Page 15 of Savage Bond

Why?

I flex my hands against the branch, claws biting into bark. Pain, maybe. Some internal damage from the crash, scrambled signals in my nervous system. That’s the only answer that makes sense. Because there’s no reason I should still be here. No logic in it.

And yet…

My gaze drops to her again. She’s muttering to herself now, something low and clipped. Focused. Determined in a way that pisses me off, because it makes her look like she actually believes she’s got a chance.

I drop silently from the tree, landing with a soft thud behind her. The earth gives slightly under my boots, soft from the jungle’s endless damp. She doesn’t hear me at first—too focused, too tense. She’s crouched by the fire, poking at the half-blackened meat like it might reveal some secret.

"Smells like you burnt it," I remark, my voice low and mocking, like a blade drawn just for fun.

She startles, jerking upright and spinning on her heel to face me. Her eyes snap to mine, sharp and full of heat, like I’m the bastard who ruined her life—which, technically, I am. Sweat and soot streak her face, and a strand of hair clings to her cheek like it’s trying to comfort her. Useless gesture.

"I didn't see you offering to help," she snaps, voice taut like a tripwire.

I smirk, closing the distance by a step, boots crunching on leaf litter and ash. The fire flickers between us, throwing her silhouette in sharp relief against the thick, green-black jungle backdrop. "Didn't think you'd last this long. Surprised you're still breathing."

Her jaw works, clenched tight enough I can see the muscle jump. She doesn’t answer, just turns her back to me and crouches again, fingers tight on the makeshift spit. I drop into a low crouch across the flames from her, elbows on my knees, eyes drinking her in through the haze of smoke and burning wood.

She’s a mess—bruises blooming along her arms, the corner of her lip split, one knee bloodied through a gash in those ridiculous uniform pants. Her clothes hang off her now, stained with jungle grime, sweat-darkened in all the right places. But it’s the set of her spine that holds my attention: rigid, unyielding. Even beat to hell, she won’t bow. That does something to me I don’t like admitting.

I chuckle, shaking my head slowly. "You're stubborn. I'll give you that."

She snorts and tosses a charred bone into the fire with more force than necessary. Sparks crackle and leap, momentarily lighting her face in sharp relief. "I'm not stubborn. I'm determined. There's a difference."

I tilt my head, eyes narrowing as I watch her. The firelight dances across her features—sharp cheekbones dusted with dirt, that stubborn set to her jaw, the gold-flecked hazel eyes that catch every flicker of flame like they’re made of molten steel. Even beneath the grime and sweat, there's a quiet intensity in her—like she’s made of fuse wire and friction, waiting for the right spark.

"Determined, huh? And you think I wouldn't know the difference?" I lean forward, elbows resting on my knees, the smirk never leaving my face.

She meets my gaze with a tight, bitter edge. "You're a thief. Determination implies purpose. You just take what's not yours."

I laugh—sharp, low, and more amused than offended. "Just because I'm a thief doesn't mean I lack determination. My crew waited months for that IHC prisoner transport."

That gets her attention. Her brows shoot up and she stiffens, lashes flickering as her eyes search mine, suspicion coiling in her voice. "You were after the Reaper prisoner they had on board?"

I shrug lazily, not giving her the answer she wants. Let her stew on it. Let her wonder. I watch her jaw work, the muscle flexing under her skin as her temper rises. She’s holding it in—barely.

"Do you really think the IHC gets everything they have through honest work?" I ask, letting my tone dip with just enough contempt to push her further.

Her eyes flare, lips parting in silent offense. The shadows of the jungle press close around us, the fire spitting between us like it's feeding on the heat of her anger. A nightbird calls somewhere in the dense dark beyond, but I don’t take my eyes off her. She’s pissed now—and beautiful in it. Fiery. Wild.

And she has no idea what she’s tangled up with.

She tears off a chunk of meat from the charred carcass, chewing with quiet determination, like my presence doesn’t bother her. Like she isn’t one bad hour from collapsing. When she swallows, her voice is calm, almost amused. "And you're an arrogant prick."

I grin, leaning back on my elbows in the dirt, letting the firelight play across my face. The smoke stings my eyes but I don’t blink. "Takes one to know one."

We sit in silence for a while, the fire crackling between us, its light casting shifting amber patterns across her dirt-streaked face and my blood-smeared arms. Smoke curls lazily into the thick jungle canopy overhead, fading into the dark sky thatblinks with unfamiliar stars. The jungle doesn’t sleep. Insects drone. Distant howls cut through the trees like ghosts arguing. But here, inside the fragile glow of firelight, it’s just us.

She cuts another chunk of meat and passes it to me. Not exactly a feast, but after what we’ve been through, it’s mouth-watering. We eat in rough silence, digging into the meat like the half-starved creatures we’ve become.

Despite myself, I find a strange comfort in her presence. She's infuriating, but there's a resilience to her that's... intriguing. She’s filthy, angry, and goddamn stubborn—but she’s still standing. Still swinging.

"So," she says finally, chewing a mouthful, breaking the silence. "What's your plan?"

I raise an eyebrow, licking grease from my thumb. "My plan?"

She nods, tone cool and skeptical. "To get off this planet. You do have one, right?”

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