10. Claimed
CLAIMED
ELENA – THE GREEN REACH
Rythar reaches for me as I gasp. Every muscle in me tightens. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes miss nothing. He freezes, kneeling there, hand half-extended.
I refuse to flinch. Instead, I square my shoulders and stare straight into his eyes. Gold, ringed in red. I want to say something, anything, but my mouth has gone dry.
He closes the last inch. I think he’s going to grab me, but he just brushes a lock of my hair over my shoulder. His fingers are rough and hot against my skin.
He studies my face, his fingers tracing my jaw, lingering on the pulse fluttering in my throat. There’s hunger in it. Unmistakable desire. They warned us what touch could do to them, before they walked us to the claiming ceremony. His eyes flick to my mouth.
But just as I’m sure he’ll take what he wants, something slices through my head.
Fear and agony, far away.
I gasp, folding forward, clutching my hand. The pain is white hot, radiating from the ring the Stone burned into my finger. It glows under the skin. Rythar catches me before I hit the ground, holding me up with an arm around my waist.
I can’t breathe. The pain becomes a voice, not words but pure sensation.
Terror, suffocation, a scream with no mouth. Then, faint and frantic, a name. Sophia.
She’s inside my head, clawing for help.
My eyes snap to Rythar, desperate. “Sophia. She’s—she’s—” I choke, unable to finish.
His expression hardens, calculating. He scans me, taking in the glowing ring, my shaking, the way I clutch my hand.
He doesn’t ask questions, but I can see them in his eyes. His mouth opens, then shuts. Then he scoops me up. Whatever he was about to say, he swallows, and runs.
The jungle streaks past. My arms wrap around his neck, my face pressed into the hollow of his shoulder. His stride is huge. Each footfall rocks my body.
He’s angry. I can feel it in my mind, too. It’s a dim pressure behind my sternum, different from my connection to Sophia, but there. His jaw locks. His stride falters a half-step. The hesitation feels wrong for him.
My head spins, vision pulsing with every beat of my heart. I feel Sophia’s fear and hopelessness. The certainty that something is coming for her. I paw at Rythar’s chest, desperate to make him understand.
“You have to help Sophia.”
But his hesitation is gone. My protests don’t slow him at all, and Rythar moves faster than should be possible for a man his size. Despite how fast he moves, how steady he keeps me, and how tightly he holds me to him, his breathing remains steady. There’s not even a hint of strain. It’s inhuman.
We break through another thicket, and Rythar stops suddenly. I look up at his chin. He looks into the jungle with a charged stillness. I know this feeling—the look on his face. It’s like the moment before a firefight starts. Something is coming. I wait for the hammer to fall.
It does.
Rythar pivots and sets me down by a thick tree trunk. His body blocks the entire world. I have a perfect view of his back as he squares off against the threat.
I peek through the gap between Rythar’s arm and his body as they emerge from the underbrush.
There are at least ten of them. All as big as the guards from before, but meaner. Their armor is black and bone, marked with red bands.
The leader steps forward, teeth bared. His eyes linger on me, then flick to Rythar.
Rythar barks a word in Xythean. I don’t know the word, but the meaning is clear enough. He doesn’t want them here.
The leader grimaces, tossing a dagger from hand to hand.
Rythar answers with a low growl, more animal than human.
I flatten myself against the tree, pulse pounding in my head. Sudden movement from above makes me flinch, but I’m grabbed so fast that I don’t have time to dodge. Vines whip around me, hauling me upward so fast I feel my stomach drop.
My brain screams—ambush, predator, this is how Xytheos kills you.
Despite my squeak of surprise, Rythar doesn’t glance at me. Rather than the choking I expected, the vines hold me firmly without pain. I’ve got a bird’s-eye view of what’s going on below.
The men advance.
Rythar draws two knives from his back, hooked and gleaming. They look heavy, but he flips them like scalpels.
The first attacker lunges.
Rythar sidesteps, catches the man by the wrist, and snaps it sideways.
I flinch as the sound travels. He rams the heel of his hand into the attacker’s jaw, sending teeth and blood spraying.
Then he slides the knife up, under the chin, and out the top of the skull.
The body goes limp before it even hits the ground.
The next two come together, one with a spear, the other with a net. Rythar ducks the net, slices it to ribbons, and throws the shredded end into the spearman’s face. Blinded, the man staggers. Rythar buries a blade in his chest, then rips it free, flicking blood into the air.
A third swings an axe. Rythar meets it with his forearm, lets the blade gouge his skin, then grabs the attacker’s throat and squeezes until his eyes bulge. He lifts the man off his feet, crushes his windpipe, then tosses him aside.
Four down.
The jungle floor comes alive—roots trip the attackers, vines snare their legs. I watch as Rythar fights. When he moves, this world moves with him. The plants are obeying him.
The remaining six hesitate.
Rythar’s roar is so loud that it shakes leaves from the trees. He leaps, clearing the space in a single bound, and lands among them.
There’s no finesse, no flourish. He is a storm.
When it’s over, all ten are very, very dead.
Rythar stands over the carnage, chest heaving. He doesn’t look at the bodies. He looks at me.
I stare, frozen. I’ve seen death before, but this is something else.
The vines lower me down, and I’m left frozen on the ground.
I don’t move. I don’t blink. My mind locks into old war footage—screams, blood, the smell of panic. I thought I left those ghosts behind. Turns out I only buried them.
Rythar kneels beside me, his shadow swallowing mine. He is streaked with blood, but his hands are gentle as he cups my chin and turns my head, checking for injury.
“I’m fine,” I say. But I’m shaking hard.
He looks me over quickly. There’s no blood that’s mine. He grunts and stands.
His eyes roam the clearing, scanning it. The vines make the bodies disappear into the jungle.
He reaches for my hand—the one with the ring. His thumb rubs a circle over the light. These are the same hands that just killed ten men. His hands don't shake or squeeze. The heat of his gentle touch seeps in, and the shock starts to wear off.
But I’m not safe here, and I shouldn’t let my guard down right now.
It doesn’t matter. My body obeys him before it obeys me.
I look up at him, trying to form words, but nothing will come out.
I count my breaths, trying to slow my heart.
Every time I close my eyes, I see the faces of the dead, their mouths open in permanent surprise.
I’ve seen plenty of death on New Terra. Now it’s here.
My skin crawls with memory. I clench my fists, dig my nails into my palms.
Alive. I am alive.
A soft rustle sounds in the brush. I jerk upright, wanting to bolt, but Rythar holds up one hand.
Wait.
From the green, four warriors step into view.
They’re Rythar’s, I realize. Green Reach. They must have been here the whole time. They knew Rythar didn’t need their help.
One of them is Ex O Drenz. He bows his head, never meeting my eyes.
“What happened?” I whisper.
The Ex O’s eyes are dark. “Vorak sent his warriors to submit an accusation against you. They say you contacted another Starfallen Bride.” His gaze sweeps the bodies.
“An accusation does not require ten males. Vorak sent them with a message. When they saw you, they chose to attack. It was unwise. Undisciplined,” Drenz says with disgust.
“Sophia,” I say. “She’s in trouble. Rythar knows she’s in my mind. It will happen again and they’ll come back,” I ramble.
“You are claimed by Rythar,” he says. Drenz’s gaze flicks to the bodies, then back to Rythar. “They will never take you from him. He will die to protect you. All of us will.”
I need to make Drenz understand. “What about Sophia?” I ask.
Ex O Drenz exchanges a look with Rythar. “Sophia is Vorak’s,” Drenz says. “And communication between Starfallen is not allowed. You will cease immediately. Your safety depends on this.”
“My safety? Sophia’s already not safe. There has to be a way to help her,” I plead. My adrenaline is still high. I look into the jungle, in the direction I feel Sophia must be. I need to run to her.
Rythar frowns and shifts to block my view.
Drenz answers for him. “Sophia will be safe as long as she obeys Vorak and stays with him. Vorak will not harm her.”
“Because some stone says he won’t?” I retort.
Drenz ignores me and hands Rythar cleansing wipes.
Rythar cleans himself off. The blood dissolves, leaving his skin unmarked except for the old scars. Then he reaches for my face with a fresh wipe.
I grab for it. I can clean myself.
He lifts it out of my reach and gives me a look that ends the argument before it starts.
Fine.
I hold still. He puts two large fingers under my chin.
He tilts my face up like it's a delicate instrument and starts at my cheek, slowly following each stroke with his eyes. He hesitates over which way to turn my jaw, then decides. The wipe trails down my throat as my heart thumps fast. He pauses at the corner of my mouth. It’s obvious this is a new thing for him.
That makes two of us. I'm not ready for what his careful touch does to me.
Rythar cleans away every trace of his enemies' blood. The wipes dissolve fast in the air, leaving nothing behind, but he’s staring at me.
“You shake,” Rythar says. His accent makes “shake” sound more like “zhake.”
I wonder exactly how much of my language he understands. And how he could have learned it. Drenz said he wouldn’t speak to me until his translator was fixed. Apparently two words don’t count. “I’m just cold,” I tell him. But I know it’s not true. I twist my hands together to steady them.
Rythar isn’t fooled. He watches my neck, frowns at whatever he finds there, and pulls me into his lap, tucking me against his body. I stiffen and push at his chest, trying to put space between us. I'm fine. The fight is over and I wasn't even in it. But Rythar doesn’t let me go.
Rythar barks one word over my head. Drenz steps in, wand already lit.
Rythar’s arms cage me while Drenz sweeps the beam from head to toe.
I shut my eyes while they check every way that Xytheos might have already broken me.
The wand chirps, and Drenz says something short.
I open my eyes, and Drenz has backed away.
It’s clear that I don’t need any treatment.
"I could have told you," I mutter. "It's just adrenaline. I’m fine." I try to duck between the arms caging me, but Rythar’s arms quickly tighten.
Rythar gathers me in, closer than before, one hand cupping the back of my head, and rests his mouth against my hair.
I breathe, fighting everything that’s going on inside me, but my body realizes the danger is over.
That’s when the shaking takes over. It’s the crash.
I know the mechanics—adrenaline dumps, and once the shakes start, they have to play out.
He murmurs something in Xythean, the words rumbling through his chest into mine.
I can't understand any of it, but the tone needs no translator.
My body, shaking traitor that it is, goes looking for shelter.
My face finds the curve of his neck. My fingers curl against him.
Slowly, the shaking fades, one muscle at a time.
Once it stops, Rythar stands with me in his arms.
“Are we going to Sophia?” I demand.
“No,” Rythar grunts.
“Then where?” I ask. My voice cracks. I can’t help Sophia. I’m stuck in the arms of my new mate.
Rythar’s burning eyes flash down at me as he strides forward. “Home,” he says.
Whatever he means by “home,” it isn’t mine.
The vines slide aside before we reach them. He isn’t pretending to follow a path any longer. The thick branches and thorns should make the jungle impassable, but the world bends out of his way.
I try to keep my head up, but I’m dizzy. The adrenaline that burned through me is replaced with a deep exhaustion. I become aware of the points where our bodies touch. The press of his hand over my ribs, the crook of my knees over his forearm, and the raw heat radiating from him.
I’m being carried by an alien who controls the very jungle we walk through. To a home he expects me to share with him. As bad as I have it, I’m afraid Sophia has it worse.
She told me to play weak. Right now, I don’t have to play. My body has already surrendered.
The rest of me hasn’t.