Chapter 11 #2
The elder's gaze moved from me to Nansar's unconscious form with deliberate slowness, then back again.
Those black eyes seemed to penetrate straight through skin and bone, cataloging every micro-expression, every involuntary tell, reading me like I was written in a language she'd spent lifetimes learning to decode.
Then her attention fixed on Nansar, and something shifted in her expression—recognition, cold and certain and utterly damning.
She gestured with one long-fingered hand, and the geometric patterns beneath her skin flared brighter, pulsing with what might have been anger. "Him, we know. Prisoner."
Ice water flooded my veins, turning my blood to slush. "No, you don't understand—"
"We kill prisoners." Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact, as casual as if she were commenting on the weather. She made a sharp gesture to the warriors behind her, and two of them stepped forward, raising their weapons.
"No!" I threw myself over Nansar's prone form, arms spread wide in a futile attempt to shield his body with mine. "You can't kill him. He's—he's—"
My mind raced, scrambling desperately for something, anything that would make them stop.
What could I possibly say? What would matter to these people?
The warriors were already moving closer, their expressions impassive as carved stone, their weapons catching the light and throwing it back in a promise of violence.
The elder raised one hand, and the warriors froze mid-step as if she'd turned them to statues. She studied me with renewed interest, her head tilting again in that unsettling bird-like manner. "He is what?"
"He's..." The words caught in my throat like fishhooks. What was he? My guide through this alien wilderness? My protector in a world that wanted me dead? The only person in a very long time who made me feel safe? The first male I'd trusted in longer than I could remember?
"Is he your mate?"
The question slammed into me, punching the air from my lungs. My mouth worked soundlessly, opening and closing like a landed fish. The elder stood motionless as a statue, those fathomless eyes pinning me in place, cataloging every expression that flickered across my face.
"Yes." The lie emerged as barely a breath, fragile as spider silk. I swallowed hard and forced steel into my voice, made myself sound certain, unshakeable. "Yes, he's my mate."
Something shifted in the elder's expression—a ripple of curiosity, perhaps surprise. She glided closer, circling me with predatory grace, and every instinct screamed at me to run. I locked my muscles in place, refusing to flinch.
"You are delicate," she murmured, reaching out to lift a strand of my hair between slender, weathered fingers. I froze, my pulse a drum in my ears, surely loud enough for her to hear. "Frail. Soft." Her touch drifted to my arm, fingers pressing against the muscle there, testing, measuring. "Weak."
Shame and anger blazed through me in equal measure, heating my face, but I kept my chin high and held her gaze.
The elder's attention slid to Nansar's unconscious form, then back to me.
The luminous patterns beneath her skin pulsed in an alien rhythm, speaking a language I couldn't begin to translate.
"Yet you are unharmed. Unmarked." A slow nod, and something that might have been respect ghosted across her features.
"He has not hurt you. This is good. This speaks well of him. "
The breath I'd been holding escaped in a rush, some of the tension bleeding from my shoulders.
The elder stepped back, gesturing sharply to her warriors. "Bring them. We return to the village."
"Wait—you're not going to—"
"He is your mate. You have claimed him." Those bottomless eyes bored into mine with an intensity that made me feel transparent, exposed. "Among the Welati, this means something. We will see if he is worthy of your protection."
Welati.
The word sent ice cascading through my veins.
I fought to keep my expression neutral, to hide the tremor that threatened to shake me apart.
It wasn't exactly a promise of safety, but it was infinitely better than watching them execute Nansar where he lay.
I managed a nod, not trusting my voice to remain steady.
Two of the larger warriors approached Nansar.
One seized his arms while another grabbed his legs, hoisting him with casual strength that made my stomach twist. His head lolled sideways, platinum hair spilling across his face like moonlight, and I had to physically restrain myself from rushing to his side, from pressing my fingers to his throat to feel the reassuring flutter of his pulse.
Before I could move, hands clamped around my waist.
"No—" The protest died as I was yanked off the ground.
My entire body went rigid, every muscle seizing as panic detonated in my chest, white-hot and all-consuming.
The warrior carrying me strode toward Starfield.
I couldn't breathe, couldn't think beyond the wrongness of strange hands on my body, touching me, gripping me—
I landed hard on Starfield's back. A strangled sound clawed its way up my throat, half gasp, half scream, barely swallowed. My hands twisted into Starfield's mane, knuckles bone-white, my entire body quaking with the effort of not shattering completely.
Not Nansar. Wrong hands. Wrong touch. Wrong everything.
The warrior retreated, apparently oblivious to my distress, and I forced myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. My skin crawled where he'd touched me, phantom sensations I wanted desperately to scrub away, to erase from existence.
Starfield shifted beneath me, picking up on my agitation, and I collapsed forward against her neck, seeking anchor in her familiar warmth, in the steady metronome of her breathing. Ahead, the warriors bearing Nansar began their descent down the path, and the elder signaled for the others to follow.
The same warrior who'd manhandled me reached for Starfield's reins. The instant his fingers touched the leather, the kuda's ears flattened against her skull. She whipped her head up sharply, ripping the reins from his grasp, and stepped deliberately backward.
The warrior's frown deepened, irritation darkening his eyes as he reached again.
Starfield's response was instantaneous—she bared her teeth in a vicious display and released a warning snort that made him freeze.
Her body coiled beneath me, muscles bunching like loaded springs, and I felt her preparing for something far more violent.
"Easy, girl," I breathed, stroking her neck even as my own heart tried to hammer through my ribs. Part of me desperately wanted to let her run, to let her carry us both far from these dangerous strangers. But Nansar was ahead, helpless and vulnerable, and abandoning him was unthinkable.
The warrior spat something harsh in his language, frustration evident, and lunged for the reins again. Starfield sidestepped with liquid grace, smoke billowing from her nostrils in warning plumes.
The elder turned back, her sharp gaze assessing the standoff. She spoke a few clipped words to the warrior, her tone commanding. He stepped back, jaw clenched with what looked like wounded pride, and gestured curtly for us to follow.
Starfield settled immediately, though her ears remained pricked forward, tracking the warrior's every movement. I pressed my face into her neck for a heartbeat, overwhelmed with gratitude for her unwavering loyalty.
"Thank you," I whispered into her mane. Then I straightened, keeping my hands gentle on the reins, and guided her forward. She moved willingly now, following the group at a careful distance, protecting me in the only way she could.
The mountain path seemed endless, each hour bleeding into the next until time lost all meaning.
My eyes never left Nansar's motionless form, suspended between two warriors like a broken doll.
The sun crawled across the sky, gilding the peaks in honey and copper as it sank toward the horizon.
All around us, the mountains unfurled their ancient splendor—gnarled trees clinging to impossible cliffs, waterfalls cascading like liquid silver through emerald shadows, mist-shrouded valleys yawning beneath our feet.
I registered none of it. My entire universe had collapsed to three things. Nansar's limp body, Starfield's steady heartbeat beneath me, and the ragged rhythm of my own breath.
When the forest finally opened into a broad clearing cradled between mountain peaks, I almost didn't notice.
Then the scent hit me—woodsmoke and roasting meat, rich and earthy—and my hollow stomach twisted with sudden, desperate hunger.
The Welati village materialized through the gathering dusk, and despite the terror coiled around my spine, wonder flickered to life in my chest.
The settlement looked like it had grown from the mountain itself, organic and timeless.
A colossal longhouse commanded the center, its arched roof rising like the spine of some slumbering dragon.
The structure stretched at least a hundred feet, its framework of massive logs bound with what looked like woven from vines.
The walls were covered in overlapping sheets of weathered bark, weathered silver-gray with age, and smoke drifted lazily from openings along the peaked roof.
Smaller dwellings clustered around it like children gathered at their mother's feet—round houses with conical roofs, their walls woven from living saplings and sealed with clay that gleamed dully in the fading light.
Faces emerged from doorways as we passed, painted with the same geometric patterns as the warriors, eyes bright with curiosity and caution. Children materialized like ghosts, peering from shadows with expressions caught between wonder and fear.
The elder guided us toward a modest dwelling near the longhouse. Two young warriors approached Starfield, hands reaching for her reins.