Page 27 of Savage Bond

He leads us to a jagged rock overhang that offers just enough shelter from the storm. Kairon crouches low, his broad shoulders brushing against the damp stone. I collapse beside him, grateful for even this minimal reprieve from the rain. It feels like I’ve stepped into a different world—one that offers some semblance of safety.

I slump down by the small fire he manages to spark with salvaged thermal flint and dry bark from his pack. The flickering flames dance between us, casting shifting shadows across his face—a stark contrast to my own state of despair.

I tremble uncontrollably, soaked through and bruised from our earlier encounters with predators and jungle terrain alike. Blood seeps from a cut on my forearm where I scraped it against a rough surface while escaping the creature's lair.

Kairon sits across from me, unbothered by the cold seeped into our bones by hours in the rain-soaked jungle. Steam curls off his skin where heat meets moisture, adding an otherworldly quality to his presence in this dim light. His crimson eyes catch the firelight; they glint with something primal—intense and predatory.

I cradle my arm against my chest, wincing at the sharp throb where the mimic creature's claws tore through my skin. My wrists still sting from the lacerations left behind, reminders of how close I came to becoming a meal in that dank pit. My uniform hangs in tatters, a sorry excuse for protection against the elements and Kairon’s intense scrutiny.

The storm rages outside, drowning out everything but the relentless drumming of rain against rock. The world shrinks down to just us—intimate and suffocating. I can feel the weight of his gaze even as shadows flicker around us.

“I should’ve died back there. In that pit.” My voice barely rises above the downpour.

Kairon doesn’t blink. He nods once, blunt and unyielding.

“You should have.”

The honesty stings more than any physical pain. There’s no malice in his words; he believes it. A heavy silence blankets us, pressing down on my chest like a lead weight. I swallow hard, fighting against the tremor in my voice.

“Then why didn’t you leave me?”

His silence stretches taut between us. I shift slightly, trying to conceal my bleeding arm from view, but it’s too late—his eyes narrow as they catch sight of it.

A sigh escapes him, sharp and irritated.

“You’ll lose the arm if it festers.”

Before I can muster a response, Kairon closes the small distance between us in one fluid, almost predatory motion, kneeling down beside me with an intensity that seems to electrify the air around us. The flickering firelight dances across his features, casting sharp shadows that accentuate the high cheekbones and angular jawline that frame his striking face. His crimson eyes, glowing faintly in the dim light, hold a strange mix of predatory focus and something softer, more human, lurking just beneath the surface.

He leans in closer, studying my injury with an unsettling intensity that makes me acutely aware of my vulnerability. Heat pours off of him in waves, a stark contrast to the chill of the rain that seeps into my torn clothing. With a swift motion, he reaches for his pack, rummaging through the contents with an efficiency that speaks to his experiences in survival.

“Stay still,” he commands, his voice low but unyielding, cutting through the sound of the rain splattering against the rocks outside.

As he pulls out supplies—a makeshift first aid kit cobbled together from the meager remnants of what we salvaged after our escape pod crash-landed here—I feel a rush of conflicting emotions.

“I don’t need your help,” I reply through gritted teeth, trying to maintain some semblance of pride even as I feel exposed and raw. The stubbornness in my voice is a thin veneer over the fear and vulnerability that churns inside me, a desperate attempt to reclaim some control in this chaotic moment.

“Too late for pride,” he mutters, his gaze still fixed on the task at hand, not bothering to look up. His hands move with deliberate precision as he unrolls the pathetic excuse for bandages we scavenged, the fabric fraying at the edges, a reminder of our dire circumstances. The tension in the air thickens as I brace myself for what’s to come, half wanting to pull away and half wanting to allow him to take over, to make the pain stop.

I tense at his sudden movement, instinctively leaning back, but Kairon's grip is firm around my arm.

“I said sit still.”

His tone leaves no room for argument, so I obey—not out of trust, but because any resistance feels futile. I watch him rummage through his pack with that quiet intensity he carries, and when he pulls out a pouch of antiseptic gel, I brace myself.

His fingers work with brisk efficiency as he cleans the wound. The antiseptic stings as it meets my raw skin, and I bite down on my lip to stifle a wince. There's no unnecessary gentleness—just a swift, rough application that makes me realize how much I hate being vulnerable. But there’s no cruelty either; it’s merely a task to him.

When his clawed fingers glide over the gash, an unexpected jolt shoots through me. My pulse quickens against his touch. He notices—his gaze flickers up to mine for just a heartbeat before returning to the task at hand. The storm rages outside, each clap of thunder rattling the world around us.

Inside our little haven, everything slows down. The chaos of the jungle and the storm fades away as if we’re encased in our own bubble. His fingers move lower to check my wrist; maybe he's looking for my pulse or maybe he just doesn’t want to stop touching me. The brush of his thumb against my skin sends another surge through me—a mixture of confusion and something else I can’t quite name.

I search his face for some hint of emotion beneath that carefully crafted mask, but all I find is focus and intensity mixed with something darker lurking in those crimson depths. There’s a battle raging behind those eyes that seems to mirror my own internal struggle.

Finally, he pulls back, dropping my arm like it’s nothing more than an object.

“You’ll live.”

His words hang heavy between us. We sit inches apart in silence, the air crackling with unspoken tension. Neither of us speaks or meets the other’s gaze—my heart races in that oppressive stillness, aching for something more yet terrified of what it might mean.

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