Page 34 of Beast in the Badlands
Renn’s expression remains blank, a mask carved from stone. He doesn’t flinch at their hostile glares or the accusations thrown like arrows. My heart aches—he isn’t here for them. He came for me, and that makes him dangerous in ways I can’t articulate. I take a deep breath, trying to channel my fear into something more productive.
“Get back,” I say, raising my voice slightly. “He’s not your enemy.”
Their stares harden; the younger soldier looks like he might pull the trigger any second.
“He’s one of them! How do we know he won’t turn on us?”
I step forward, frustration boiling within me.
“Look at him!” I shout back, gesturing to Renn as he stands tall despite the blood smeared across his skin and torn clothes. “He just fought through an entire battalion to save us! If you want to fight him, then go ahead—but know that you’ll have to go through me first!”
That earns a few nervous glances among the group. It feels like a fragile victory when Renn finally allows me to push him into a chair in the corner of the tent. He winces as he sits down; pain flickers across his face before he masks it again with that unyielding stoicism.
“Sit still,” I order, my voice firm as I rummage through my supplies.
His legs throb with every heartbeat, old wounds aggravated from the fight and our chaotic escape. I pull out a small vial of surgical sealant, feeling the familiar weight of urgency settle over me. But as soon as it comes into view, murmurs rise behind us.
“Are you really wasting supplies on that thing?” someone protests, disdain dripping from their tone.
Renn barely glances at them—he couldn’t care less about their opinions or judgment—and that infuriates me further.
I whip around to face the crowd again, fire sparking in my gut. “You want to do this work? You want to run this clinic? No? Then shut the fuck up or get the fuck out.”
The room quiets under my command as I kneel beside Renn again, focusing on the task at hand. I can feel his eyes on me, assessing not just my movements but also the energy in the air around us. He isn’t here for them. He came for me. That’s what makes him dangerous. Because he'd destroy them in the blink ofan eye if he thought they were a threat to me. That’s also what makes my heart ache.
As I clean and stitch a deep gash along his ribs—careful yet swift—I keep my voice low so only he can hear. “You shouldn’t have come.”
He turns his head slightly toward me, sharp red eyes piercing through layers of exhaustion and grit. “I’m not letting you die,” he replies simply.
I shake my head incredulously while threading needle through flesh—this beast covered in blood wants to worry about a silly cut on my head? It’s barely bleeding now anyway.
“Now,” he continues, his tone shifting into something more commanding, “stop fussing over me.”
“Letting you bleed out is hardly fussing,” I mutter under my breath as I finish stitching up his side.
With deft fingers, he reaches for the cut near my temple—a fresh bruise swelling beneath an angry red mark—and pulls out antiseptic supplies before I can protest.
“Hold still,” he instructs as if I’m some unruly patient instead of a fellow survivor who knows how this game works far too well.
“I’m fine,” I insist lightly but let him work anyway because… well, because it feels nice having him so close again.
My heart swells with absurd affection at this strange moment—the Reaper cares more about patching me up than tending to his own wounds while surrounded by potential enemies who would rather see him dead than saved.
CHAPTER 27
RENN
The air hangs thick with tension, a low hum that buzzes around us. I sit in the corner of the med tent, my pack open beside me, fiddling with the radio. Each crackle sounds like a warning, a reminder that we’re surrounded by enemies disguised as allies. They glare at me from their cots, distrust etched into their faces. I don’t care about their opinions—just keep your distance and let Emry do her job.
But Emry? She’s relentless. Every time she moves among them, tending to their wounds, offering comfort, I feel something stir inside me—something protective. It doesn’t make sense. Why expend all this energy on people who’d gladly turn me into a target if they had the chance? Yet there she is, kneeling by a soldier’s cot, stitching up his leg like he’s worth saving.
“Hey,” I say as I twist a wire for the umpteenth time, trying to connect it to the tent’s generator without shorting out everything. “Why do you care so much about them?”
She glances back at me briefly, eyebrows raised but not surprised by my question. “They need help.”
I snort softly, trying to mask the irritation rising in my throat. “They’re not exactly grateful.”
“They’re scared.” She looks down for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “Fear makes people act stupidly.”
