Not running this time. Something quieter. He slipped through the growing darkness like smoke, each step landing exactly where it needed to, every movement calculated to avoid the crackling leaves and dry twigs that might give them away. Delia clung to him, not breathing, as the voices faded behind them.
They traveled in silence for what felt like an eternity. The forest darkened around them, night falling fast in the deep woods, until she could barely see anything beyond the bulk of his shoulders and the faint gleam of his tusks.
Finally—finally—he slowed.
"They're behind us." His voice was a low rumble against her ear. "A mile, maybe more. They won't travel well in full dark. We're safe for now."
She let out the breath she'd been holding in a shuddering rush.
"We'll make camp ahead," Ralvar said softly. "Rest a few hours. By dawn, we'll be in sight of Northwatch."
"And the guards?"
"They won't follow us there. They'll see the watchtowers and know what waits inside. Humans are prejudiced, but not suicidal."
He carried her on through the dark.
Chapter 13
The cave was small, barely more than a crack in the mountainside, but it was dry and defensible and invisible from the forest below. Ralvar moved through the familiar motions of making camp, gathering tinder, arranging stones, striking sparks from flint.
Behind him, Delia sat where he'd placed her, her back against the cave wall, her injured ankle extended. She was watching him. He could feel the weight of her attention like a physical thing, pressing against his shoulders as he worked.
The fire caught, small flames licking at the dry moss before climbing into the kindling. Orange light flickered across the stone walls, pushing back the darkness that had followed them through the forest. Outside, the night was deep and cold, the kind of mountain dark that swallowed sound and made even the bravest humans huddle close to their fires.
They'd made good time. Better than he'd expected. By midmorning, they would see the watchtowers of the outpost rising above the trees.
Home.
The word sat strangely in his chest. He'd commanded Northwatch for fifteen years. Knew every stone of its walls, every warrior who served there. It was his in a way that mattered—his responsibility, his purpose, his domain.
But bringing her there...
He fed another branch to the fire and watched the flames grow.
The outpost was where it had happened. Not the ambush itself—that had been three miles south, at a clearing that Ralvar still couldn't look at without smelling blood—but the aftermath. The return. Carrying bodies through the gates while warriors who'd trusted his judgment watched in silence. Kneeling before the memorial stones while he carved four new names into the rock with his own hands.
Keth. Marrus. Thren. Vella.
He'd built walls after that. Thick ones. Let the stone of the mountain seep into his heart until he felt as cold and unmovable as the peaks themselves. Safer that way. Easier.
And now he was bringing a human woman to the place where human betrayal had cost him everything.
"Ralvar."
Her voice was soft. Not demanding, not worried. Just his name, offered like a question.
He needed to answer. To turn around and reassure her that everything was fine, that they were safe, that morning wouldbring the sanctuary she needed. But his throat felt tight, and the words wouldn't come.
"The fire's strong enough," he said instead. "You should sleep. We'll move at first light."
A pause. Then, quieter: "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"You've barely looked at me since we stopped."
He had his reasons for that. Looking at her made him want things—made the pull surge in his blood until he could barely think. And right now, with his mind caught in the past and his heart twisted up in knots he couldn't name, he didn't trust himself to look at her and keep his thoughts straight.
