‘I wish I possessed that strength,’ she murmured, thinking of the clinic assault. ‘To save all lives instead of just witnessing their end.’
Idan closed the book with a soft thud. ‘How are you navigating the emotion from the attack?’
‘It was and remains horrific,’ Sheba confessed, her voice fracturing. ‘Imani had a future worth living for. I feel guilty I didn’t do more for her.’
Idan’s gaze remained unwavering, his silver-gold irises on her.
‘You did what you could, and you saved others, Sheba. Though I regret not being with you sooner, the fact that I aided you gives me peace. The same for you, your defense of the staff and patients, and your tireless aid to them after is commendable; many got rescued because of it.’
‘Sante,’ she muttered, not quite convinced.
Sensing her mood, Idan raised his chin at her. ‘Go to bed, rest, I’ll clear up here.’
Thankful for his understanding, she nodded and retreated to the furs of the bunk.
Stripping down to her long-sleeved, long-legged thermal underwear, before curling up, hiding herself from the world.
Hot, silent tears trickled down her cheeks, yet somehow the certainty of Idan’s conviction meant she didn’t spiral into hopelessness.
Outside, the wind shrieked against the plexiglass as the fire dwindled to a scarlet pulse, the stormy night and flickering flames encapsulating her mood.
In time, Idan blew the candles and lamp out and slid into the bed beside her.
He wrapped his limbs around her, his body a furnace in the freezing dark.
Sheba shuddered into him as he pulled her back to his chest, anchoring her with steady contact.
His hand came to rest on the curve of her hip, his heat a shield against the ghosts of the massacre until she fell asleep.
The synth-steel axe bit into the cedar log with a resonant crack, launching shards of pale wood into the frost-dusted grass.
Idan wiped the chips from his hair, his back muscles corded and mapped with the shifting gold of his sub-dermal sigils.
Beside him, Sheba clutched a second hatchet, her brow furrowed in fierce concentration as she waited for her turn to drive the blade into the seasoned oak.
Idan had never encountered a woman so determined to master the mundane.
The aloof Sacran goddesses and pampered princesses of the High Court never deigned to lift a finger for their own comfort, let alone their survival.
Sheba, on the other hand, stunned him with the seamless way she was now a permanent fixture in his high-altitude life.
She spent her days by his side, helping him around the farm, at her insistence.
She hauled salt blocks to the upper ridges for the cattle.
Together, they mended the poly-wire perimeter fences, where the mountain ice had snapped the tensioners like brittle thread.
He hid a grin when she cursed as she wielded a heavy iron mallet to shatter the frozen crust on the water troughs.
He studied her now, mesmerized by the stray curls dancing against her forehead and the way the tip of her tongue peeked out in focus just before she swung.
When the wood yielded, splitting with a clean, resonant crack, the sheer radiance of her beam hit him hard.
She was more enticing by the hour, fast becoming his obsession.
He didn’t know how much longer he could maintain his distance or resist the urge to lean in and savor the corner of those lush lips.
Or how much more could he stop himself from hauling her into his arms tofokkher senseless until she screamed his name.
