Page 29 of Ashborne: Defiance

I stumbled forward again.

From that moment, I would forever associate the sound of rushing water with the poignant joy—and terror—of finding him.

He’d found a pair of trees growing from a shared root structure so their trunks rose in opposing sides of a V. Using harness straps and slipknots, he’d tied each of his wrists to those trunks.

To my horror, he was on his knees, bent over his own thighs so that the longer hair on top of his head fell forward to brush his knees, his shoulders were craned back, arms wrenched up behind because he’d tied his wrists to the trees while standing.

At first sight, I was terrified he’d injured himself. But when his name escaped my lips, his head snapped up and we both froze.

He peered at me out from behind those messy, sweaty strands of hair, teeth gritted, lips tight as he sucked air between his teeth. His dirty, smeared cheeks were shadowed with stubble, and his hands clenched the bonds.

“What did you do?” I wailed.

“Don’t untie me!” he rasped, snapping upright as I started toward him again, his shoulders heaving.

“But—”

“I can’t control it, Grace,” he snarled. “The need is too strong. I’ll hurt you. You can’t untie me!”

A tumult of conflicting emotions clawed through me, fighting each other over my heart as I slowed my steps again.

He was concerned for my safety?

He thought he was the danger? He’d tied himself up to stop himself touching me?

He begged me to leave him tied?

Yet, he looked like a caged animal.

This close, I could feel more than the need. I could sense him. He wanted me as desperately as I wanted him, but didn’t trust himself? Why?

I inched closer so I wouldn’t startle him. His eyes went round and his throat bobbed, but I lifted my hands to soothe him as I would a frightened horse, and kept going.

“I’ll get you a drink and—look, there’s blood on your wrist!”

“Unless you want to be rutted upon like a wild beast, don’t touch me!”

I flinched and he hissed a curse as his head sagged forward again. “You can’t help, Grace,” he croaked, shaking his head so his hair swayed. “I’m sorry… but, please, leave me.”

I had to set my jaw and force my body to move past him at a wide berth, though everything in me screamed to draw closer. My heart was a compass for his as I cast around for some kind of vessel. Something, anything, so I could get him water, cursing myself for not thinking of the small cups that were back in the cave. Neither of us had come prepared for this. In the end, I pulled one of the wide, leathery leaves off a plant growing next to the water and cupped it in both hands like a bowl. Dipping it into the stream, I carried it, dripping the whole way, to tip it against his cracked lips.

It took everything within me not to stroke his jaw when he opened his mouth and stared at me as he raised his chin and gulped frantically. His Adam’s apple leaped as he swallowed. It was such a uniquely masculine sight, I yearned to run a finger down from the cleft of his chin, over that sharp lump, to the divot between his collarbones, down to the flat planes of his broad chest—

“Fuck, Grace. Stop. Please.”

I stared at him, the leaf empty of its precious refreshment, and Vane’s dark eyes, tormented storms, locked on me.

“Sorry,” I whispered and darted off to get more water.

It took several trips to get enough water down his throat to slake his thirst. Only then did I kneel next to the running creek and drink until my stomach tightened.

When I returned to him, I couldn’t help but place myself half a step closer. His eyes widened in alarm, but the dragons were waking, and I knew—

“Thank you. For the water. But you have to go. The dragons are waking. It’s about to get worse again.”

I shook my head. “I’m not leaving you here like… like this. Alone.”

“You don’t understand—”