Page 16 of Beast in the Badlands
I don’t respond right away. Instead, I check his vitals—rapid pulse beneath my fingers—then meet Kira’s gaze. She deserves better than this hell we’re living in.
“Just… trying to find anything we can use.”
I move faster now, wrapping gauze around wounds and sealing them tightly while avoiding eye contact with Kira; if I look too long, she’ll see through me—the fear lurking beneath my skin like a wild beast waiting for its moment.
“I get it,” she murmurs softly when the soldier finally calms down enough for us to start working on him properly. “But you can’t just disappear like that again.”
Her words hang heavy in the air, striking deep within me—a reminder that I’m not alone in this fight and that each moment spent scavenging is another moment spent away from those who rely on me.
With each wrap of gauze, thoughts flicker through my mind Renn’s storm-cloud skin against mine; his sharp teeth flashing in anger and something softer lurking beneath his gaze when he looked at me like I was worth saving.
I shove those memories aside as though they’re debris clogging up my headspace—clutter that doesn’t belong here among wounded souls begging for help and comfort.
Kira wipes sweat from her brow and leans closer so only I can hear her whisper amid the commotion surrounding us. “I overheard some talk outside... If things keep escalating like this…” She trails off as if afraid to finish.
My heart sinks further at her words—escalating—and all at once it feels suffocating here amidst cries for help and despair creeping into every crevice of our reality.
“We do what we can,” I say firmly but feel hollow inside as though all those good intentions are slipping through my fingers like sand.
Another shout pulls us back into the present—a woman being wheeled in, clutching her abdomen where crimson seeps through her shirt. Kira’s expression hardens instantly; her previous lightness disappears under pressure as we spring into action once more.
Each heartbeat pounds in rhythm with urgency and fear coursing through our veins while we work side by side amidst the broken pieces of humanity clinging desperately to life.
For now, there’s no room for thoughts of certain gray-skinned bastards—the chaos demands everything from us—and somehow that gives me purpose amid this shattered world still spinning out of control.
CHAPTER 13
RENN
Isquint at the jumble of wires and parts sprawled across the med bay table, my fingers deftly connecting circuits. The transmitter hums to life for a brief moment, a soft glow pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat. Hope surges through me, but it flickers out as quickly as it arrived—no signal.
“Damn it.’ Frustration claws at my gut.
I push away from the table, pain lancing through my legs with each hesitant step. Emry would lose her mind if she saw me on my feet. Good. I’d like to see her try to tell me what to do now.
I lean against the wall for support, the cracked plaster rough against my skin. Each movement sends fire shooting up from my thighs, a constant reminder of how vulnerable I am here—how useless. But I won’t sit still like some discarded tool.
Wandering through the building, I take stock of this space that feels both foreign and strangely familiar. Emry’s touch softens the harsh edges of this ruin; she’s marked it with remnants of her presence. Notes taped haphazardly to walls, sketches scribbled in haste—her attempts to create something that resembles order among chaos.
My gaze drifts across makeshift comforts: a frayed blanket draped over a chair, small potted plants sprouting defiantlyin corners where light manages to seep through shattered windows. She’s made this place feel less like a graveyard and more like… home.
Home? The thought catches me off guard, an unwelcome warmth creeping into my chest. Anger simmers beneath the surface as I stomp down the corridor, barely able to contain it—the bitterness curling like smoke in my mind since she walked out without so much as a backward glance.
In one of the quieter, dimly lit rooms, something unexpectedly catches my eye—a scarf draped languidly over an old, battered chair, like a forgotten promise left behind in the ruins of this once-bustling facility.
The fabric isthin yet surprisingly colorful, a kaleidoscope of vibrant threads intricately woven together in patterns that dance and swirl, reminiscent of stars caught in the endless expanse of black skies. I find myself drawn to it, my hand reaching out almost of its own accord, as if it has a magnetic pull that I cannot resist.
Before I fully grasp whatI’m doing, the scarf is in my hands, its texture soft against my calloused fingers. I breathe deeply, almost instinctively, without thinking—her scent envelops me like an embrace, a heady combination of sweetness mingling with something wild and fierce that is unmistakably Emry.
It stirssomething low within me, igniting a heat that pools dangerously deep in my core, an unsettling feeling that intertwines with the raw, unyielding anger I’ve been trying to suppress.
What the hellis wrong with me? I question myself, grappling with the confusion swirling in my mind. This isn’t about her warmth or softness—it shouldn’t be. I’m a soldier, a Reaper, forged in the fires of war; emotions should be a luxury I can’t afford.
And yet,here I am, a prisoner of my own desires, caught in a web I can’t seem to untangle, teetering on the edge of something far more complicated than mere survival.
The scarf's fabric slides between my fingers like promises I can’t keep. Her scent sticks to my throat, cloying and sweet.Pathetic.My cock thickens anyway, straining against the leathers I’ve barely managed to unstrap.
I collapse into the chair she once occupied. Metal groans under the violence of my weight.
