Page 47 of Aryn

“I could’ve taken them,” Aryn mumbles from the ground. His eyes are barely open, and his voice is so rough it sounds like someone poured sand down his throat, but he’s awake.

“And steal my glory?” I ask, trying to cover the wave of relief that hits me. “I don’t think so.”

He groans as he tries to push himself up. I drop his coat and crouch beside him, sliding an arm behind his back to help him sit. Sweat beads across his skin, and strands of hair cling to his forehead and neck. He winces as he finds his balance, carefully rotating his injured shoulder.

His eyes drop to the thick bandages covering the wound, flick to the sewing kit I abandoned, then rise to my face. “Please tell me you didn’t stitch me up.”

A loud, surprised laugh escapes me as I hand him a canteen. He nods his thanks and lifts it, taking long, deep swallows of water. “Hey, take it easy,” I warn, gently pulling the canteen away when he doesn’t slow down. Water drips down his chin, and he wipes it away with the back of his hand and shoots me a half-hearted glare.

Taryn notices he’s awake and crouches on his other side, giving my makeshift repairs on his coat a wary glance. “Don’t worry, Cato only paced like a caged animal while I handled the stitching. They should heal cleanly with minimal scarring.”

“You found the lichen?” Aryn asks.

She nods toward an overflowing pile of the mossy plants. “We did. We weren’t sure how many doses you’d need, or if we might need it again”—she cringes at the thought—“so we gathered as much as we could find.”

“The antidote works quickly,” he says, stretching his limbs and testing his range of motion. “We’ll keep applying it to the wounds while they’re open, and a few more doses of the tea won’t hurt. But we’re in the clear now.”

I sit back on the log, letting out a long breath as Taryn finishes checking his bandages then slips away to make more tea. Cameron has wandered off too, leaving the two of us by the fire. Aryn stays quiet for a long moment, watching the flames.

“I heard what you said earlier,” he admits. “This wasn’t your fault, Cato.”

“If we hadn’t gone into the woods—”

“Then maybe they would’ve attacked the whole camp,” he interrupts, voice insistent despite the lingering hoarseness. “You did the right thing by coming to get me. I know you’ve always handled everything on your own, but you’re not alone here.”

I nod, idly kicking my toe through the dirt. “I, uh… cleaned the blood off your jacket and sewed the holes closed. It’s not the prettiest work, but it felt like the least I could do.”

Something brushes my foot, and we both glance down to find Aryn’s tail curled around my ankle again. He jerks it back, shaking his head with an embarrassed huff of laughter.

“Sorry. It… gets a mind of its own sometimes.”

“A simple ‘thanks’ would’ve been plenty,” I say, lips twitching as I pull his coat into my lap. “No need to wag your tail like an excited dog.”

He watches me quietly while I finish the last of my—admittedly crooked—stitches and check the hide for any tears I might’ve missed.

“How long was I out?” he asks.

“A few hours.”

He nods and stretches his hands toward the fire, soaking in the heat. “We need to get moving. This fire is basically a welcome mat for anything else hunting in the area.”

“The overgrown cats aren’t coming back anytime soon. Their leader is currently skewered over the flames. He’ll make a delicious breakfast.”

“While I’m sure that’s true, I’m not worried about the khraelyx.” He gestures at the thick column of smoke rising into the sky. “If there are any villages or camps nearby, the locals will want to know who’s trespassing in their territory. We don’t know anything about who lives here.”

“Fair enough,” I concede, “but you’re not going anywhere until you’ve got your strength back.”

“I’m fine,” he insists, pushing to his feet as if he needs to prove it. His eyes glaze over almost immediately, and I scramble up to steady him, guiding him against my chest. He rests his forehead on my shoulder, limbs trembling as he fights through the dizziness.

“Yeah, you look really fine. Ready to take on the whole damn world.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles, pulling back just enough to tilt his face toward mine. He’s a complete mess right now—far from his usual composed, put-together self. Hair sticks to his damp skin in wild strands, and one sharp fang presses into his lower lip as he chews on it. My gaze lingers there before I realize my arm has slipped around his waist.

I clear my throat and give my head a small shake to clear the tension. “You steady?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he says with a wince, stepping back. His eyes stay locked on mine for a beat longer, like he’s shaking off the closeness too, until his hand drifts absently to his neck and his calm vanishes. “My necklace,” he demands, voice edged with something close to panic. “Where is my necklace?”

“I have it,” I answer, fishing it from my pocket and handing it over.