressed against the hollow of his throat, and her lips brushed his skin as she breathed.
Every muscle in his body went rigid. He closed his eyes, fighting for control, fighting the primal instinct to roll her beneath him and—
No. Absolutely not.
“Jessa,” he said, and his own voice sounded rough and foreign to his ears. “Wake up.”
“Mmm.” The sound vibrated against his neck. “Warm.”
Her eyes fluttered open.
For a moment—one endless, crystalline moment—she simply looked at him. Sleep-soft and vulnerable, her face barely inches from his, her lips parted and her cheeks flushed with warmth. She didn’t flinch or pull away, just gazed at him as if he were something worth looking at.
His beast roared.
Before he knew what he was doing, his hand was cupping her jaw, tilting her face up towards his. She was so soft. So fragile. So impossibly, unbearably close. He could see the faint freckles scattered across her nose, the way her pupils dilated as awareness slowly replaced sleep.
He could kiss her. It would be so easy. Just lower his head and claim those parted lips—
No.
The word crashed through him like ice water, shattering the moment into jagged pieces.
He released her so abruptly she nearly fell, but he managed to catch her before she hit the ground. Then he was on his feet, putting the dead fire between them, turning his back to her to hide the evidence of his body’s betrayal.
“Get up,” he said roughly, his voice harsh. “We need to move.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath, felt her confusion like a tangible thing in the air between them.
But she didn’t ask questions or demand explanations he wasn’t prepared to give.
He heard rustling behind him as she gathered herself, and when he finally trusted himself to turn around, she was standing with her satchel in hand and her expression carefully neutral.
“Is there any meat left?” she asked.
“Some. And water for washing by the fire.” He retrieved the wrapped remains of last night’s cottma from where he’d stored it and handed it to her without meeting her eyes. “Eat quickly. The path is long.”
They ate in silence, the easy companionship of the previous evening replaced by something awkward and strained. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her directly, afraid of what she might see in his face. Or perhaps afraid of what he might see in hers.
Foolishness, he told himself savagely. She is human. She means nothing to me. She cannot mean anything.
But his beast disagreed, and the ache in his chest suggested that perhaps his beast knew something his mind didn’t want to accept.
When they finished eating, he turned his attention to the sunvines while she took care of her morning needs.
The vines had dried beautifully overnight, the golden fibers now brittle and light, easily separable with gentle pressure.
He gathered them carefully and handed them to her when she returned.
“They’re ready,” he said.
She took them from his hands, her fingers brushing his palm in a touch that sent sparks racing up his arm. If she noticed his reaction, she gave no sign, carefully examining the vines instead.
“They feel different,” she murmured. “Lighter and more flexible.”
“They will need more processing before you can use them. Soak them in water until they become supple, then coat them in oil to preserve the flexibility. Any oil will work, though lighter ones produce better results.”
“How do you know all this?”
The question caught him off guard, and he paused, considering how much to reveal.
“I worked with plants once,” he said finally. “Before I came here. I am familiar with many plants and their uses.”
“You worked with plants?” Her voice held a note of surprise. “Is that common amongst your people?”
“No.”
She waited, clearly hoping for more, but he turned away and began dismantling their small camp. Some questions had answers he wasn’t ready to give.
They set off as the sun cleared the eastern peaks, casting long shadows across the rocky terrain. He led the way as he’d done the previous day, finding the easiest path through the treacherous landscape and slowing his pace to match her shorter stride without being asked.
I’m getting soft, he told himself. She’s made me soft.
But he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
As they descended, he found himself talking—explaining the final steps of processing the sunvines in more detail than strictly necessary.
Soaking them until they bent without cracking, a process that could take several hours.
Using a light plant-based oil rather than animal fat.
Testing the fibers until they felt like silk rather than straw.
She listened intently, asking questions that revealed the depth of her knowledge of textiles, and he found himself impressed. She knew her craft with an intimacy that came only from years of dedicated practice.
“My mother taught me,” she said when he commented on her knowledge. “She was the best weaver in the valley. Maybe the best on the whole planet.”
“Was?”
“She died. Three years ago.” Her voice was steady, but he caught the faint tremor beneath the words. “A sickness swept through the village. She caught it while caring for others. It took my father as well in the end. He simply… gave up after we lost her.”
“I’m sorry.”
The words felt inadequate, but she gave him a small smile that suggested she appreciated the sentiment anyway.
They walked on, the silence between them more comfortable now.
The mountain gave way to foothills and the dense forest that bordered the human village.
He could smell woodsmoke on the breeze and hear the distant sounds of village life—a hammer ringing against metal, children’s voices raised in play, the lowing of livestock.
At the edge of the trees, he came to a halt.
“This is where I leave you.”.
She turned to face him, and something in her expression made his chest tighten. She looked… sad, disappointed even, as if parting from him was something she genuinely regretted.
Foolishness, he told himself again. She is grateful for my help. Nothing more.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For everything.”
“You still owe me a debt.” The reminder came out harsher than he intended, and she flinched slightly. He immediately softened his tone. “But you know this already.”
“Yes.” She met his gaze steadily. “Let me know when you decide how I should pay it.”
He should name the price now. He should demand something concrete—goods, or services, or simply a promise never to return to his territory. But the words wouldn’t come.
“Go,” he said instead. “Your sister will be worried.”
She nodded, adjusting her satchel on her shoulder. Then, before he could react, she rose up on her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek.
The kiss was brief, barely a brush of warmth against his skin, but it sent shockwaves through his entire body, freezing him in place as she stepped back with pink cheeks and a shy smile.
“Thank you,” she said again. “Truly.”
Then she turned and walked away, heading towards the village with quick, determined steps.
He should leave. He should melt back into the forest and return to his solitary existence as if this entire encounter had never happened. It was the sensible thing to do. The safe thing.
Instead, he found himself following the tree line, keeping her in sight as she approached the outskirts of the village. His beast wouldn’t let him abandon her. Not until he knew she was safe.
She’ll be fine, he told himself. This is her home. Her people.
But then he saw the human male.
An older male, thick around the middle, with the self-important bearing of someone accustomed to wielding authority over others. He intercepted her at the edge of the village, his face twisted with displeasure, and his voice sharp.
Tarek couldn’t hear the words at this distance, but he could read the body language clearly enough. The male was angry. Accusatory. His finger jabbed towards her chest as he spoke, and though she stood her ground, he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands clenched at her sides.
His beast snarled, a sound of pure, primal fury that vibrated through his chest. Every instinct screamed at him to intervene—to stride into that village and tear the human male apart for daring to threaten what was his.
She is not mine.
But his claws had extended without his permission, and his muscles coiled with barely restrained violence.
She is NOT mine.
He forced himself to breathe. Bursting into a human village would accomplish nothing except getting himself killed and leaving her worse off than before. Whatever this confrontation was about, she would have to handle it herself.
Even if watching it felt like tearing out his own heart.
The male finished his tirade and stalked away, leaving her standing alone in the morning light. She stayed motionless for a long moment, and even from this distance, he could see the way her shoulders slumped with exhaustion and something that looked very much like defeat.
Then she straightened, lifted her chin, and walked towards a small cottage at the edge of the village. She paused at the door, and for one breathless moment, she turned and looked back towards the forest.
Towards him.
He knew she couldn’t see him. The shadows were too deep, and the distance too great. But something in her gaze made him feel seen anyway.
Then she disappeared inside, and the door closed behind her.
He stood in the shadows for a long time, watching the cottage, waiting for… something. Some sign that she was safe. Some indication that the confrontation with the older male hadn’t left lasting damage.
Waiting for an excuse to stay.
But no excuse came. The village went about its morning business, indifferent to the Vultor lurking at its borders. Smoke rose from chimneys. People came and went. Life continued as if nothing had changed.
As if she hadn’t turned his entire world upside down in the span of a single day.
Finally, when the sun had climbed high enough to burn away the morning mist, he turned away. His feet felt heavy as he walked back into the forest, each step carrying him further from her and closer to the empty solitude that had defined his existence for five long years.
This is for the best, he told himself. She has her life. I have mine. There can be nothing between us.
His beast howled in protest, but he ignored it.
He was very good at ignoring things he didn’t want to feel.
The mountain welcomed him back with cold indifference—the same rocks, the same trees, the same silence that had been his only companion since his exile. Nothing had changed here. Nothing ever would.
But as he climbed higher into his territory, he found himself looking back towards the valley one last time.
The village was barely visible from here, just a smudge of brown and grey against the green of the forest. He couldn’t even see her cottage.
But he could still feel the ghost of her lips against his cheek. He could still smell her scent on his clothes. He could still hear the soft sound of her breathing as she’d slept in his arms.
Let me know when you decide how I should pay my debt.
He didn’t know what he wanted from her. Didn’t know what price could possibly balance the scales for what she’d given him—a single night of warmth, a few hours of companionship, a reminder that he was capable of gentleness as well as violence.
But he knew, with a certainty that settled into his bones like winter cold, that he wasn’t finished with Jessa Allenby.