Chapter 43
Forty-Three
T he cave shuddered with the force of the landslide. Solflara slumped against the wall, her feathers dimming to faint embers. “ It’ll hold ,” she rasped.
Alaire’s knees buckled. She sank to the cold floor. “ Thank you , Solf . But if you ever try that again , I’ll tell Beck and Hadrian you’re interested in both of them .”
Solflara slapped a fiery wing over Alaire’s mouth, despite her exhaustion.
They were safe. Trapped, but safe.
Pushing away Solflara’s wing, her gaze darted to Dawson, still slumped on Beck’s back, chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. She swallowed hard. The cave was dank and cold, but no immediate threats lurked in the darkness.
She rose on her toes, pressing a hand to his forehead. Clammy, despite the frigid air.
Dropping her pack, she dug through supplies until her fingers closed on a thin bedroll. She spread it flat against the stone floor, smoothing the creases.
“Solflara, sit here.” She gestured to a spot across from the bedroll. “We’ll need your heat, but not too close. He can’t overheat.”
“ Gladly .” Solflara settled where indicated, flames flickering low with fatigue. Her golden eyes tracked Alaire before finally resting against the cool stone.
“Beck, let’s get him down.”
The griffin crouched low as Alaire gently eased Dawson from his back. He groaned, the sound tightening every muscle in her body.
“Here,” she said softly, arranging Beck to lie beside the bedroll. “We’ll prop him against your feathers and keep his body stretched out.”
Beck obeyed at once, eyes never leaving his bonded, swimming with worry.
Alaire shifted Dawson against the griffin’s warmth, then covered him with the spare leathers. His face was pale, breath shallow. Blood still seeped through the makeshift wrappings. Infection was the real enemy now.
She clutched her ribs, hiding her grimace. Solflara’s eyes caught it.
“ You’re hurt .”
“ Just bruised. ”
Moments later, the ache vanished. Alaire flexed her arms overhead. “ Thank you .”
Solflara was already drifting into an exhausted half-sleep.
Alaire forced herself to focus. They had heat, but little else. Dawson couldn’t eat, not yet. In a few hours, she’d try warming preserved rations, but for now water was all he could take.
“Come back to me,” she whispered as she tipped the canteen to his lips. “You’re not allowed to leave me here, Dawson.”
His eyes fluttered open. Her heart squeezed as those turquoise depths locked onto hers. If he pulls through, I’ll never complain about his broody looks again .
He drank, slowly at first, then more eagerly, before leaning back with a sigh. She set the canteen beside him, just in reach.
Working quickly, she shredded the other bedroll into strips. Kneeling at his side, she said, “I need to clean these properly. I’ll unbutton your shirt, rewrap the wounds, then get it back on you so you don’t lose more heat.”
Dawson’s eyes widened as he glanced at his torso before meeting her gaze. With a resigned sigh, he nodded.
She helped him shift and unbuttoned his shirt. His skin was flushed and slick with sweat despite the biting cold around them.
Alaire bit the inside of her cheek to keep her panic at bay. Dawson needed rest, not to see her unravel.
When the last of his shirt fell away, her breath hitched.
Tattoos she’d only glimpsed before stretched across his shoulders.
Faint scars etched pale paths over his chest, stark against his overheated skin.
Stories she didn’t know but yearned to hear.
If there was a tomorrow, she’d ask. She’d say everything they’d left unspoken.
Focus . Now wasn’t the time for her mind to wander.
Alaire’s fingers hovered above his chest before she forced herself to move. She pressed the fabric gently to his skin, wiping away the sweat clinging to him.
“You’re burning up,” she whispered.
He didn’t respond, only released a shuddering breath.
Her eyes swept the cave, then returned to him. Words lodged in her throat. She couldn’t lose him, couldn’t face what lay ahead without him.
Dawson’s gaze found hers.
“Alaire,” he murmured, his low, rough voice snapping her back to reality.
She blotted the gashes left by the yeti’s claws. He sat still, though his clenched fists, the tight tick of his jaw, and the thin press of his lips betrayed his pain. When her fingers brushed his skin, Dawson drew in a sharp breath.
“Sorry—I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay,” he rasped, voice hoarse.
Alaire set to work at a determined pace, winding bandages around his shoulder.
She roused him a few times, coaxing his arm over her shoulder so she could wrap the cloth across his back and over the long, deep gashes carved across his chest. At least she managed it without removing the buttoned layers that still offered him some warmth.
These marks would scar. She only hoped he would see them as another story of his valor in battle.
“All done,” she murmured once the bandages were secure and clean.
His only response was the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
In the quiet, she allowed herself a few unguarded moments.
The hard lines of his face seemed softer now, an almost boyish vulnerability replacing the fierce intensity she was so used to.
Tousled strands of hair had fallen across his forehead.
She resisted the absurd urge to brush them back.
Dawson shifted, murmuring something unintelligible. She leaned closer.
“Father…”
She began to step away, letting him rest—until she heard it. “Alaire.” His voice was faint, but threaded with such tenderness it made her heart ache.
She stilled, rooted in place, watching his lips shape her name as if longing for her even in dreams. An electric pulse thrummed through her body. She wanted to reach out, to touch him—but she didn’t dare disturb the fragile peace he’d found in sleep.
Alaire stepped back instead, busying herself with tasks that didn’t need doing. Hours dragged, winds gusted through the cave, and despite Solflara’s warmth, the cold seeped in. Still, her eyes found their way back to Dawson’s slumbering form again and again.
“ Can you please just sit down ?” Solflara’s voice was still thick with sleep as her amber eyes followed Alaire’s restless movements around the cave.
“ I tried . I can’t seem to settle .”
“ Because you’re worried about the prince ,” she said plainly.
“ Obviously . He’s injured .”
“ Try healing him again .”
“ I already tried , and it didn’t work .”
“ The blood in your veins proves otherwise ,” Solflara pressed through the bond. “ Your aether answered your emotions the first time .” Then, softer: “ Find what’s holding you back , Alaire . Let it go .”
Alaire avoided her eyes. She crossed her arms tight, fingers dragging up and down her sleeves as if to ward off the cold—or the weight pressing on her, the one always there.
She couldn’t look at Solflara. If she did, she’d have to admit that facing everything she’d been avoiding might shatter her completely, leaving nothing but pieces she couldn’t put back together.
Her lips parted, but no words came. She dropped her arms to her sides, defeated. Her aether hadn’t answered her all year. Why would it start now?
“ Is it not worth trying — for him ?”
Solflara’s claws scraped the stone as she adjusted, careful not to wake Beck or Dawson. “ I’ll sit closer to the front of the cave . The storm’s intensifying — I can block out most of the cold filtering through the rocks . It doesn’t bother me nearly as much .”
Alaire huffed softly. “ Deep beneath those fiery layers , you’ve got a slobbery puppy-dog heart .”
Solflara ignored her attempt to change the subject. “ Think about what I said .”
Alaire stifled a yawn as she nodded, not ready to put a voice to those feelings yet. Fatigue had finally sunk its claws into her. After checking Dawson’s water, she tiptoed closer in case he stirred.
His hair was plastered to his face, damp with sweat. His teeth chattered.
She leaned down, pressing her hand to his forehead. His skin was ice-cold, leeched of color, lips tinged blue.
“ Already on it .” Reading her mind, Solflara raised her flames. The cave immediately filled with warmth.
Alaire peeked at his bandages. Pus oozed from the frayed strips of cloth. Infection was spreading faster than she’d feared.
Something in the yeti’s claws had to be poison.
Dawson’s breaths came shallow and labored. He gave one last rattling cough, and then… nothing.
Terror stabbed through her lungs like icy knives. “No, no, no.” Her hands flew to his neck, searching desperately for a pulse. It was there—barely. Erratic, fading. Each beat weaker than the last.
He was dying. Right here in her arms. And she was powerless to stop it.
Something inside her cracked open. He’d seen strength in her when she only saw broken pieces.
He made her believe she was capable of greatness when the world had taught her she was only capable of enduring.
When he looked at her, she wasn’t the girl who’d lost everything—she was someone worthy of belief, of trust, of something dangerously close to devotion.
He made her feel like she could be more than her pain. Like she deserved more than just existing.
And she was losing him.
His pulse fluttered again, weaker now. How many beats did he have left? How long before that heart—the one that had somehow helped her reclaim pieces of herself she thought were lost—stopped forever?
She’d never finish their conversation from the ball. Never see that devastating smile that stole her breath. Never tell him that somewhere between his impossible standards and unshakable faith in her, she’d started to fall.