Chapter 7 #2
"It means others are hunting you. Persico, who rules Fange City, will want to possess you. Bronto, who you killed, was one of his males." His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping there that drew my attention to the strong column of his throat. "By now, there will be many looking for you."
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling exposed despite our sheltered position. The alien forest around us transformed from sanctuary to hunting ground in my mind. "How many?"
"Difficult to say. But enough that we need to be extremely careful." He paused, something shifting in his expression. "Ahrick stayed behind."
"Ahrick?" The name meant nothing to me. "Who's that?"
"My friend," Nansar said simply, though a faint smile ghosted across his lips—there and gone, but warm with genuine affection. "He'll do what he can to slow them down, send them chasing shadows. Buy us time. But it won't stop them entirely."
Guilt twisted in my chest like a blade. "He could get hurt because of me."
"Ahrick knows what he's doing. He's the greatest warrior I've ever known. He'll be fine." Nansar's tone carried confidence, but I caught the flicker of worry in his eyes before he could hide it.
"How long do you think we have before they catch up?"
"Hard to say. If we're lucky, and Ahrick is successful, maybe a day's head start.
Maybe less." He crouched beside me, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold swimming in his blue-green eyes.
His voice dropped lower, intimate in the gathering darkness.
"But once we reach the mountains, the pursuit will weaken.
The terrain is too difficult, too dangerous.
Most won't follow us that far. There are dangers in the mountains that scare even the toughest and meanest males. "
"But some will follow?"
"Yes," Nansar agreed, his gaze holding mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"They will. But in the mountains, brute strength and numbers matter less.
Skill and knowledge of the terrain matter more.
" He tapped what looked like a cobbled-together smartwatch strapped to his wrist. "The map my father sent should take us through the mountain passes safely. "
A thread of confidence wove through his words, steadying something inside me even as dread continued its slow coil through my gut.
I wanted to believe him. Needed to believe we could actually reach safety.
But the thought of them—prisoners, predators, God knew what else—closing in with every passing hour made my lungs feel too small.
I knew exactly what would happen if they caught me. Being touched would be just the beginning. And the end... No. I couldn't let my mind go there. Not if I wanted to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
I hugged myself against a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. Nansar had been careful to give me space, never crowding, never pushing. But the others wouldn't show that restraint. They wouldn't care about boundaries or consent or the word "no." They'd only care about taking.
Something must have shown on my face because Nansar's voice gentled, taking on a quality I hadn't heard before—almost tender. "They won't touch you," he said quietly, as if he could read the fear written across my features. "I won't let them."
I managed a nod, not trusting my voice. The darkness had nearly swallowed us whole now, the last traces of daylight bleeding from the sky like a wound in reverse.
Above, unfamiliar stars began their emergence—constellations I'd never seen, would never have seen if my life hadn't been torn apart.
A reminder that home was impossibly, incomprehensibly far away.
My stomach chose that moment to growl, shattering the weighted silence. I fumbled with the makeshift pack, fingers clumsy in the dimness, and extracted two of the food bars I'd managed to grab.
"Here." I held one out to Nansar. Our fingers brushed in the exchange, and something sparked at the contact—not panic, but warmth. Something unnamed that I wasn't ready to examine. "It's not much, but..."
He accepted it with a grateful nod, and we ate without speaking. The bar had the texture of compressed sawdust and tasted like cardboard had a baby with artificial sweetener, but I forced myself to chew and swallow. I needed the energy.
When Nansar passed me a water skin, I drank gratefully, the cool liquid a blessing on my parched throat.
The mundane ritual of eating and drinking felt surreal—so ordinary against the extraordinary backdrop of our reality.
Stranded on an alien prison planet, hunted by things I couldn't name, protected by a horned warrior who shouldn't exist.
I stared at the half-eaten bar in my hand, and suddenly I was transported back to that diner on Earth.
Had it really been only a few nights ago?
It felt like another lifetime, another person entirely.
I'd ordered my favorite burger—extra pickles, extra mustard.
The kind of meal you savor when you think tomorrow is guaranteed, when the future stretches out predictable and safe.
I could still taste it: the juice running down my fingers, the perfectly toasted bun, the crisp lettuce, those extra-crispy fries drowning in salt.
The memory made the food bar taste even more like regret. I choked down another bite anyway.
As the last light surrendered to darkness, the temperature plummeted. What had been merely cool during the afternoon now turned genuinely cold, the kind that finds its way into your marrow.
The Alliance jumpsuit was supposed to be smart fabric—adaptive, temperature-regulating.
But that was before the pod crash had shredded it, before everything that followed had torn it further.
Now it hung on me in tatters: ripped at the shoulder, torn along one thigh, a gaping hole at my left side where something sharp had caught and held.
Cold air invaded every gap, transforming what should have been protection into little more than a flimsy suggestion of clothing.
I wrapped my arms tight around myself, fighting a shiver that threatened to become a full-body tremor.
"Maybe we could risk a small fire?" The words came out through chattering teeth. "Just a tiny one?"
"No." Nansar's response was immediate and firm. "Even a small flame can be seen for miles at night. We can't risk it."
Logic told me he was right. My freezing body didn't care.
I unfolded the thermal blanket from its compact knapsack shape, shook out the wrinkles, and draped it around my shoulders.
It helped. Marginally. The cold still found ways through, settling into my bones like it planned to stay.
Another shiver seized me, strong enough that my whole body shook.
"Chloe." Nansar's voice carried a hesitation I hadn't heard before, each word chosen with care. "I could sit close... we could share body heat. It would be more effective than—"
"No." The word shot out sharp as a blade, panic flaring hot in my chest at the thought of anyone that close. "No, I'm fine. I'll be fine."
Silence stretched between us, then Nansar whistled—low, deep, melodic. Movement rustled in the darkness, and moments later Starfield's warm bulk settled into the moss beside me. The creature made a sound somewhere between a rumble and a purr, pressing her solid weight against my side.
"She runs warm," Nansar said quietly from his position in the shadows. I could hear the understanding in his voice, the acceptance of my boundaries even as he found another solution. "And she won't mind keeping you company."
I hesitated only a heartbeat before leaning into Starfield's warmth, burying one hand in her thick fur. She was like a living furnace, heat radiating from her in waves that immediately began chasing away the worst of the chill.
"Thank you," I whispered into the darkness, unsure if I meant it for Nansar or Starfield. Maybe both.
The rustle of leather and the soft compression of moss told me Nansar had settled nearby. Even through the darkness, I tracked his movements—the deliberate way he positioned himself directly between me and the shelter's entrance. A sentinel at the threshold.
The thought should have unsettled me. Instead, warmth bloomed in my chest that had nothing to do with Starfield's furnace-like body pressed against mine. For the first time in months, I felt... protected.
The forest breathed around us—distant calls, rustling leaves, Starfield's rhythmic purring. Then Nansar's voice cut through the darkness, careful as footsteps on broken glass.
"Chloe..." He paused, and I could almost feel him weighing his words. "Why you? The Alliance has soldiers, entire battalions at their disposal. Why would they send you after Hewes?"
My fingers froze mid-stroke through Starfield's fur. The question I'd asked myself a million times.
"Because he'll come for me." Each word felt like swallowing glass. "He thinks I'm his property."
Bile rose in my throat. I pressed my face into Starfield's side, her warmth suddenly the only thing anchoring me to the present moment.
"Chloe—"
"He won't stop. Ever." The words came out muffled, distorted. "That's what makes me valuable. That's what makes me perfect bait."
Shame crashed over me in waves—hot, suffocating, relentless. Shame that I hadn't been strong enough to fight him. Shame that I'd been weak. Shame that I'd let him—
No. I couldn't go there. Not now. Not ever.
"What did he do to you?" Nansar's voice dropped to barely above a whisper, but underneath it lurked something feral, something instinctive and protective.
"I can't—" My voice splintered. "Please don't make me talk about it."
Silence descended, heavy and charged. Then movement—Nansar shifting closer, though he was careful, so careful, not to breach the invisible walls I'd erected around myself.
"Chloe. Look at me."
I lifted my head slowly, reluctantly, turning toward his shadow-draped form. Though I couldn't see his features clearly, the weight of his gaze pressed against my skin like a physical touch.
"I vow this to you." His tone shifted, taking on a ceremonial quality that raised goosebumps along my arms. "While breath fills my lungs and blood flows through my veins, Hewes will never lay hands on you again. This I swear on my honor, on my life."
The absolute conviction in his voice cracked something open inside my chest—something raw and aching and desperate to believe.
"You can't promise that," I whispered, hating how small my voice sounded.
"I can. I do." His silhouette leaned forward, and I felt the earnestness radiating from him like heat. "You are not bait, Chloe. You are not a weapon to be wielded. You are a survivor who has endured the unendurable, and you deserve safety. Peace. I will strive to give you both."
The wall I'd been building brick by brick since this nightmare began shattered to dust. A sob tore from my throat before I could stop it, and I buried my face in Starfield's fur, desperate to hide the tears streaming down my face.
But Nansar heard. Of course he heard—the broken sounds I couldn't contain, the tremors wracking my body that had nothing to do with the cold. Yet he didn't speak. Didn't push. He simply remained there, a guardian in the darkness, standing watch between me and the terrors that lurked beyond.
And God help me, it terrified me how much I wanted to believe him. How safe he made me feel. How desperately I wanted to trust in the oath he'd sworn, even knowing that trust was the most dangerous thing I could feel.