But she knowssomething. I see it. Feel it, in the way her shoulders don’t flinch, the way her breath steadies instead of faltering.
I stand slowly.
Not tall—not threatening. I let the blades retract with a soft hiss, a show of peace. The tension in her face flickers—just a little—but she doesn’t back away.
CHAPTER 15
JILLIAN
The world doesn’t go quiet after the sting tail dies.
It holds its breath.
The silence after the battle is thicker than the noise that came before it. My ears ring from the sound of my own blood rushing. The dead sting tail lies twisted, grotesque, its black blood eating into the dirt in sizzling patches. I can still smell it—burnt copper, ozone, something sour and wrong.
But I don’t look at it.
I look athim.
The thing that saved me.
Thesomeone.
He stands there like the idea of a nightmare made real—towering, broad-shouldered, all dark hair and shadows and blood-streaked arms. Not a human silhouette, not exactly. His spine curves like a predator’s, but he moves with purpose, not instinct. Like he’s thinking. Choosing.
And those eyes.
God, those eyes.
They glow. Not with malice, not even with the gleam of a wild animal. But with something ancient. Something almost…familiar. Like staring into fire and recognizing the warmth before it burns.
He doesn’t speak.
Neither do I.
My throat is too dry, too thick with everything Ishouldbe feeling—terror, shock, confusion. But none of it comes.
What rises instead is… awe.
That’s the only word for it.
He’s not a monster. He should be. Everything in my training, every protocol we’ve ever written for this planet, every panic-drilled emergency plan says that this is the moment to scream, to run, to hit the ground and beg for rescue.
But I don’t feel that.
Not when I look at him.
Not when he looks atme.
He’s covered in blood—some of it his, some of it the sting tail’s—but his chest rises with the same tight breath I’m holding. And when his golden eyes land on mine, there’s something in them that splits me open.
Grief. Maybe.
Or longing.
Or… fear?
I don’t know what possesses me. I’m not even aware I’m moving until my hand lifts, slow and instinctual. My fingers shake—not from fear, but from the unbearabletensionof this moment.
