Chapter 22 Kara
KARA
It comes, not with frenzy, but with purpose. Each movement is deliberate, dragging shadow coming as if the canyon itself is birthing it.
My throat is raw, though I haven’t made a sound. I can’t. The moment I breathe too loud, I’ll break whatever fragile balance keeps it crawling slow instead of surging up.
He doesn’t move. Lochaber lifted, black eyes locked on the shadows below. His tail drags a slow arc in the sand—measured, steady, like he’s feeling the earth breathe through him.
I cling to his arm, unable to tear my hand away.
Cool scales press against my palm, solid in a world that feels like it’s unraveling.
If he notices the way my grip trembles, he gives no sign.
He only leans the smallest fraction closer, enough to make me feel the weight of him bracing me, keeping me upright when my knees want to buckle.
“Climb,” he orders.
I don’t hesitate or question his command. I grab onto the cliff wall and climb.
I glance over my shoulder and see the creature coming closer, not rushing, moving steadily.
A horned ridge lifts into the light, jagged as broken rock.
Then another. Its bulk shifts against the bones, scales grinding like stone dragged across stone.
No hiss this time, no warning cry—only the scrape of inevitability.
It’s coming. Not a question. Not even a threat. Just truth.
Fear swirls, swamping all rational thought. Breath comes fast, and all I can do is climb, arms trembling. I glance at him, and he comes after me. Climbing, but his attention is on the creature. He doesn’t look up or speak, but his silence says it all. Climb. Don’t falter.
The shadow gathers itself, massive coils rubbing against the wall. It’s climbing after us. Panic surges, giving strength to my worn and tired muscles. Breath coming shallow, I work one handhold, one foothold, then the next. Faster than I would have thought I could.
The rock crumbles under my hand and I yelp as I lose my grip. Scrambling for another, his hand grips my thigh, holding me in place. My breath comes in ragged gasps, but I find another handhold. I pull up. And up.
A shelf. I strain, pulling myself over the edge, rolling out of the way to make room for him. Muscles trembling, aching, barely able to move, I climb onto my hands and knees as he comes over too.
I manage to get to my feet. The ledge is wide—maybe ten feet. I move back to the wall, too scared to look over the edge and see if the thing is still coming. The warrior stands, looking to me, then—
A shadow lunges.
Rock and sand explode and suddenly the world is alive with motion. A horned head rises high, jaws opening wide, fangs long enough to pierce straight through me.
I stumble back, choking on grit and sand, but his arm is there—hard and sure—yanking me against his side as the lochaber arcs. Steel strikes, shrieking against horn. Sparks burst in the air.
The thing rears back, eyes glowing a sickly yellow, slit pupils locking onto us. Its breath rolls out hot and damp, stinking of rot. My stomach twists, but I force my knife up, ready. If I freeze now, I’ll die.
It strikes again, faster this time. He meets it, blade flashing in the storm’s light, but the impact knocks him back a step. The ground beneath us shudders. Sand and rubble cascade down, threatening to pull us over the edge.
I move without thinking.
The lochaber’s weight drives into the beast—deep, but not enough. Its tail whips around, slamming into him with bone-breaking force. He grunts, sliding, balance lost.
“No!” The word tears out of me.
I leap forward, slashing low.
My knife sinks between armored plates on its body. Black blood spills, thick and tar-like. The beast shrieks, turning its rage on me.
Good. Look at me. Not him.
Its jaws snap down. I dive, rolling across the shelf, and come up gasping, arm screaming where the wound burns under the bandage. My knife drips dark blood, trembling in my grip.
He’s moving.
Surging back to his feet, lochaber raised high. His eyes catch mine for the briefest instant—fierce, blazing—and then the blade comes down.
It bites deep, cleaving scales, severing flesh. The creature writhes, tail lashing, but he drives the weapon deeper, forcing it into the bone beneath. The sound is wet, terrible, final.
Still, it thrashes. Claws rake the rock, screeching. I lunge again, stabbing into its exposed throat seam, raw fury carrying me through the stench, through the blood.
Together, we break it.
It shudders, collapses, and everything stills. Only the wind moans above, sand hissing down in thin streams.
My chest heaves, lungs clawing for air. I can’t let go of my knife. My whole body trembles, but I’m still on my feet. He stands beside me, lochaber dripping black ichor, steady as stone despite the blood seeping from a gash across his side.
We look at each other in the half-light. No words. No sound but the wind—but something has shifted, as surely as if the earth cracked beneath us.
Blood runs down his side, dark against the deep crimson of his scales. It’s not pouring, but enough to make my chest clench. His eyes are scanning around us as if expecting another strike.
“You’re bleeding,” I whisper, voice rasping.
He doesn’t answer, but he shifts, lowering the blade at last, and in the silence he is giving me permission.
I drop to my knees at his side, fumbling with the pouch at my hip. My hands won’t stop shaking, but I manage to tear a strip of cloth, soak it with a quick splash of my precious water. Rising, I press it against his wound. The blood is cool under my touch, seeping between my fingers.
He jerks once, a sharp hiss escaping between his teeth, but he doesn’t push me away.
“Hold still,” I murmur, breath catching as my palms press to the hard planes of his stomach, tracing over scars older than I can imagine.
The muscles tense beneath my touch, cool scales shifting under my fingertips. I feel the sheer power in him, coiled and leashed, and still—he lets me touch, and I feel what that means. Trust.
I glance up. His eyes lock onto mine and heat floods through me, drowning the tremor of fear. My chest presses closer, almost into his. My lips part, the air between us thick with everything unsaid.
His hand moves—slow, deliberate. Sharp claws graze my jaw, cupping my cheek. My pulse trips, my whole body aching, leaning toward him.
The silence stretches, alive and electric. His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, and I forget how to breathe.
“Kara,” he rasps, my name grinding from him like it costs everything to say it.
I lean in, helpless. Shoulders touch, breath mingles, the promise of a kiss burning hotter than the suns ever have.
But he stops just shy. Our mouths hover a breath apart, neither of us breaking, both of us caught in the pull.
Waiting.