Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Her pulse thudded painfully as she stared at him in the dim forest light. Dar stood mere inches from her, chest rising and falling harder than he intended to show, jaw clenched, eyes locked on hers with a hunger he could not quite hide… and a regret he could not fully bury.
“Do not touch me again,” she whispered, though her voice lacked the steel she wished it carried. The ache beneath her ribs betrayed her, an ache she despised.
He took a step toward her.
She stepped back.
“Stay away.”
Something flickered across his face. Not anger. Not the fierce Hunter’s discipline he’d worn like armor since Barloch. Something softer, raw, quickly crushed and hidden as if it had no right to exist.
“Elara—” he began.
“Nay,” she cut sharply. “I was a fool to believe anything you let me see. A fool to trust the man you pretended to be.”
His jaw flexed. “The man I was with you—was not pretend.”
She laughed bitterly, though the sound nearly broke. “Lies come easily to Hunters. It is what you are trained for.”
“I never lied about keeping you safe.”
“That,” she said, her voice finally steadying, “is the worst lie of all. Because part of me still wants to believe it.”
Her eyes burned, but she refused to let tears fall. Not in front of him. Never in front of him.
Dar’s breath left him in a slow, strained exhale. For a moment, he looked as if he might reach for her again, but he stopped himself, hands balling into fists at his sides.
He said nothing and, in the silence, she realized something chilling, the kiss had not been a mistake. It had been a confession. One she could not afford to hear.
Elara tore her gaze from him and strode past him toward the camp, refusing to look back even when she longed to, even when she felt the weight of his eyes follow her through the darkening sky.
She stepped back into the small clearing the Hunters had claimed for the night, the fire spits holding freshly caught meat cooking over them. Shadows moved between the trees, silent men, watchful, always watching. She kept her chin high as she crossed into the camp, though her heart still hammered from the confrontation with Dar.
Feena knelt beside Muir near one of the fires, Adira hovering close behind her. Muir’s sleeve was shoved up past his elbow, the bloody cloth unwrapped, the wound beneath swollen and red. Feena’s brow was drawn in deep lines of concern as she dabbed a mixture of crushed leaves and boiled water along the inflamed skin.
“You waited too long,” Feena scolded softly, her voice firm but weary. “Far too long. The wound festers, and I fear the rot has already begun.”
Muir snorted under his breath. “You talk nonsense, old woman. I’ve suffered worse.”
“Aye, and some men live to boast of their folly,” Feena replied, tying a fresh cloth around his arm with a tightness that made him hiss. “But this—this is no simple scrape. Infection spreads fast. I’ve done what I can, but whether your body heeds the healing is not mine to say.”
Muir grumbled but said nothing more, as he walked away while Feena finished packing away her herbs in her healing pouch.
Elara approached, hoping to slip past quietly, but Feena lifted her head the moment she drew near. Her sharp eyes took in the stiff line of Elara’s shoulders, the tension in her jaw, the way her breath came too shallow.
“You’ve returned,” Feena said, rising slowly to her feet. She brushed her hands on her skirts and studied Elara’s face with calm, unsettling accuracy. “And burdened heavier than when you left.”
“I am well enough,” Elara said quickly, too quickly.
“A poor lie,” Feena murmured. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I told you once not to doubt him.”
Elara flinched as if struck.
Feena did not relent. “Whatever passed between you in the woods, whatever words or wounds, do not let the moment blind you.”
“I am not blind,” Elara said tightly. “Only wiser.”
Feena’s sigh was soft, almost sorrowful. “Child, wisdom and fear often dress alike. Be sure you know which one you wear.”
Elara turned away, not trusting herself to answer, not trusting her voice to remain steady. Feena let her go, though her gaze followed her with quiet understanding.
Muir watched them from a distance and muttered under his breath, dismissing Feena’s warning even as he rubbed his bandaged arm.
Night pressed close around the camp, and Elara felt it settle upon her like a weight, heavy, cold, and full of questions she wished she didn’t have to ask.
Elara slept near Feena and Adira, the three of them wrapped in thin blankets beneath the lean-to the Hunters had fashioned for them. Exhaustion pulled her down quickly, but her sleep was restless, threaded with unease.
Sometime in the night she startled awake.
Silence lay thick over the camp. Not the ordinary hush of sleeping men, but something deeper, an eerie stillness that pressed against her ears until she wondered if the world had stopped breathing.