Chapter 26 Leena
LEENA
Idon’t know what just happened. The scarred Zmaj, Drazan, knows Kaelreth. Something passed between them that I do not understand in the slightest.
I thought, for more than a moment, they were going to kill each other. I’ve learned to read Kael well enough, in the limited time we’ve been together, to recognize his reactions. Especially toward violence, and there was no mistaking that was where it was going. Then something changed.
There’s no time to find out now. That blasted thing is still coming for us. Relentless as the heat of Tajss’ suns. We have no choice but to keep moving, but Kael is still wounded.
He’s upright, but barely. His steps are uneven, his breath rough, and every time he moves I see it in the way his body drags, in the tremor he’s trying so hard to hide.
The rescue team fans out ahead of us in disciplined formation. They’re efficient, controlled, weapons up, but no longer trained on him. Watching for more of those things.
They don’t know what just happened in his head. Not like I do. How deadly this entire situation could have become.
Despite his struggle to keep moving, his attention shifts between me and Drazan. I know, though, he’s aware of everything.
I tighten my grip on the arm he has slung over my shoulders, encouraging him to lean on me more. He lets me without fighting it. Just… letting me.
“You with me?” I ask quietly, just for him.
His breath catches, then evens out.
“Yes.” A beat. Then, “Always.”
It’s not the clipped, mechanical response from before. It’s rough, worn raw at the edges. Human, even if he isn’t human at all. He’s staring at me. Not scanning threats. Not tracking angles. Not calculating. Just… watching.
Warmth flickers in my chest. Relief, sharp and almost painful, spreads through me.
Behind us, I hear the faint echo of mechanical movement carrying over the sand. The hunter isn’t done. The reminder should snap me back into pure survival. Instead, I feel something else settle.
He’s here, and he chose me. My throat tightens. I swallow it, focusing forward and matching the pace of the others. My shoulder aches where he leans into me, my legs burn, my body screams for rest, but I don’t care.
I’d carry him if I had to, though he’s so big I don’t know how. I’d drag him if that’s what it takes.
“You’re hurting worse,” I say, even though it’s obvious.
He doesn’t argue. He takes a shaky breath. “Yes.”
“You don’t have to be strong. They will help you. I will.”
His jaw shifts, and he exhales slowly. His wings rustle, and he slaps the sand with his tail. Then he gives a slight nod. Small, but it’s a lot for him, and I know it.
We move, but every step feels like it costs him more.
He’s trying to hide it, but he’s not fooling anyone—least of all me. His weight shifts wrong every third step, his breathing tightens, and when his wings twitch, it’s not because he’s thinking about taking flight. It’s pain. Restraint. Control.
If the others notice, they don’t say anything. They don’t offer to take his weight or even look at him for too long. As far as they’re concerned, he’s the one who kidnapped me. They’re still unsure what to make of him.
I hate that. I hate that they’re watching him like he might turn at any second. I hate that part of me understands why. He hasn’t turned. He chose not to. That has to matter.
His arm tightens briefly across my shoulders, fingers curling slightly where they rest against my upper arm. Not hard. Not possessive. Just… needing balance. I shift into him without thinking.
“You don’t have to carry all of it,” I tell him quietly. “Not right now.”
His throat works. He swallows slowly. “If I stop, I don’t know if I get back up.”
It’s not dramatic. Not said for effect. Just truth—flat and unadorned. It hits harder than if he’d tried to reassure me.
“You don’t stop,” I say. “You lean.”
His breath stutters, then steadies again. A fractional nod, and we keep moving.
Ahead, Drazan stops near a low shelf of rock and signals with a raised fist. The others form a perimeter with the kind of efficiency that says this is drilled into them. They’re not panicked. They’re ready.
Drazan turns, his attention moving over the group, then landing on us. His gaze lingers on Kael a fraction longer than necessary. It’s not hostility. It’s… calculation. Assessment.
I feel Kael tense against me. Not outwardly. Not in a way anyone else would see. But I feel it in the way his weight changes, the way his fingers flex where they’re braced against me. It’s not fear or anger—more recognition. Something definitely unsettled and unresolved.
Drazan doesn’t step toward us yet. He waits. That waiting has its own weight.
“Can you keep moving?” Drazan asks, voice low but carrying.
It isn’t directed at me. Kael straightens slightly, enough that I feel the strain it costs him.
“Yes.”
It’s a lie. I hear it in the thinness of the word, but it’s also defiance. He’s refusing to show weakness, and I don’t know if that’s pride or something deeper. Drazan studies him a moment longer, then gives a single nod.
“We move when the others finish checking the perimeter.”
He turns away, not dismissive, but done for the moment. The others adjust their positions again, weapons never lowering. The silence is heavy. Kael’s breath is rough against my ear.
“He looks at me like I am the threat.”
My chest tightens. “You were.”
“I am not.”
I turn my head enough to meet his eyes. They’re tired. Bloodshot at the edges with pain and exhaustion, but clear in a way they weren’t before.
“No,” I say softly. “You’re not.”
His gaze holds mine for a long moment, searching, measuring whether I mean it. I don’t look away.
Something shifts, still not fully easing or relaxing, but settling. The sharp edge in his shoulders drops a fraction.
“That… matters,” he says, low, rough.
It does. To both of us.
Behind us, the wind pulls sand across the ground in a slow whisper. Somewhere farther out, something shifts under the dunes. I don’t let myself think about that yet. Right now, all that matters is keeping him upright. Keeping him here. Keeping him with me.
We don’t get time to breathe before the ground shudders again. A low grinding sound rips through the desert, metal dragging against stone, wrong and familiar all at once. My heart slams hard.
“No,” I breathe.
Kael goes rigid, and the others react.
Spinning, weapons coming up, bodies shifting into formation without thought. It comes not from behind us like I expect, but from below.
The sand erupts in a violent plume as the hunter tears out of the ground. Metal limbs ripping free, segmented body unfolding in one terrifying, fluid motion. Drazan is moving before the dust cloud rises.
The hunter’s eye burns, locking on Kael and me. It’s not searching. It has us marked.
“Move!” someone shouts, but it’s too late.
The filament fires directly at us. Kael shoves me before I even see it. The line slices past where I stood, slamming into stone behind me with a metallic crack that rattles through my bones.
The team reacts by splitting. Some draw fire, others flank. The machine doesn’t care. It’s not here for them. It’s here for us.
The second filament whips out, flying straight for Kael. He’s already hurt, unsteady, and he knows it. He twists, but it’s not fast enough. The line wraps his arm and yanks him off his feet.
“Kael!”
I lunge, but Drazan is faster. He slams into the hunter’s flank like a battering ram, forcing its trajectory off just enough that the second pull goes wrong. Sand explodes under their combined momentum.
Kael hits the ground, but the line goes slack.
“Now!” Drazan roars.
Kael moves without hesitation. No words. No discussion. No doubt. The two of them move as one. They move with a synchronicity that is brutal, beautiful, and terrifying.
Drazan goes high—driving into the hunter’s upper frame, forcing its central axis to turn. Kael goes low, grabbing the exposed joint where the metal plating is damaged, tearing at the mechanism with raw, vicious force.
The machine screams, a sound of metal grinding under impossible stress. A third filament launches—faster, desperate. Kael catches it midair, wraps it around his forearm, and pulls.
Drazan seizes the opening. His blade flashes. Metal splits. Sparks fly. The hunter convulses, tries to reset. Too late.
Kael yanks again, dragging the internal core into exposure for a heartbeat, and Drazan drives his blade straight into the center. The sound is deafening.
The hunter locks. Twitches. Shudders. Then goes still. Smoke curls from the wound. The eye flickers, then dies.
Silence slams down, not with peace, but with aftermath.
My ears are ringing, my chest heaving, my hands shaking.
It’s over. For one second. For one impossible second, it’s over.
Then Kael and Drazan turn to face each other.
They snap into position as if they’re both answering the same instinct. Wings snapping wide, tails rising, shoulders squared, eyes locked.
They don’t speak, but the air shifts. Heavy. Charged. Dangerous.
Kael’s chest rises and falls with harsh, shallow breaths. His hands flex, fingers curling like he’s still holding the machine’s guts.
Drazan stands like carved stone, shoulders wide, muscles taut, breath steady but shallow. Rage rolls off both of them. Raw. Fueled by something I do not understand, but there is no mistaking it.
Kael takes a step forward. Drazan doesn’t back away. Neither one blinks. Neither one yields an inch.
The team behind Drazan tenses, raising their weapons, but clearly uncertain which direction this fight will go. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might break out of my ribs.
This isn’t over. It’s changed into something else.
Something older. Something deeper.
They’re not seeing each other as allies. They look like two predators who’ve found themselves in the same territory. Neither one is willing to give ground.
For a single heartbeat, I’m not sure which one will move first, or whether the next strike will be against what remains of the hunter—or each other.