Her stomach turned before she could brace against it. And the memory rose without permission—the sensation of the Waygate’s energy slithering along her bones, digging in like rot under the nails. It hadn’t been clean. The flow of Source power, once oily and fluid, now strained with the sludge-thick weight of decay.
She doubled over and heaved. Bile hit the stone flooring with a wet splatter, thick and bitter.
“Here.”
She hadn’t even heard him approach.
Fenn crouched beside her, one knee in the dust. Holding out a water skin of weathered leather with a reinforced seam and a dark-stained stopper, his free hand reached into the side of his pack and retrieved a folded cloth, already damp. Both silver-wolf eyes softened as they met hers, the edges crinkling in restrained worry.
“Kaelith’s right,” he said, gently pressing the cloth to her mouth and wiping the residue away with practiced care. “You’re not well.”
“I said no.” She turned from the canteen, voice strained.
“Rynna,” Fenn started as Kaelith’s voice snapped her attention up.
“Pet.” He turned toward them fully, arms crossed, the lazy heat in his expression gone. “I’m making progress,” he went on, his tone cool. “But it’s hard to concentrate with your head stabbing spikes into mine.”
Her eyes dropped instinctively, taking in the length of him. Moisture wicked the defined planes of his torso as his chest rose and fell in a slow, controlled rhythm.
Rynna’s mouth parted slightly before she could stop it.
His lips curled faintly as he gestured to Fenn. “Hold her down if you have to, wolf. But get her to drink the damn water.”
Fenn said nothing. He just shifted his weight lower, settling behind her, silent as stone.
She hadn’t even noticed when he’d sat. Because her gaze hadn’t left Kaelith. And her head was still pounding.
“Come here, love.” Fenn didn’t wait for her protest. He slipped his hands beneath her arms and lifted her, drawing her into the space between his legs until her back met the warmth of his body.
His scent hit her all at once—woodsmoke and wild pine, a grounding mix that filled her lungs. She tensed, suddenly aware of every point of contact between them, especiallywhere the hard bars of his ribs pressed into her back. Then, his chin lowered, resting against the crown of her head, as one arm circled around her. The other reached forward, lifting the water skin to her lips.
“Drink.”
She craned her neck, looking up at him. “I’m not a child, Fenn.”
But when she tried to squirm free, his thighs shifted, bracketing her in, and his arm tightened around her middle, pinning her arms to her sides with calm, relentless strength.
“Then don’t act like one,” he murmured. A sigh followed, warm against her ear. “Drink the water. This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve passed out from dehydration.”
She wriggled again, managing to slip one hand free, snatching the skin.
“That was one time.” Taking a small swig, she swished the cool liquid around her mouth, then swallowed. “And Bran needed it more than I did.”
“And I still had to carry you back to camp through enemy territory with assassins on our trail.” He brought his hand up beneath hers, guiding her grip with his own as he tilted the water skin toward her mouth again. “One more.”
Rynna glared at him but took another sip, exaggeratedly slow. “It was one time.”
From the side, Kaelith chuckled.
She slapped the cap back onto the skin with a hard twist, screwing it tight. “What’s so funny, snake?”
Kaelith ignored her, looking to Fenn instead. “Vessel Fenn. Ember Reach’s Crimson Wolf. Legendary Rogue Hunter. Unit Leader. Commander of the Third Regiment. And...” He made a dramatic sweep with one hand. “Brat tamer.”
Rynna’s jaw dropped as Fenn snorted behind her, the air a puff against her hair.
Kaelith gave a final, exaggerated nod. “Perhaps the most impressive of all his titles.”
Her stomach twisted. “Brat tamer?!”
