Sita peers over my shoulder. “Is that a?—”
“Soapberry,” I whisper.
My throat tightens. My hands tremble as I clutch the tiny offering to my chest, remembering his hands, slick with lather, mapping every inch of my skin. The hot springs, the scent of steam and earth wrapping around us. The gentle pop of the soapberry’s skin between my fingers, the way the silky foam had coated my hands as I reached for him. The way he had let me.
His hair, damp and spiked from my fingers raking through it. The tension in his muscles melting beneath my touch as I traced the strong lines of his back. The sound he made when I pressed my thumbs into his shoulders, when I made him surrender to pleasure instead of duty. The slow roll of his breathing as I massaged away centuries of solitude. The way he shuddered when I touched him—not from cold, but from something deeper.
And his eyes. Watching me. Worshipping me as he said, “Let me show you again. Let me show you you are worth saving.”
The memory crashes over me like an avalanche. The heat ofhis touch, the weight of his promise, the unspoken offering in his hands as he lathered the soap over my body. It had not just been cleansing—it had been a ritual. A vow.
A full-body shiver rolls through me—not from the wind, but from something deeper, something unseen but pressing against me all the same. Now that we are here, every second that passes without him is too long.
My breath catches as the air around me feels charged, thick with something electric. My fingers curl instinctively around the soapberry, gripping it harder than necessary, as if letting go might sever something invisible between us.
Such a simple gift, a single, perfect soapberry. Not lost or discarded, but perfectly placed. Just like us.
I run my thumb over the smooth surface, breath catching in my throat. This is his way of speaking to me, of guiding me, of asking without words. Not just a message or a promise, but a plea.
I exhale, trying to steady myself, but my pulse is erratic, hammering in my throat like a tabla drum. There is no mistaking it. He is watching me. The weight of his presence is as real as the ice beneath my feet, as real as the ache in my body, as real as the desperate, stubborn hope that we made it in time clawing its way up my ribs.
I force out a slow, shaking breath and press the soapberry into my palm, squeezing it tight. He wants me here. There is no doubt in my mind, or in my heart. He is waiting. And this time, I will not let him slip through my fingers.
Sita lets out a soft, triumphant laugh, pulling me back to the present. Suddenly, she throws her arms around me. I hug her back, a surge of warmth overtaking the cold. For a moment, the exhaustion, the hardship, the fear—it all melts away. Only resolve remains. We made it, and now, we are going to save him.
We pull back to smile at each other over our victory, but the moment is shattered by the sound of slow clapping.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Dahlia
My blood turns to ice. I whirl around, heart slamming against my ribs.
Ben.
He stands at the edge of the frozen waterfall like a conqueror, boots planted in the snow, his smirk as sharp as a blade. Flanking him, faces sharp with ruthless determination, is his team. And beside them, a man clutching a leash, barely holding back a snarling wolf, its frosted breath curling in the air.
I lock my legs, forcing my body to stay upright as my weak knees threaten to buckle, but the shock lingers in my veins like poison. I was supposed to beat him here. I was supposed to stop this. What if I’m already too late?
“They must have paid him well,” Sita murmurs, her voice taut with fury at seeing a local with Ben’s group.
It takes me a second to process her words, to register the man standing among Ben’s crew. He won’t meet our eyes. He knows what he’s done.
“Well enough for him to risk the Migoi’s wrath,” I say, myvoice sharper than the wind. My fingers tighten around the soapberry, grounding myself. “We had a run-in with him before.”
My heart bleeds for Eryon. Another betrayal. Another greedy man come to take what is his.
Sita's voice cuts through the tension, seething with a fury that matches the storm that has started raging around us, as if even the mountains are angry. “How could you betray the Migoi who has guarded these mountains for centuries? To turn against him is to break your dharma and dishonor the balance of nature.”
“Greed,” I say, my voice cold as I pass judgment on the group in front of us. All guilty of the same sin. “Humanity's downfall. Always.”
My poor Eryon. Why must this be the price he pays over and over? Why is this his reward for centuries of watching over the mountains and forests, helping wherever he could? Another evil man coming to take what he has painstakingly recultivated?
Rage bubbles up inside me, scorching and relentless. I came here to show Eryon that he is worth saving, too. And damn it, I’m going to save him. I swivel my stare back to Ben, bile rising in my throat at when I’m about to do.
“Ben,” I call out, extending my hand toward him in a placating gesture. “I guess it’s my downfall, too. You’re right. There’s no way I could’ve done this without you. Can you at least get me back into the University? I know how much pull you have there.”
I take a few hesitant steps and say, “I’ll help you get the plant, but I need access to the future drug—and something to go home to. I know you could never forgive me, and I’m not asking you to. But please, throw me a bone here.”
