No.
No, no, no.
He heard the shot. He came running into danger.
I try to move, but my knees nearly buckle. My healing has closed the worst of the bleeding, but not enough. I need three more minutes. Just three to finish sealing the ripped muscle so I can stand without collapsing.
Branches crunch behind me.
“Hello? Is someone?—”
Panic spikes through me so intensely my vision blurs.
Elias is too close. He’s coming toward me instead of away. The hunters’ scent is still fresh. What if they doubled back? What if he walks right into their path? What if?—
His footsteps are almost on top of me now.
I force myself to hide behind the fallen log, but the effort sends a lance of agony through my ribs. My breath stutters. The world wavers.
“Is anyone hurt? I—I heard?—”
Then, as if nature itself is done giving me hiding places, Elias steps into the small clearing.
He stops as if turned to stone. His eyes widen. His breath catches. And we just… stare at each other.
Time folds in on itself.
I can’t move, can’t speak, and I definitely can’t blur my form.
The wind shifts, brushing my fur—and his gaze snaps to the wound along my ribs.
Concern floods his face. Not fear. Not disgust. Concern.
He takes a shaky step toward me. “Are you—” He swallows. “Oh my chloroplasts!”
My heart slams so hard I feel it in my teeth.
He should scream, should run. He should faint or pray or throw something at me.
Instead, he drops into a low crouch, palms out, as if approaching a wounded animal—even though nothing about me looks remotely safe or small.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, voice trembling. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The absurdity of that nearly makes me laugh, even as blood drips onto the dirt.
Me, the massive cryptid with claws longer than his fingers. Him, kneeling, breath shaking, eyes soft, trying to sootheme.
“It’s okay.”
I’ve survived centuries. I’ve outrun hunters, storms, magic, and time itself. Nothing has ever undone me the way those quiet words do.
His cheeks are flushed from running. His hair is wind-tossed and tangled. His eyes are wide but steady, the amber in his brown irises catching the late-morning light, mirroring mine in a way that makes my instincts rumble with recognition.
He takes another careful step closer.
My breath hitches. He doesn’t run.
And then he opens his mouth to speak.
