Page 20 of Savage Bond

CHAPTER 11

KAIRON

The jungle's breath is thick and wet, clinging to my skin like a jealous lover. Every step squelches in the mud, the canopy above filtering the sunlight into a sickly green haze. The air is alive with the hum of insects and the distant calls of creatures I can't name.

I push through the underbrush, the camp finally coming into view. The fire is a smoldering heap of ash, its smoke curling lazily into the air. Our makeshift shelter stands as we left it, the supplies neatly arranged. But something's off.

She's gone.

I scan the area, my eyes narrowing. Her gear is still here—stun-blade, ration packs, even that damn water canister she clings to like a lifeline. If she left, she didn't take anything with her. That’s not like her.

I crouch beside the fire, sifting through the ashes. Still warm. She couldn't have been gone long. But why would she leave without her gear? Unless...

"Damn it, Ava," I mutter, standing abruptly. "What the hell are you thinking?"

I grab my blade, the weight of it familiar and comforting. If she's out there, I need to find her before something else does.The jungle isn't forgiving, and she's not equipped to handle it alone.

A flicker of unease twists in my gut. The thought of her hurt—bloodied, broken—sends a jolt through me. I scowl, trying to shake it off. It's not concern, I tell myself. Just irritation. Irritation that she's so damn helpless. That she’d wander off into this hellhole without a weapon, without backup. Stupid. Reckless.

But the image lingers. Her lying somewhere, eyes wide with fear, calling out for help that won't come. My grip tightens on the blade. No. I won't let that happen.

Why should I fucking care?

The path out of camp is a mess. Wide-set, clumsy prints crushed into the damp earth, weaving like she didn’t know where the hell she was going—or like she didn’t care. I crouch, tracing one with my fingers. Not fresh, but not old either. No caution in her steps. No perimeter sweep. No hesitation.

That’s not how she moves.

She’s military. Even if she’s green, she’s disciplined. This? This is someone distracted. Someone being led.

"Shit," I mutter, jaw tightening.

I push deeper into the trees, following the chaos she left behind. Low branches broken at shoulder height. Moss disturbed where she stumbled or fell. Her scent clings to the foliage—sweat, fear, determination. I don’t like how sharp the fear is.

It gets darker fast. The trees thicken, hanging heavy with vines that drip moisture and sap. The ground here is soft, treacherous. One wrong step and you’re buried knee-deep in rot.

Still, her trail is easy enough to follow. She wasn’t trying to be quiet. Wasn’t trying to hide. My pace quickens, boots sinking into the muck. I’ve got a sick feeling building in my gut, heavier with every step.

The path veers left, sharp and sudden, like something yanked her in a new direction. That’s when I see it—through a curtain of ferns and lichen, the jungle gives way to stone.

A cavern mouth yawns open before me, carved into the side of a shallow hill. It’s dark inside, the kind of black that swallows light and sound whole. But that’s not what stops me cold.

There, smeared across the jagged edge of the stone, is a stark streak of blood.

It’s fresh, vivid—a dark crimson that stands out against the dull gray rock. A handprint, perhaps, pulled downward as if she had desperately tried to hold on, to resist whatever force had dragged her into the void. I know it’s hers. I can feel it in my bones, that primal recognition.

My grip on the blade tightens, knuckles white under the strain, and for the first time in a long damn while, something akin to panic claws at my chest. It’s a feeling I haven’t allowed myself to entertain in ages, a sensation that feels foreign, unsettling, like a shadow creeping in during the dead of night.

“Ava!” I bark into the oppressive darkness, my voice reverberating off the cavern walls, a hollow sound that feels more like a plea than a command. It echoes back at me, distorted and mocking—like a fucking ghost laughing at my desperation. Nothing answers. No rustling in the underbrush, no breath, not even an echo that sounds remotely like her, like the defiance she wore like armor.

Silence.

I pace the stone edge, boots grinding against loose pebbles and dirt, each step a reminder of the precariousness of my situation. My eyes dart from the blood smear to the yawning black mouth below, the darkness seeming to pulse with a life of its own. Tension coils tighter in my chest like a noose. She could be down there, somewhere in that abyss. Hurt. Dying. Or worse—captured, lost to the depths of the unknown.

The thought of her suffering, of her being at the mercy of whatever lurks in that shadow, sends a shiver racing down my spine. I can’t abandon her. Not now. The jungle may have its secrets, but I refuse to let it claim her as its own.

“Stupid little shit,” I growl, raking a hand through my hair. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

The cave stares back, silent and gaping.

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