69. Burn of Need
~ VOSKI ~
I must have been more tired than I realized. I fell asleep well before the others would even be looking for their beds. And it was a deep sleep, too. Black and unhearing.
Until a small, choked sound woke me like a shout.
Adrenaline flooded my system and I sat bolt upright. The stable was empty. Kham was gone—which meant Koa would be also.
Had it been a dream? Was I—
It came again. A tiny, breathless cry, like a small, wounded animal.
I was out of my blankets and sprinting across the stable without thought.
Sure enough, Koa’s stable was also empty.
Remembering Bren the morning before, I slid the heavy door closed so we’d have warning if anyone else came, then ran up the ladder, pulling myself into her loft with barely a thought for the fact that she might need privacy.
But she was already sitting up in bed, hunched over, face in her hands. She looked up the moment my foot hit the hollow boards. Eyes and cheeks red, shining with tears.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It was a nightmare. I just—”
I shushed her, and didn’t even hesitate. Crawled onto the narrow bed, and pulled her down, wrapping my arms around her and tucking her head under my chin.
For the first time since that moment Donavyn described his bond, my heart went quiet.
She cried harder—relief, I thought—but only for a few moments. Then she buried her face in my neck and clung. “I’m sorry,” she whispered
“It will get better, I promise.” I stroked her hair. “It’ll just take time.”
A shiver skated down her spine, and I held her more tightly.
But I didn’t speak. Didn’t do anything that could distract her, or keep her awake.
I just held her, tangled together, keeping the blankets tight around her, until she relaxed in the circle of my arms and her breathing returned to that low, slow rhythm.
And then I fell asleep as well—a much easier rest. My chest no longer aching.
And from that moment, it became our pattern.
Each evening, I went to sleep in Kham’s stable. But when the night grew quiet, I’d always hear her wake, or sense her fear. And I’d go to her.
Every time, she apologized for waking me. Every night I told her not to.
And every morning it was harder to walk away. To let her go.
My nerves shrieked. I hadn’t been truly alone since the night she passed the flying assessment.
Each morning I’d tell myself, that night I’d go to the solitude. I’d leave her. That she had to learn to sleep alone at some point.
Yet, every night after the meal, or when I returned from a shift, I found myself bedding down in the stable.
Until, the fifth night, when it stormed and we’d flown patrol in ice-cold wind for hours, and I was exhausted.
When I entered the stable, it was utterly silent. Warm and dry. But the fierce, cold darkness roared outside.
I should have gone to Kham’s stable. Should have waited to hear her call out.
But I was so tired. It made me weak.
I didn’t remember making the decision, only checked behind me to make certain no stableboys would see, or other Furyknights returning might catch sight. But there was no one.
Moments later, I closed Koa’s door under the cover of the storm’s rumble, then snuck up to her loft. Grace didn’t stir until I slid in behind her on the bed.
And even then, she rolled over, without opening her eyes, curled herself into my chest, and sighed. As if with relief. And happiness?
When I wrapped my arms around her, I felt the tension leave my body, and the heat of her closeness warm me from the inside out. I sighed as well.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would go to the treehouse.
Tonight, we’d rest together.