I don’t answer. I haven’t complained about my wound. Not once. Does he know because he senses my pain?
“You are cold.”
Nothing from me. And yes, I am cold. I’m also relieved that I’m out of the elements and the biting wind. The fire he’s made is finally doing the trick of warming me up. It would do an even better job if I moved closer, but since he’s there and I’m a petty bitch, I stay nearer to the shadows.
“The fever has not worsened.” A quiet observation, not quite a question.
Still, I refuse to engage. But fuck, I had a fever? I suppose that happened when I was unconscious. Fun times.
I focus on the fire, watching the flames flicker and curl, casting his face in shifting light. He comes closer as he works on cooking the fresh meat. He’s too close, but I won’t ask him to move. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
So I sit, silent and stiff, my arms curled around my knees. I can feel him watching me. Waiting. And then?—
“Have you always been stubborn?”
It’s a casual question with no heat or spite, but it’s one I know is meant to prod at me. And goddammit, it works. My head snaps up, a glare locked and loaded, because excuse me?
His lips twitch. Just a little. Almost like he’s relieved I took the bait.
I scowl harder. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough.”
I scoff. “Yeah? And what exactly do you think you know?”
He tilts his head, studying me, his eyes flickering gold with the firelight.
“I know you act like you don’t care,” he says evenly, “but you care too much.”
Something in my chest twists. I hate that he said that. I hate that it’s true. I shift, looking away. “You don’t know shit.”
Kael exhales, slow and measured. He pokes at the fire, adjusting the wood. The silence stretches again—heavy, but different now. And then, softly, “I wish I had done things differently.”
It’s not the first time he’s apologised. But this time… this time, it feels different. Not just words. Not just duty. Something real.
I risk a glance at him.
His jaw is tight, his expression pained. Not just the usual unreadable stoicism. This looks like actual regret. I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know if I even want to doanythingwith that.
So I shake my head. “Yeah, well. Too late.”
His gaze flickers, like the words hit him somewhere deep. But he doesn’t argue. He just nods. Somehow, that makes it worse.
He turns his attention back to the fire and the cookingrethog. I should look away, but I can’t seem to find the will or the desire. I don’t know if it’s curiosity, exhaustion, or something deeper that keeps my gaze fixed on him. On the way his massive frame seems smaller somehow in the dim firelight. On the faint, pulse-like glow of his markings, flickering in a rhythm I can’t quite track.
Kael doesn’t seem to notice me at first, focussed on the food. But then his nostrils flare. A sharp inhale. And when he glances up, his eyes locking with mine, he stills. His surprise is obvious. I expect him to smirk, to make some arrogant remark about mystaring. Instead, he clears his throat, a rare show of discomfort, and breaks eye contact first.
The moment is over too quickly.
“Eat.” He passes me some of the cookedrethog, his fingers brushing against mine.
I swallow hard at the contact, my grip tightening around the cooked meat as if that will stop the traitorous shiver running through me.
His eyes flare. A barely there reaction, but I see it. Feel it.
My stomach twists, my thoughts a mess, but I remember my damn manners. “Thanks,” I mutter.
Kael gives a small nod. No arrogance, no teasing. Just a nod.
