Thane.
I feel his breath hitch, the tremor in his hold, the way his grip tightens like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go. For several seconds, he doesn’t say anything—just holds me in his arms.
Then—his voice cuts through the haze. Raw. Rough.
“Gods, Amara.”
Not the voice of a warlord. Not the voice of a commander. Just Thane.
His arms tighten around me, his body rigid, his breath unsteady.
He’s shaking. Gods—did he feel it?
“What thefuckhappened up there?” The words aren’t shouted. They’re ripped from him.
“Kethraki . . . surprise attack,” my voice low, hoarse.
I should say more, but my throat is dry, my lungs burning and heavy. Instead, I just let myself rest against him for a second longer. Because I feel it. The way his body is shaking. The way he clutches me, fiercely, like he thought he’d lost me. His heartbeat pounds against my cheek, fast, uneven.
Calryx huffs beside us, her wings half-unfurled, her tail lashing against the ground.
“Tell him to stop holding you like cracked glass and get you to a healer. You are the Spiritborn. And my rider!”she mutters, though her voice is more relieved than irritated.“If he delays any further, I will drag you there myself.”
I let out a weak breath—something between a laugh and a groan.
And finally, Thane pulls back. Not far. Just enough. His hands don’t leave me—they slide to my arms, my waist, my ribs.
His gaze sweeps over me, searching, cataloging every wound, every breath, every uneven heartbeat. And when his eyes land on the gaping tear in my tunic, the blood seeping through my fingers, his entire body goes still.
His jaw locks. I think I hear his teeth crack. His grip tightens, like he’s holding himself back from doing something reckless.
And then his voice drops—low, rough, barely controlled. “You’re bleeding out.” His breath shudders. His fingers twitch against my skin. “Fuck, Amara.”
I blink up at him, my lips parting—but nothing comes out. Because what can I say?
But I see it in his eyes.
Not frustration. Not anger. Not just the weight of responsibility he always carries.
This is something else. Something raw. Unchecked.
His jaw flexes, his fingers still pressed against my side, grounding himself as much as me.
I exhale, my voice quieter now, steadier than I feel. “You thought you were going to lose me.” I swallow hard, my throat tight, my pulse unsteady beneath his grip. “Thane . . . ”
He doesn’t answer—doesn’t even try to deny it. His expression hardens, into something that looks like fear.
And then—he just pulls me to him. Hard.
His arms wrap around me and I wince, the pain searing at my side. Thane loosens his grip a bit but doesn’t let go. I feel the sharp inhale against my hair, the way his hands press into my back, holding me together.
Calryx exhales a heavy breath directly onto us, her grumble vibrating through my bones. The sudden rush of warm air ruffles my hair.
I huff a weak laugh against his chest. “Calryx is starting to get impatient about me not going to healers.”
Thane pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes flashing. And then, scoops me up. No hesitation or warning. I gasp, startled, but he doesn’t say a damn word. Just turns on his heel and runs straight to infirmary.
THANE
