“And you didn’t think to—what, tell me?” he demands, disbelief hardening his tone. “You just wait until I run into River again!” His hands curl into fists.
“Don’t be angry at River,” I plead. “This was my choice. I made him promise not to tell you—he wanted to.” My voice cracks. “I just didn’t want you to do something stupid. I don’t want to lose you again.”
The memory flashes unbidden: glass sinking into his chest, blood blooming red as he chose my life over his own.
“I was going to tell you,” I say softly. “When I found the cure.”
I rest my hand against his chest, feeling the steady, living beat beneath my palm. He exhales deeply and gently peels my hand away.
The space between us feels wider than the forest around us.
“And what if there is no cure, Asha? What then?” His voice is thick with regret.
My vision blurs as my eyes drown in his, tears threatening to spill in an endless flood.
“If you’re right about this,” he continues softly, “you have to stay away from me.”
Moonlight catches in his lashes, turning his eyes glassy—and for the first time in weeks, the fear I’ve been carrying loosens its grip. It’s no match for the love swelling in my chest.
“I can’t hurt you again,” he says. “I love you too much to hurt you.”
He steps back—not violently, not cruelly—but with distance and silence that cut deeper than any shove.
“Ryder, wait.” I rush forward, clutching his arm before he can disappear. “Your eyes only glow when your heart rate spikes. So maybe if you keep it steady—if you don’t get angry—”
He looks at me then,reallylooks at me, and interrupts.
“How am I supposed to keep my heart rate steady around you,” he murmurs, voice rough, “when every time I see you, I want to rip your clothes off and fuck you until your legs shake?”
The words hit me like hot lightning. He bites his lip, squeezes his eyes shut as if trying to cage the thoughts clawing through him. Fire floods my senses. My fingers dig into his arm, want and need surging so fiercely it frightens me.
“I can’t do it, Asha,” he says hoarsely. “You have to stay away. Find me when you find a cure.”
He smiles then, small and sacrificial. I can see the war raging inside him, the pull to stay, to crush me against him and kiss me until the world falls away.
But he doesn’t.
His footsteps fade into the forest.
“We have a lead,” I call out.
They stop.
“We have a lead to the cure,” I say quickly. “A riddle. I just—I can’t figure it out.”
After a moment, he turns back. He comes to stand in front of me again, careful to keep space between us this time—like distance alone might save us both.
“A riddle?” he repeats, a flicker of hope lighting his eyes.
“Yes.” I nod, my gaze lifting to his, silently asking him to stay. “When we asked the Soldark about a cure, it gave us a riddle. We just couldn’t decipher it.”
“Maybe…” He hesitates, then meets my eyes again. “Maybe I should take a look.”
I can’t stop the small smile that tugs at my mouth.
“But what about staying away from me?” I tease softly, hope curling at the edge of my voice.
“I’ll try to keep my heart rate steady when I’m around you,” he says, exhaling slowly. “But you have to make it easy for me. Keep your distance. No touching. And”—he looks away, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip—“no tight clothes. I can’t cope.”
