Kai stands in the doorway like some ancient warrior god carved from living stone, his leather armor torn and bloodied, a wicked-looking blade dripping crimson in his right hand. The scar across his ribs shows through a rent in his shirt, and when he sees me pressed against the far wall, something in his expression cracks open with relief so profound it takes my breath away.
"Saela." My name emerges as prayer and battle cry combined, rough with emotion that makes his deep voice crack slightly. "Are you hurt?"
I try to speak, to tell him I'm all right, to ask about the others, but the words stick in my throat as I drink in the sight of him—solid and real and impossibly present when I'd convinced myself I'd never see him again. The careful control he usually maintains has been stripped away entirely, leaving raw emotion blazing in eyes that seem to see nothing but my face.
"I'm okay," I manage finally, though my voice shakes with everything I can't quite express. "How did you?—"
"Later." He steps into the cell with movements that somehow manage to be both urgently protective and carefully controlled, as if he's fighting every instinct that demands he reach for me immediately. "We need to move. Ursik and Falla are holding the corridor, but there will be reinforcements."
Before I can respond, another figure fills the doorway—broader than Kai but somehow less solid, built for brutality rather than protection. Harkul emerges from the shadows with a crude sword raised and expression of murderous satisfaction that makes ice crystallize in my veins.
"How touching," the Stonevein chieftain says with mock sentimentality that doesn't reach his pitiless dark eyes. "The devoted mate comes charging to the rescue. Just as predicted."
Kai shifts position with fluid grace that puts his body between me and the threat, every line of his massive frame radiating lethal intent. The careful control I'm used to seeing has been replaced by something far more dangerous—cold fury that seems to make the air itself crackle with violent potential.
"Let her go," he says with a voice like a grinding stone, each word carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "Your quarrel is with me."
"Is it?" Harkul circles slowly, keeping his blade raised but not yet attacking, clearly savoring the moment. "Because from where I stand, it looks like your quarrel is with tradition itself. With the natural order that puts strength above sentiment."
"The only tradition I see here is cruelty masquerading as purpose." Kai's response comes with deadly calm that makes my breath catch in my throat. "You lost the right to speak of honor when you started sacrificing the helpless for power you're too weak to claim honestly."
The words hit their target with precision that makes Harkul's expression twist into something uglier than simple anger. "Weak? You think clinging to outdated codes makes you strong?Your kind has grown soft, Frostfang. Protecting parasites instead of claiming what's ours by right."
"Maybe." Kai shifts his weight with subtle movement that brings the tip of his blade up slightly. "Let's find out."
What follows happens with brutal efficiency that leaves me pressed against the stone wall, unable to look away despite the violence unfolding mere feet from where I stand. Harkul lunges with impressive speed for someone his size, but Kai moves like liquid death, sidestepping the attack and bringing his own weapon around in an arc that catches the other orc across his unprotected ribs.
The Stonevein chieftain staggers but doesn't fall, spinning to face Kai again with blood darkening his leather armor and fury blazing in eyes that hold no trace of the calculating intelligence I remember. He attacks again, this time with a series of strikes that force Kai backward toward the cell entrance, each blow powerful enough to shatter bone if it connects.
But Kai doesn't let them connect. He flows around the attacks with grace that seems impossible for someone his size, using Harkul's momentum against him, waiting for the perfect opening with patience that speaks to years of combat experience. When it comes—a fraction of second when the other orc overextends himself—Kai's blade finds its mark with surgical precision.
The strike takes Harkul in the chest, punching through leather and flesh with a wet sound that makes my stomach clench. For a moment, both warriors stand frozen in a tableau that looks almost choreographed, then the Stonevein chieftain crumples to his knees before falling face-first onto stone that's already dark with older stains.
Kai stands over the body for a long moment, breathing hard but not from exertion. When he finally looks up, his ice-blue eyesfind mine with intensity that makes everything else fade into background noise.
"I don't want his clan," he says with a voice rough from battle and emotion. "I don't want his territory or his title or anything he represented. Let whoever comes next take leadership, as long as they understand that Stonevein warriors who threaten the Frostfang will face the same fate."
He steps toward me then with movements that somehow manage to be both urgent and carefully controlled, as if he's fighting every instinct that demands he reach for me immediately but also terrified of doing anything that might cause me additional distress.
"Saela." My name emerges as question and prayer combined, rough with everything he can't quite express. "Are you really all right? Did they?—"
The careful concern in his voice, the way he's holding himself back despite the obvious need to touch me and confirm I'm real and unharmed, cracks something open in my chest that I've been holding closed through sheer force of will. All the terror and rage and desperate hope I've been suppressing comes flooding out in waves that leaves me gasping against the stone wall.
"I thought I'd never see you again," I whisper, the admission tearing from my throat like a physical wound. "I thought you'd be practical, that you'd decide I wasn't worth the risk, that you'd let me go because it was the smart thing to do."
His expression crumbles at my words, ice-blue eyes filling with pain that seems to cut deeper than any physical injury. "Never," he says with conviction that makes his deep voice crack. "Never doubt that you're worth every risk, every consequence, every choice that leads me back to you."
Then he's crossing the space between us in two swift strides, gathering me against his chest with desperate gentleness thatmakes me feel simultaneously fragile and completely protected. His arms come around me like shelter from every storm, large enough to engulf my entire frame but careful not to squeeze too tightly, as if he's afraid I might break under pressure.
I bury my face against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and pine and something uniquely him that makes every tense muscle in my body finally relax. His hands smooth over my hair with reverent touches that speak to relief so profound it seems to shake his usually steady composure.
"I couldn't leave you," he murmurs against the top of my head, voice muffled but clear enough that I catch every word. "I couldn't function, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but plan ways to get you back. Bronn threatened to chain me to the longhouse to stop me from taking off with preparation."
"You brought others." The observation comes out steadier than I expected, though I don't lift my head from the safety of his shoulder.
"Ursik and Falla. Said if I was going to do something monumentally stupid, at least I should have backup." His chest rumbles with something that might be laughter if it weren't so shaky. "They were right. I would have gotten myself killed charging in alone."
The admission makes me hold him tighter, thinking of how close I came to losing him before I'd fully understood what he meant to me. "Don't ever do anything that reckless again."
