And now?
Now there was silence.
And… her.
And the sudden, deeply inconvenient awareness of… exactly how long it had been.
I exhaled slowly through my nose, staring up into the dark.
This was going to be a long night.
31
MORGAN
The chill of the ruins had seeped deeper into my bones sometime during the night, pulling me from the shallow sleep I'd managed to find. My body ached in ways that went beyond the lingering throb of my stump, every muscle stiff from the awkward position, pressed back against Xavian's solid warmth as if he were the only barrier against the cold. The air in the chamber hung heavy, laced with the faint, earthy scent of moss and stone that seemed to cling to everything here in Velrith, but it was his presence that dominated my awareness now. His arm lay draped over my waist, not tightly but enough to hold me in place, his chest rising and falling steadily against my back, the rhythm slow and even, suggesting he was still asleep. I didn't move at first, didn't want to shatter the fragile quiet we'd carved out in this forgotten outpost, but as consciousness sharpened, so did the sensation of him—allof him— pressed against me.
It started as a subtle pressure against my lower back, firm and insistent, but as I shifted ever so slightly, adjusting to ease the crick in my neck, I felt it more clearly: the hard length of him, unmistakable and... substantial, nestled against me through thelayers of our clothes. Heat flooded my cheeks, a flush that had nothing to do with the chamber's chill, and I froze, my breath catching in my throat. He was huge, the outline of it pressing into me with a weight that made my pulse quicken, stirring a mix of shock and something warmer, more dangerous, low in my belly. I should have pulled away, should have sat up and put distance between us, but the exhaustion still tugged at me, and curiosity— or maybe something reckless— kept me still, pretending to sleep as I processed the reality of it.
He didn't stir, his breathing unchanged, deep and rhythmic, and that gave me the space to let my mind wander, to feel the full extent of him without the complication of his waking eyes on me. I shifted again, just a little, a subtle wriggle as if settling in my sleep, and the pressure intensified, his body responding even in rest, growing firmer, longer, until the sheer size of it pressed against me in a way that sent a thrill through my core.Holy shit, I thought, the words echoing in my mind as awe mixed with the heat building between my legs. It was impossible not to imagine it, the way it would feel without the barriers of fabric. Another small movement, barely a shift of my hips, and it swelled further, the heat of him radiating through our clothes, making my skin tingle where we touched. I bit my lip to stifle the soft gasp that wanted to escape, my body betraying me with a flush of warmth that pooled low, awakening urges I'd buried under survival and pain.
Pretending to sleep became a game then, my breaths measured to mimic the slow rhythm of unconsciousness, even as my mind raced, caught between fascination and the absurdity of the moment. We were in a ruined outpost in another world, enemies on our heels, my hand severed and preserved like some macabre relic, and yet here I was, pressed against him, feeling every inch of his arousal and responding in ways that made my thighs clench. It grew bigger still under my subtle movements,a slow, insistent expansion that pressed harder against me, the outline clear and commanding, stirring images I couldn't push away— his hands on me, rough but careful, guiding me as that length filled me completely, stretching and claiming in equal measure. The thought sent a shiver through me, not from cold but from the heat building inside, my body awakening to possibilities I'd ignored in the chaos of everything else.
He shifted slightly in his sleep, a low sound rumbling in his chest that vibrated against my back, and for a panicked second, I thought he'd woken, but his breathing remained steady, his arm tightening just a fraction around my waist as if drawing me closer without conscious intent. The movement only heightened the contact, his hardness nestling firmer against me, and I had to fight the urge to press back fully, to feel more of it, to chase the spark it ignited. Awe washed over me again, mingled with a quiet thrill— holy shit, indeed— as I lay there, pretending, letting the sensation linger until exhaustion began to pull at me once more, the warmth of him lulling me toward sleep despite everything.
As my eyes drifted shut, the boundary between waking and dreaming blurred, the pressure against me fading into sensation without form. In the dream, it was his hands first, rough and sure, sliding over my skin in the dim light of the ruins, tracing paths that made me arch into his touch. He was above me, his body a solid weight pinning me down, but not in dominance— in need, his eyes dark with the same hunger I felt building. His mouth found mine, the kiss deep and consuming, tasting of salt and something wild, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulled me closer. I wrapped my legs around him, feeling the heat of him pressing in, that impressive length sliding against me, teasing before it filled me completely, stretching in a way that drew a gasp from my lips. The rhythm built slow, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through me, his breath hot against my neck as he murmured words I couldn't quite hear, hishands exploring every curve, claiming and cherishing in equal measure. It intensified, the dream pulling me deeper into the sensation, building toward a peak that promised release, but just as it crested, the edges softened, fading into darkness before the full rush could claim me, leaving me drifting in warmth and unfulfilled longing…
32
MORGAN
The next five days blurred together in a haze of motion and ache, each step forward bleeding into the last until I lost track of where one ended and the next began, the world around us shifting like a dream I couldn't quite wake from. Exhaustion wrapped around me like a second skin, not the sharp crash of collapse but a slow, grinding wear that settled into my bones, making every movement feel like pushing through water. We’d left the ruins behind a few hours after Xavian's story, slipping out under cover of that strange violet dusk, and since then it had been endless walking, stopping only when the light faded or my body demanded it, the landscape unfolding in ways that defied any map I'd ever known. The ground underfoot changed without warning, from moss that pulsed faintly with each step, as if alive and testing my weight, to stretches of cracked stone that hummed like distant thunder, vibrations traveling up my legs and into my chest. Trees loomed in clusters, leaves shimmering with colors that shifted when I blinked, from deep emerald to a bruised purple that made my eyes ache if I stared too long. Ruins dotted the horizon sometimes, half-buried structures of dark stone etched with symbols that glowedsoftly as we passed, pulling at my attention like whispers I couldn't quite hear. It all reinforced the strangeness, this world pressing in on me with its density, the air thick enough that breathing felt like an effort, scents of earth and metal lingering in every inhale, but I adapted in fragments, my body learning to move through it even as my mind reeled.
My missing hand was there in every moment, not always screaming but constant, a void that frustrated and haunted in equal measure. The stump throbbed with the rhythm of our steps, wrapped tight in those rune-infused bandages that Xavian checked obsessively whenever we paused, his fingers careful as he adjusted the wrappings, applying more of that herbal paste that burned before it numbed. I'd catch myself reaching for things with fingers that weren't there—a branch to steady myself, the strap of the small pack he carried—only to falter, the absence hitting like a fresh wound each time. Eating was the worst at first, fumbling with my left hand to hold the dried fruits or tough strips of meat he'd scavenged from hidden caches along the way, the motions awkward and slow, frustration building until I'd snap at him without meaning to.
My warmth towards him from our night pressed together had grown colder the longer we trekked on with no clear destination.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered, dropping a piece into the dirt during one of our brief stops, the ground beneath us a carpet of glowing moss that lit up faintly under pressure. He handed me another without comment, his eyes meeting mine with a patience that grated because it felt too understanding, too close to pity. But as the days bled on, I adapted in small ways, learning to brace things against my thigh or use my elbow for leverage, the frustration dulling into a grim acceptance that this was my new normal, at least until we reached wherever he was taking us.
He didn’t say much about that, no matter how I pushed, his answers always partial, doled out like rations to keep me moving without giving away the full shape. "Somewhere safe," he'd say the first time I asked, as we trudged through a stretch of forest where the trees whispered in voices that sounded almost like words, the air heavy with that sweet decay. I'd press, my voice edged with sarcasm to mask the unease. "Safe like actually safe? Or safe like 'we won't die immediately'?"
He'd glance at me, his expression closed but not hostile, the tension between us softening at the edges with each exchange. "Safe enough to heal you properly. There are people there who can help."
I'd roll my eyes, but the questions kept coming, woven into the rhythm of our walks, as natural as the steps themselves. "So you keep saying. People? Like friends?"
He'd grunt, a sound that had started to carry a hint of amusement rather than irritation. "Allies. Ones I can trust." It was never enough, always leaving me chasing more, but the pushing felt less like combat and more like conversation, our voices filling the strange silences of the landscape.
Those moments of rest blurred together too, stopping when the light dimmed to a deeper violet, the sky streaking with those silver threads that pulsed like distant lightning without the storm. We found shelter in whatever the world offered—hollows under massive roots that curved like arches, or shallow caves where the stone walls hummed softly, responding to our presence with faint glows. Eating was simple, shared from his pack, and I watched him across the small fires he kindled with a flick of his fingers, flames that burned blue and steady without wood, another glimpse of his power returning in full.
"Show me how you do that," I asked one night, the fire's light playing across his face as he sat close enough that our knees nearly touched. He nodded, extending his hand, and traced asmall rune in the air, the lines igniting into flame that hovered between us. "Try it," he said, his voice low, patient in a way that surprised me still. I raised my good hand and mimicked the shape above the ground. The first attempts fizzled, sparks that died before they caught, but then it happened—a small flame blooming under my touch, steady and warm, surprise flooding me as I looked up at him, our eyes meeting over the glow. "Not bad," he said, a faint curve to his mouth that wasn't quite a smile but close, the moment stretching with a tension that felt charged, intimate in the quiet. I snuffed it out quickly, muttering something sarcastic to break it, but the awareness lingered, the way his presence filled the space, solid and close.
Sleep came in fits, the nights blending into one another with the same restless pattern. We'd still lie near each other for warmth, the air cooling sharply when the light faded, his coat sometimes draped over me when the chill bit deeper. Proximity was unavoidable, our bodies inches apart on the hard ground, and I'd catch myself noticing him in those quiet hours—the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his hand rested near mine, fingers occasionally brushing in sleep. It stirred things I didn't want, that unwanted pull surfacing in the dark, making me hyperaware of his warmth, the scent of him like smoke and earth clinging to his skin. Once, as we settled in a narrow alcove where the walls glowed softly, his arm ended up around my waist to steady me against a sudden wave of dizziness, the contact lingering longer than necessary, his breath warm against my hair.
"You alright?" he asked, voice rough with fatigue, and I nodded, pulling away. I shut it down, reminding myself of the warehouse, the blade, the hand I'd lost, but the moments accumulated, turning familiarity into something heavier, tense with unspoken edges.
Practicing runes wove through it all, not in structured lessons but in stolen moments that overlapped with everything else. While walking, I traced shapes on my palm with the tool, feeling the hum build without igniting, Xavian glancing over and correcting with a word or two. "Smoother on the curve—it's about flow, not force."
I'd adjust, and sometimes it worked, a small barrier shimmering in the air before fading, surprise lighting his face as much as mine.
