She flinched at my words, but didn’t look away. “You’d love that. Having me helpless. Makes you feel big, right?”
I grinned, teeth baring in the shadows. “Better than watching you dirt-nap in the forest. If you go down, I’m not digging a hole. I’m leaving you for the vultures.”
She spat leaves from her lips, face gone white as bone. Didn’t slow, just kept moving through the briars like she could out-hate the pain.
Her foot suddenly caught hard on a root and she pitched forward, knees slamming the ground.
Weak. So fucking weak.
I stopped moving, just a tick, watching her shoulders tremor. She tried to push up, dirt streaked over her cheek and knuckles,but her arms barely held her up.
She shivered, eyes glassy, mouth twisted in a sneer like she wanted to spit her last insult and then rot there just to spite me.
Pathetic.
The way she trembled pissed me off. It made every step we’d taken out here look like a mistake carved into bone. I should’ve let her faceplant and eat mud. Should’ve walked on, left her to the worms, but instead I crouched down, boots snapping twigs, and grabbed her by the shoulder. Not gentle. Never gentle.
“Get up,” I growled, voice raw and tight in my throat. “You’re not dying here. Not now.”
She flinched, more pride than pain, and tried to slap my hand away. But I had her. Her skin was fever hot under my palm, wet with sweat and river and maybe a little bit of blood still trickling over her wrist.
The closeness made me want to shake her. Or kiss her. Or throw her into the next tree just so I didn’t have to think about how her bones felt so breakable under my grip.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, but her words had lost their teeth. They sagged at the end, weak and wet.
I leaned in close, letting her choke on it. “Cry all you want. We’re not stopping.”
She clawed to her knees, hair stuck to her face and leaves gluing her back. I could almost hear her breath scrape in and out, ragged as ripped paper. She got upright, swaying, using the tree as a crutch. Her glare was pure poison.
I smirked. Couldn’t help it.
“Thought you said you could handle pain,” I shot, giving her space but not too much. “Guess we’ve reached the limit.”
She bared her teeth. “I can handle you.”
Doubtful. But I let it slide. The truth was, I needed her to get up, needed her to keep snapping back, because the silence was worse. When she was quiet, it felt like something was hunting us, licking at our heels, waiting for one of us to drop so it could dig in.
We limped forward, push and pull, always the same story.
I let her catch up, slowed my pace. Didn’t say a word about it. I pretended I was still leading. Hated how the woods made it impossible to keep the old masks on.
“Careful,” I snapped over my shoulder, right before a lowbranch caught her across the face. She yelped. Every time she made that noise, my spine twitched. “Eyes forward, princess. Would hate for a stick to do permanent damage.”
She scowled, thumb swiping blood off her lip. Her mouth had that wrecked, swollen look. God. “Maybe if you’d warn people, but I guess that’s not in your nature, Caiden.”
“Warn you, spoon-feed you, carry you, I don’t see it on my job description.” I grinned at her over my shoulder, all teeth, let her eat that sarcasm. But her glare landed, hot and messy, right in my gut.
The trail twisted, broke. We had to push through ferns, a wall of green shit taller than her. She fumbled one step and her shoe slid in the muck, ankle rolling. She yelped again.
I caught her. Didn’t even think. My grip landed on her hip, hard, and for a split second her body slotted against mine, soft and shaking and filthy. Fuck. My palm was full of her, fingers digging into her bony side. For a beat we just stood there, clinging through anger, the world narrowing to the mud and my skin pressed to hers.
“You’re going to wipe out and take me down with you. At least die with some dignity.” I held her one second longer, just to see if she’d fight. She didn’t. Her breathing slowed, turned shallow. I watched her tongue dart out, wetting bloody lips. Couldn’t look away.
“Shit. Um, thanks for catching me.”
If I was smart, I’d shove her off and say something mean to cover my tracks.
Instead, I loosened my grip, but let my hand drag around her hip, thumb tracing just enough to leave a mark. I liked feeling her squirm. She knew it and I knew it. Her skin, even through fabric, felt hot as a fever.
