Neither of us ate after Kael’s big soul-destroying reveal. Nausea had taken over, stealing my appetite right along with any shred of emotional stability I had left. We left fast.
And yes, I’m still in the stupid backpack contraption.
Talk about awkward.
The bitter silence between us has stretched on for kilometres, thick as the creeping dusk. “I think we need to stop,” I say, my voice cutting through the quiet.
Kael’s shoulders tense, just a fraction. Then he nods. He scans the horizon, moving with that infuriating, measured control of his. Since his eyesight is way better than mine, I let him do his thing.
“There is a cave up ahead,” he says. “It will offer you some shelter.”
I clamp my mouth shut, noting his formality, before I say something snarky. Something like “I don’t need protection.” Because obviously, I do. Not just from the toothy nightmares lurking in the darkness but also from the cold.
The bite of theithranfrost is already nipping at my skin, its slow creep making my fingers and toes tingle. “Okay,” I mutter. It’s all I can manage without bitterness slipping in.
My stomach growls, loud enough to echo in the quiet. I pointedly ignore it. I have supplies in my pack. As soon as we stop, I’ll force down whatever rations I’ve got without thinking too hard about what I’m eating.
Kael’s voice jolts me. “I will find you fresh food when we make camp.” His words are quiet. Simple. And yet something about them unsettles me.
Maybe it’s the fact that he even cares whether I eat. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s still trying—even after everything. He keeps walking, his pace still effortless, still unfairly smooth, even as the terrain turns into jagged, uneven ground. He isn’t even breathless.
“I have my own food,” I say.
His shoulders tense again. “I know,” he says. “But there arerethognearby. You can keep your supplies for when there is no fresh food.”
I hesitate.Rethog. They taste like chicken, and I haven’t had one in ages. Back in Dathanor, we only get them when hunters bring them in, which has been happening less and less lately—what with the queen’s lackeys closing down trade routes and cracking down on rebellion activity.
I sigh. “Fine.” Too tired, too hungry, and too wrecked to argue.
Kael says nothing.
We settle in once we reach the cave—if you can even call it that. It’s really more of a jagged overhang, barely deep enough to block the worst of the wind. Kael leaves to hunt, and I’m left alone with my thoughts. A fucking terrible place to be.
My mind drifts.
To Kael.
To how wrong I was about him.
I’d convinced myself he had a thing for Varek. That every lingering glance, every tense exchange had meant something. But it didn’t.
It was never Varek. It was me.
I rub at my chest, irritation coiling tight in my gut. Am I just hurting myself more by pushing him away? Will I ever be able to forgive him?
I don’t know.
And maybe worse—I don’t know if I even feel different since the bonding started. The bond is supposed to mean something, but I feel like… me.
Though, if I’m being honest with myself, I’ve always found Kael attractive. That was never the problem. The problem is—what now?
I know bonding effects are different depending on the species, but what should I even expect?
Before I can spiral further, Kael returns. His expression is… forlorn, like he’s carrying some silent weight on his shoulders,but he doesn’t let it stop him. He sets to work, skinning and preparing therethoglike nothing is wrong. Like he isn’t unravelling right in front of me.
Kael tries. More than once. Small, hesitant attempts—a question here, a comment there—all of them careful, all of them deliberate.
“Does your wound still ache?”
