Chapter 18
Tarek watched Jessa sleep.
The fever had broken fully now, her skin returning to its normal warmth rather than the terrifying furnace heat of the previous day.
Her breathing came soft and even, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm beneath the furs.
The shadows under her eyes had faded, and the greyish pallor that had gripped her during the worst of the venom’s assault had given way to healthy color in her cheeks.
She was going to live.
He’d known it intellectually for hours—he’d tracked her temperature, monitored her pulse, and watched as her body finally won its battle against the poison.
But the knowledge hadn’t truly penetrated until now, sitting vigil in the predawn darkness while the fire crackled low and the mountain slept around them.
She’s going to live.
His beast stirred at the thought, a rumble of fierce satisfaction deep in his chest. Ours. Safe. Protected.
For once, Tarek didn’t argue.
The past thirty-six hours had stripped away every lie he’d told himself. Every careful distance he’d maintained, every wall he’d built between his heart and hers—all of it had crumbled the moment she’d collapsed in his arms, her eyes rolling back as the venom took hold.
He’d carried her through the forest at a dead run, her limp body cradled against his chest, his heart pounding with a terror he’d never felt before.
His hands still remembered the weight of her. Still trembled with the phantom sensation of her body growing cold, her breathing turning shallow, her lips taking on that awful bluish tinge that meant death was circling close.
He’d nearly lost her.
The realization sat in his chest like a stone, heavy and undeniable.
He could no longer pretend that she was merely a guest in his home, a temporary presence he could survive losing.
He could no longer tell himself that the feelings she stirred were something he could walk away from when the time came.
There would be no walking away.
Whatever little he had—this den carved from the mountain, his skills with herbs and healing, the broken pieces of the male he’d once been—all of it belonged to her now. Had belonged to her, perhaps, from the moment she’d looked at him in the forest without fear.
Mate, his beast whispered.
Yes. That was what she was. What she’d become, somewhere between their first meeting and this moment of quiet vigil. He’d fought against acknowledging it, terrified of what it meant, of what it would require him to reveal. But there was no more fighting.
Jessa Allenby owned him, heart and soul.
A soft sound from the doorway made him look up. Dani stood there in her sleeping shift, her dark hair tangled from sleep, her blue eyes huge in the firelight.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s resting.” He kept his voice low. “The danger has passed.”
Dani crept closer. She’d been so brave through the whole ordeal—braver than many warriors Tarek had known. When he’d burst into the den carrying her unconscious sister, even when Jessa’s fever had spiked and she’d thrashed and moaned, Dani hadn’t run or hidden or dissolved into useless hysterics.
She’d stayed at his side.
She’d fetched water when he needed it and held cool cloths to Jessa’s forehead.
She’d watched with fierce concentration as he’d ground herbs and mixed poultices.
When he’d explained what he was doing and why, she’d listened with the intensity of a healer’s apprentice, asking sharp questions and remembering the answers.
She’d trusted him to save her sister. She’d put her faith in a Vultor exile, a creature most humans would flee from screaming, and never once wavered.
That trust had nearly broken him.
“You should be sleeping,” he said gently.
“So should you.” Dani came to stand beside him, her small hand finding his larger one. Her fingers were cold. “You haven’t slept at all.”
“I’m keeping watch.”
“I can watch for a while. You could rest.”
“No.” The word came out sharper than he intended. He softened it with a breath. “Thank you, little one. But I need to be here.”
Dani studied him with those too-old eyes. “You really love her, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“Good.” Dani squeezed his hand. “She loves you too, you know.”
“She said that?”
“She says lots of things when she thinks I’m not paying attention.” Dani smiled—a ghost of her usual brightness, dimmed by exhaustion but still there. “I pay attention.”
“A dangerous habit.”
“Mama always said knowing things was power.” Her smile faltered slightly at the mention of her mother, then steadied. “I think she would have liked you.”
He had no response to that. He simply held Dani’s hand and watched Jessa breathe, and let the silence speak for itself.
Eventually, Dani yawned.
“Go back to bed,” he said. “I’ll call you if anything changes.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
She nodded, satisfied, and padded back to her small room. He heard her settle into her blankets and her breathing slow towards sleep.
Then he was alone with Jessa again, with the weight of everything he hadn’t yet said.
Dawn crept through the den’s entrance in pale fingers of light, chasing away the shadows of night. He had dozed fitfully in the chair beside the bed, jerking awake at every small sound, but true sleep had eluded him.
Jessa woke up with the sun.
Her eyes fluttered open slowly, confusion giving way to recognition as she registered where she was. When her gaze found him, her expression turned soft and warm.
“You’re still here.”
“Where else would I be?”
“Sleeping. Eating. Taking care of yourself.” She struggled to sit up, wincing as the movement pulled at her injured ankle. “How long have you been in that chair?”
“Long enough.” He rose and moved to help her, adjusting pillows behind her back, and tucking furs around her legs. His hands lingered on the task longer than necessary. “How do you feel?”
“Like I was trampled by a herd of something large and unfriendly.” She caught his hand before he could pull away. “But alive. Thanks to you.”
“You’re stronger than you know. Your body did most of the work.”
“My body had help.” Her thumb traced circles on his palm. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re terrible at accepting gratitude?”
“Once or twice.”
“I’m going to keep trying until you learn.”
Before he could respond, a small tornado burst through the doorway.
“You’re awake!” Dani launched herself onto the bed, barely avoiding Jessa’s injured leg, and threw her arms around her sister’s neck. “You’re awake and you’re okay and I was so scared, Jessa, I thought you were going to die like Mama and I couldn’t… I didn’t know what I’d do if—”
“Shh.” Jessa gathered her sister close, stroking her tangled hair. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”
Dani clung to her for a long moment, shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. He started to withdraw, to give them privacy, but Dani’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.
“You too,” she said fiercely. “You stay too.”
So he stayed.
The rest of the day passed in a strange new rhythm—slower and softer, centered around the bedroom where Jessa was confined to rest.
Dani appointed herself head of recovery operations with a solemnity that might have been amusing if it weren’t so deeply touching.
She ordered Tarek to adjust Jessa’s pillows no fewer than six times, each adjustment apparently critical to her sister’s comfort.
She demanded tea be prepared to her exact specifications: not too hot, not too sweet, steeped for precisely the right amount of time.
“More honey,” she instructed, peering into the cup he’d brought. “She likes more honey when she’s sick.”
“She’s not sick. She was poisoned.”
“Same thing. More honey.”
He added more honey.
“And the blue cup, not the brown one. The blue one is her favorite.”
He fetched the blue cup.
“And could you—”
“Dani.” Jessa’s voice held exasperated fondness. “Let the poor male rest. He’s been running around after us for days.”
“He doesn’t mind.” Dani fixed him with a challenging stare. “Do you?”
He looked at the small human child who had somehow appointed herself his commanding officer, then at the woman in the bed who held his heart in her capable hands.
“No,” he said honestly. “I don’t mind.”
Dani nodded with satisfaction. “See? He doesn’t mind. Now, the pillows need adjusting again.”
He adjusted the pillows.
Later, he prepared a light meal—broth and soft bread, easy on a stomach recovering from days of fever. Dani supervised this process as well, offering suggestions and criticism with equal enthusiasm.
“She doesn’t like the crusts cut off,” he protested.
“She’s my sister and I know what she likes. Cut off the crusts.”
He cut off the crusts.
It should have been annoying, grating on nerves already raw from exhaustion and worry. Instead, each tiny demand felt like a gift—like being welcomed into a family, being trusted with the small intimacies that made up daily life.
This is what it could be, his beast whispered. Every day. This is what you’re fighting for.
He carried the tray to the bedroom and helped Jessa sit up properly to eat. Her color was much better now, and she attacked the food with an appetite that spoke well for her recovery.
“You’re spoiling me,” she said between bites.
“Unlikely.”
“All this attention. All this service.” She smiled at him over the rim of her cup—the blue one. “I could get used to it.”
“Then get used to it.”
Something flickered in her eyes at that. Something warm and wondering and a little afraid.
“Careful,” she said softly. “I might hold you to that.”
“I hope you do.”
Dani, apparently deciding that the romantic tension had become excessive, inserted herself between them.
“When can she get up and walk around?”
Tarek considered. “Tomorrow, perhaps. Short distances. Her ankle needs time to heal properly.”
“And then we can go back to gathering berries? Jessa was going to show me how to make dye.”
“Eventually. When she’s stronger.”
“How much stronger?”
“Dani.” Jessa reached out to touch her sister’s cheek. “Patience. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know.” But Dani’s voice wobbled slightly. “I just… I like it when things are normal. When we’re all together doing things. When I don’t have to worry.”
The naked vulnerability in her words made his chest ache.
“You don’t have to worry,” he said, the words coming rough and low. “Not anymore. I’ll keep you both safe.”
Dani turned to look at him, her blue eyes too wise for her years. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
Night fell over the mountain like a gentle blanket, muffling the sounds of the forest and turning the den into a cocoon of warmth and flickering firelight.
Dani finally surrendered to exhaustion, her body catching up on the sleep she’d missed during Jessa’s crisis. Tarek carried her to her small room, tucked her in with extra furs, and listened to her breathing slow into the deep rhythm of true rest.
When he returned to the larger bedroom, Jessa was sitting up against her pillows, watching the fire.
“She’s asleep?”
“Deeply.” He settled into the chair beside the bed, then thought better of it. “Can I—”
“Yes.”
She shifted to make room, and he stretched out beside her on the furs, careful not to jostle her injured ankle. For a long moment, they simply lay there together, listening to the fire crackle and the mountain breathe.
“Tarek.”
“Hmm?”
“Do you remember our bargain?”
The question startled him. He turned his head to find her watching him, her hazel eyes dark and serious in the firelight.
“I remember.”
“A price to be named later, you said. For helping me find the sunvines.” She reached out and traced the line of his jaw with one finger. “You never named it.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because he’d been afraid. Because naming a price meant admitting what he truly wanted, and admitting that meant risking everything.
But he was done with fear.
“I’m going to name it now,” he said.