Chapter 8
Astorm was coming. Tarek could feel it in his bones—the shift in pressure, the electric crackle that made his skin prickle and his beast pace restlessly beneath his skin.
He stood at the mouth of his den, watching dark clouds mass over the peaks, their bellies heavy with rain.
The wind had picked up in the last hour, carrying the scent of rain and the echo of distant thunder.
He should be securing his territory. He should be reinforcing the shelter where he stored his herbs, checking his shutters, and making sure the entrance to his den was protected from flooding. A storm like this could last days, and there was much to be done.
Instead, he found himself pacing.
Six steps to the back wall. Turn. Six steps to the entrance. Turn again. His claws scraped against the stone floor with each pass, leaving faint marks that would join the hundreds of others accumulated over five years of restless nights.
Five years since his exile. Five years of solitude. And now, after all that time, he couldn’t stop thinking about a human female.
Foolishness, he told himself for the hundredth time. Dangerous foolishness.
But the words rang hollow, drowned out by the memory of hazel eyes looking up at him without fear and soft warmth pressed against his chest in the early morning light. He could still feel that quick kiss brushed against his cheek, a fleeting touch that burned like a brand against his skin.
He growled and resumed his pacing.
He’d watched her village again today. He’d sworn he wouldn’t.
He’d promised himself that once she was safely returned, he would forget about her.
He would go back to his herbs and his hunting and his careful, controlled existence.
But his feet had carried him down the mountain before dawn, and he’d found himself crouched in the same shadowed thicket, watching the same cottage.
She’d been inside that morning, working at something he couldn’t see. He’d caught glimpses of her through the window, bending over what he assumed was her loom. The sight of her, safe and whole and focused on her craft, had settled something anxious in his chest.
But then the older male had arrived, the one who’d lectured her when she’d returned from the mountain. From the way she’d described her family situation, he assumed he was her uncle. This time, he’d brought another male with him. A stranger with the sharp eyes of a merchant or trader.
He had watched them enter her cottage, noticing the way her spine stiffened and her shoulders drew in on themselves. He’d noted, with growing unease, the contrast between her closed, careful expression and the satisfied smugness on both males’ faces when they emerged.
Something was wrong. He could feel it with the same certainty with which he felt the coming storm—a pressure building, a disaster waiting to strike.
It’s not my concern, he reminded himself. She’s human. This is human business. I owe her nothing.
But that wasn’t quite true, was it? She’d given him something during their time together. Not just the kiss—though that alone had been enough to haunt his dreams—but something more. She’d looked at him and seen… him. She’d seen a person rather than a monster or an exile.
And she still owed him a debt. A debt he’d never named, because naming it would have meant admitting that he wanted something from her. That he wanted her in his life, even peripherally, even for a moment longer.
The debt, he thought firmly. I should check on her because of the debt. Make sure she hasn’t forgotten it. Make sure she’s prepared to honor our bargain.
It was a flimsy excuse, and he knew it. But it was enough to quiet the voice in his head that warned him to stay away from humans, away from any attachments that might end the way his previous connections had ended—in the cold certainty that caring for others only brought them harm.
He was still arguing with himself when the first drops of rain began to fall.
They came slowly at first, fat droplets that splattered against the stone outside his den, releasing the earthy scent of wet rock.
Then faster, harder, driven by the winds that howled through the peaks like mourning spirits.
Within minutes, the rain had become a deluge, and the world beyond his shelter dissolved into grey sheets of water.
Good, he thought, pulling on his heaviest cloak. The rain will provide cover. No human will be out in this weather. I can slip into the village unseen, speak to her, and be gone before anyone knows I was there.
Although the weather diminished the risk, the plan was still dangerous.
If he were discovered, if any of the villagers spotted a Vultor lurking near their homes, there would be consequences.
Not only for him, but possibly for Jessa.
A woman who consorted with a Vultor would find no welcome amongst her own kind.
But the memory of her stiff shoulders and careful expression wouldn’t leave him. Nor would the growing conviction that whatever deal had been struck in that cottage, she hadn’t been a willing participant.
He told himself one more time that it was about the debt and stepped out into the storm.
The rain hit him like a wall of cold needles, immediately soaking through his cloak and plastering his hair to his skull.
He barely noticed. His body ran hotter than a human’s—hot enough to steam in the cold rain, if he let his beast closer to the surface—and discomfort from the elements had long since ceased to register.
What he did notice was the scent.
Even through the rain, even through the overwhelming smell of wet earth, he caught something familiar. Something that made his beast go still and alert, his head lifting like a predator who’d spotted prey.
Sweet. Warm. Enticing.
Jessa’s scent.
But that was impossible. She should be in her cottage, warm and dry, sheltered from the storm. Why would he catch her scent on the wind when she was half a mountain away?
Unless she wasn’t in her cottage at all.
His feet were moving before his mind caught up, sending him racing through the trees. The rain obscured his vision and forced him to rely on his other senses—the scent that grew stronger with each step and the faint sounds that emerged from beneath the roar of the storm.
A cough. Voices. Movement.
He was still above the tree line when he found them.
They’d taken shelter beneath a fallen tree—an ancient giant that had toppled years ago, its massive trunk creating a natural overhang above a hollow in the earth. It wasn’t much of a shelter, just barely enough to keep the worst of the rain off, but they’d crawled into it anyway.
Two of them. One small, curled into a tight ball with her arms wrapped around her knees. The other… Jessa.
She was hunched over her companion, trying to shield the smaller figure with her own body.
Her cloak was soaked through, her hair hanging in dripping ropes around her face, her skin so pale it seemed to glow in the dim light.
She was shaking, fine tremors that ran through her frame in continuous waves, but her hands were steady where they gripped the smaller figure’s shoulders.
“It’s okay,” she was saying, her voice barely audible over the rain. “It’s okay, Dani. The storm will pass. We just need to wait it out.”
Dani. The sister. The one with the coughing illness.
He took in the scene with a single sweeping glance—the small satchel that bulged with what might be provisions and the complete inadequacy of their shelter against a storm of this magnitude. They were fleeing, he realized. Running from something. Or someone.
His beast snarled with sudden, fierce protectiveness as he stepped out of the trees.
Jessa’s head snapped up at the sound of his approach, her hand moving instinctively to push her sister behind her. Her eyes were wide and scared and for a moment she didn’t seem to know him, but then recognition dawned, and something in her face crumpled.
“Tarek.”
His name on her lips, breathless with relief, made his chest ache.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, more harshly than he’d intended. “This is no weather for humans to be traveling.”
She laughed, a desperate, humorless sound. “I know. Believe me, I know. But we couldn’t—” She broke off, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. We can’t go back.”
Behind her, the smaller figure stirred and looked up. She was younger than he had imagined, thin and pale with the same dark hair as her sister. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, flickering with fear before she seemed to notice the way Jessa had relaxed.
“Is that him?” the girl asked, her voice rough with exhaustion. “The one who helped you?”
“Yes.” Jessa’s hand reached back to squeeze her sister’s arm. “Yes, that’s him.”
He crouched at the edge of their inadequate shelter, bringing himself closer to their level. This close, he could see how badly they were both shivering and see the blue tinge to Dani’s lips. Exhaustion and desperation clung to them like a second skin.
“You’re fleeing,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
Jessa met his eyes. “Yes.”
“From the older male. Your uncle.”
“Yes.”
He absorbed this, his mind racing. There were a hundred questions he should ask—what had happened, what had pushed her to flee into a storm with a sick child, what she hoped to achieve by running towards Vultor territory instead of away from it.
But those questions could wait. Right now, what mattered was that she was here, cold and wet and in danger, and his beast was screaming at him to do something.
“I know I already owe you,” she said, her voice steady despite the shaking of her body. “I know I have no right to ask for more. But Tarek, I need your help.”
Something twisted in his chest at the careful dignity in her words and the way she acknowledged the debt between them even as she asked for more. He didn’t hesitate.
“Come,” he said, rising and extending his hand. “My den is not far. You can shelter there until the storm passes.”
Relief washed over her face, so raw and unguarded that it made his breath catch. “Thank you. I… Thank you.”
He helped her to her feet, then turned his attention to Dani. The girl was watching him with wide eyes, caught between wariness and hope. She was even smaller than he’d realized, her frame bird-thin beneath her sodden clothes.
“Can you walk?” he asked, gentling his voice as much as he was able.
Dani nodded, but when she tried to stand, her legs buckled beneath her. Jessa caught her but he saw the truth written in both their faces—they were at the end of their strength, pushed beyond what their bodies could sustain.
“May I carry her?”
He directed the question at Jessa, an acknowledgment of her authority over her sister, and she hesitated only a moment before nodding.
He gathered Dani into his arms as gently as he could, cradling her small body against his chest and wrapping his cloak over her.
She was far too light, and her skin was cold even through the layers of wet cloth.
His beast rumbled with protective concern, an instinct that surprised him with its intensity.
Pup, it whispered. Sick pup. Must protect.
“Hold onto my arm,” he told Jessa. “The terrain is treacherous in this weather, and you’re exhausted. Let me guide you.”
She didn’t argue, simply wrapped her arm around his and pressed close to his side. The contact sent warmth flooding through him despite the cold rain, and his beast settled into something almost like contentment.
Mine to protect, it murmured. Mine.
He pushed the thought aside and began the long climb back to his den with two fragile humans in his care and a storm raging around them. He didn’t know what had driven Jessa to flee her home. He didn’t know what she expected from him or how long she planned to stay.
But as her fingers tightened on his arm and her sister’s breathing steadied against his chest, he knew one thing with absolute certainty. He would keep them safe. Even if it cost him everything he had left.