3. Rescue
Rescue
Rain. Cold. The sounds of men.
The reek of fox musk and blood burned in my lungs. My whole body was lines of fire and spreading ice. I couldn’t remember where I was, who I was, what was happening. I gagged at the taste of my own mouth, drooling, and tried to crawl away.
My hand landed on the soft warm body of a woman. Her skin was slick with the blood oozing out of every pore. There was a broom made of sticks in her hand and feces soaking her dress.
A ragged cry escaped my throat. Knowledge slammed into me: the soul-reaved woman, the foxen, the feel of its magic and the way it had touched me, had kissed me. I shoved myself back, wild-eyed, desperate to catch sight of it, to keep it from touching me again, couldn’t let it touch me again—
Hands grabbed me from behind. “I have you—”
The general.
No.
“I hate you,” I shouted, my voice a broken rasp.
I jerked out of his grip and grabbed him by the back of the neck like he’d grabbed me, stabbing my allure geas through that contact like a blade, everything it had done to me used as the weapon to drag it down into oblivion with me.
“I hate you, don’t make me love you, I hate you, I hate you—”
His expression went slack, lashes fluttering, and then he had his hand fisted in my hair and he kissed me like I was the love of his life.
My tongue met his in a flash of heat. There was nothing of musk about him.
He tasted like salt and light and like the slightly burnt pea soup he’d eaten with me before he’d sent me to my death.
No allure touched me. Only his mouth, his hands, his goodness. I whimpered and let go, horror and sick shame flooding me. He was—he was him. The foxen was— My legs buckled. I couldn’t tell what was real, what was allure, what was insanity, my whole being laced with blinding pain.
He caught me again, his knees hitting the ground and the impact jolting me up against his chest. “It’s alright, it’s me, I have you, I’ve got you,” the general said, his voice roughened with desire.
I started crying again, trembling like a fawn, dying in his arms. I didn’t fight when he picked me back up, and I didn’t fight when he carried me away.
Rain soaked through my clothes. The cold wet should have made me shiver, but I only lay there limply, being carried like a child. A chill sank into my bones, following the red-hot lines of the clawmarks in my soul. Numbness followed, eating away at what little was left of me.
“I’m dying,” I said, the words falling off my tongue without any emotion.
“Not if I can help it,” he said grimly.
The world started blurring again, the moments tumbling against each other like someone trying to build a tower by dropping stones atop each other, one after another.
The forest canopy, silvery with rain, and then the plain rough canvas of a tent.
A man’s voice, strident, while the general sawed a knife through my wet clothes.
Rough cloth against my skin. A hand like a brand against my bare chest.
And then, somehow, I was in a bed, naked, with a warm body along my back and a strong arm around me. My spine rested against the bare chest of a man. His bare thighs fit along the backs of mine like they were meant to be there, only the cloth of his underthings between us.
Hot tears tracked down my face. If I moved, I was going to die. I knew it like soulmates know their fates. I was a fragile thing, my pieces precariously balanced, and the slightest vibration would send me crashing down.
“Don’t be afraid,” Xilsatra said. His voice was low and warm, a lullaby for my terror. “You’re badly hurt, but the healer says you’ll surely heal now that he’s stopped the soul-bleeding.” He smoothed his hand across my chest. “You don’t have to worry. I have you. I’m taking care of you.”
He paused the motion of his hand for a moment when I didn’t say anything. “If you want me to go, I can leave. The healer was rather adamant that I do so, actually, but affectionate contact is the best way to treat soul-wounds, so here I am.”
A tear fell across the bridge of my nose. I couldn’t answer him. If I spoke, if I moved, I was going to die.
“Alright, then,” Xilsatra said softly. He started petting me again, a soothing motion, the roughness of his calluses on my skin grounding me.
The general shifted closer. I could feel his heartbeat against my spine, slow and steady.
He smelled warm and masculine, of clean sweat and spruce trees.
Fae, through-and-through, his scent and the feel of his body against mine so different from how…
how it had felt that there was no confusing the two.
Even on the mountain, I’d never truly believed the thing wearing Xilsatra’s face had been him.
Here, in his arms, I couldn’t imagine ever making that mistake.
He kept touching me like he loved me, all gentle affection.
“You were incredible. Brave. Clever. Strong,” he murmured.
“I’m so impressed with you, Zhiolas. You’re a remarkable man, and Stag Court is lucky to have you.
I’m lucky to have had you.” He let out a careful breath against my loose hair, the stirring movement tingling pleasantly along my scalp.
I let out a tiny whimper, barely an edge to my exhale, trembling faintly.
The words felt like they were filling some hollow place inside me, in a way that should have frightened me but which made me want to fall into him—to let myself believe that I was safe with him.
People didn’t say things like that to me.
They called me handsome, charming, blithe, pretty… Not impressive. Not remarkable.
How was I supposed to react to that? I didn’t know how to hear someone say things like that to me, and he was Alluin Xilsatra. The General of the First Army, storied and famous, a man from whom soldiers daydreamed about receiving a single commendation.
I couldn’t even truly think, gripped by the sensation of being on the verge of sliding into a hundred little pieces, a dismembered soul in a slumped and ruined body.
But he kept touching me, holding me, talking to me, and somehow that kept me from falling apart.
Every fraction I relaxed towards him steadied me.
I felt like I was about to die, was certain of it, but maybe if he kept holding me, if he kept talking to me, I could keep breathing. Maybe I wouldn’t die.
“It’s alright. You don’t have to say anything, and you don’t have to do anything.
Just be with me,” Xilsatra said with generous warmth.
“You did so much more than I asked of you. I didn’t understand what I was sending you against. An ordinary man would have died, but you’re extraordinary, Zhiolas. You did so well.”
Fear clutched at me—fear of what we’d left behind. “C-can’t— can’t—let it—” I choked out, and somehow didn’t die.
“Shh, shh, it’s alright, don’t be afraid,” he murmured, cuddling closer.
“We know how to deal with those things once we catch them. They were butchering and burning it before I got you out. They have orders to burn the bodies, the temple, the grounds; everything.” His thumb swept across my chest in a gentle caress.
“It’s dead. It can’t hurt anyone else. You caught it.
You killed it.” Alluin breathed a soft laugh.
“You were amazing. I had no idea you could wield allure like that.”
“My—allure,” I said in a rasp, starting to tremble harder. “I… I made you…”
“I knew what I was doing when I went for you, and what I was risking. You’re no more at fault than a frightened animal biting when he’s grabbed,” he said, without even a hint of recrimination in his voice.
“You’re remarkably strong, but it’s not the first time I’ve been under an allure geas, and I hope it won’t be the last.”
I let out a harsh breath, halfway between a sob and a startled bark of laughter. “You hope…not? I hurt you. I… I…”
Alluin gave me a gentle squeeze. “Allure is merely a tool, Zhiolas. It has many uses. The wielder and the intent matter so much more than the tool itself,” he said in a soothing voice.
His hand smoothed over my chest as if he were petting my heart, steadying me.
“I hope to live a long, long time. Whether for good or for ill, in such a great span of time, surely I would find myself caught in someone’s allure again. I’m not afraid of that.”
“But… I…” I shuddered and leaned back into him without planning to, pressing up against his lean body. “What I did to you—”
“Was a brilliant piece of tactics,” he said, a smile in his voice.
“You overpowered an eight-tailed foxen, Zhiolas. I doubt you could have done that through sheer force, but by using the same things it was doing to you, you used its power to amplify your own.” Alluin gave me a little nuzzle, his breath warm against my bare skin.
“I told you, I knew what I was doing when I grabbed you. I’m not surprised you hit me with your allure geas before you knew you were safe.
” He paused for a moment, then added, “I know what I’m doing now, too.
You don’t have to feel guilty. You don’t owe me anything.
Consider it repayment for my grave error in assessing the risk. ”
Something ragged in me relaxed with a feeling like a sigh, the balance of debt between the two of us settling into a more comfortable place. “You didn’t…know,” I managed, my whole body laxening as the stress slipped away.
“I didn’t. I imagine that a foxen of that age has been hunted often, and learned quickly that people will risk more when they believe that they’re facing a weaker foe,” Alluin said easily.
“And yet, it was my duty to know before sending anyone into danger, especially someone not under my direct command.” He stilled again, and when he spoke his voice held deep regret.
“I would have sent you even if I had known. You were still our best hope of defeating it, but I should have known what I was asking of you.”
“Oh,” I said in an exhale, comfort sinking into my bones at his admission. “That’s good, then.”
A moment of silence passed before he asked, “Is it?”
“It was the right thing to do. You’re the right person to trust,” I murmured as sleep wrapped around me with warm relaxation. “Stay with me?”
Alluin sighed against my hair, a sound not of annoyance or resignation but of relief, as if he’d expected to be sent away and wanted to stay. “I intend to stay as long as duty allows.”
A smile touched my mouth, soft and then gone, as I finally let myself be safe in his arms.