Page 24 of Unravelled
She inhaled. He knew exactly what that would do to her. The image hit her before she could stop it. On his knees, looking up at her, his hands trailing slowly along her back, chin resting against her stomach. Waiting, wanting.
Her aim faltered. Just for a second. She blinked hard, breath catching, the crossbow’s weight suddenly more difficult to center.But she didn’t let it show. Focus snapped back into place like a drawn wire.
She lifted the crossbow. Her other hand still moving. And then, release. The arrow split the silence, a streak of silver in a world drained of color. It struck the target dead center, right through the heart. Silence fell again. Only their breathing remained, layered and uneven.
???
It wasn’t a crossbow but Mira barely noticed. She scanned the battlefield, chaos churning around her. Instinctively, her gaze swept the wreckage for Tharion. A glimpse of his armor, his stance, anything. But he was nowhere. Just bodies. Just fire. Just noise. Soldiers clashed, metal rang against metal, and the acrid scent of smoke burned her nostrils.
She pivoted on instinct, losing two more arrows in rapid succession, one finding its target. Then she moved, darting through the fray, weaving between bodies and blades. Sparks flashed as Kharad weapons clashed around her, the heat of the burning wreckages licking at her skin.
A towering figure loomed before her, clad in a battered steel breastplate, his presence commanding even in the chaos. The leader of the ambush. His red cape danced in the wind behind them. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Their gazes locked. Mira grinned. Adrenaline surged through her veins, sharpening her focus. Without breaking eye contact, she raised her bow and loosed an arrow, deliberately off-mark, the arrow slicing past his shoulder. A taunt. A challenge. His expression darkened.
He lunged. A flash of steel. Mira twisted, barely evading the sword's thrust, but pain seared across her side as the blade skimmed her flesh. He barely had time to register the move before she spun, deliberate and precise. She aimed the bow mid-turn, directly at the back of his head.
The moment stretched thin. She let the arrow fly. She didn’t linger to watch him fall. There was no time. Blood soaked the earth. They were winning, but they had not yet won. Mira tore through the fray, her mind already on her next move. She needed more arrows.
Thunder, a rhythmic pounding against the earth. Mira spun towards the sound just as Ren charged through the chaos. His horse cutting a path like a blade through flesh. His eyes met hers. No words needed. He reached a hand out and she grasped his wrist. In one swift, practiced motion, he hauled her up behind him. Ren wheeled the horse around, driving it hard toward her carriage.
The battle still raged, the air thick with screams and steel, but he didn’t slow. His grip on the reins was iron, his posture rigid. As they reached the carriage storage box, Ren yanked the horse to a sharp stop, using the stallion’s hooves to break it open.
Wood splintered, the latch giving way with a sharp crack. Inside lay a crossbow. Smaller, more ornate. Dark, knotted wood gleamed beneath the dimming light, its form elegant yet deadly. A quiver of bolts rested beside it, ready. Ren didn’t hesitate. He leaned down and snatched the weapon, turned, and shoved it into Mira’s hands.
“Now,” he barked.Ren was already kicking the horse forward, back into the chaos.
The moment her fingers closed around it, something surged through her, recognition. She had just seen this crossbow in her memory. It was hers. She raised the crossbow, loading the first bolt.
They moved as one. Ren rode with effortless control, weaving through the battlefield, while Mira took aim, losing bolt after bolt. Each shot found its mark, picking off the worst of the Kharadorians with deadly precision. Before the sun could fully set around them, the remaining fighters scattered, their resolve breaking.Shadows swallowed them as they fled into the trees, leaving behind their dead and dying.
???
Throughout the night they counted their dead and burned the bodies, the acrid scent of smoke curled into the blackness. Shadows flickered across the battlefield, cast by the flames consuming the fallen. The distant cries of the wounded echoed through the clearing, a stark reminder of the cost they had paid.
Mira stood by her overturned carriage, her fingers idly tracing the grain of the crossbow’s wood. She should have felt something more, grief, horror, even exhaustion, but none of it settled in her chest the way she expected. The battle had raged, blood had been spilled, and yet,she wasn't shaken.
For the first time in a year, she had moved without hesitation. It wasn’t just the thrill of battle. It was the way she and Ren had moved together. Seamlessly and instinctive. She had felt like herself again, just for a moment.
She watched as Tharion, Torvyn, and Ren discussed the way forward, their voices low but urgent. Mira couldn’t hear their words over the crackling of the fires and the murmur of the wounded. She could see the tension in their postures.
Tharion stood with a stiffness that betrayed the pain beneath his bandages. His jaw was set, pride keeping him upright.
Ren, in stark contrast, looked every bit the warrior fresh from battle. Sweaty, disheveled, his dark hair damp and tangled, the scruff on his jaw seemed rougher than usual. Blood smeared his arms and clothes, some his, most not. His usual cocky smirk was absent, replaced by quieter, more intense look.
And then there was Torvyn. Untouched. His leathers gleamed in the firelight, not a scratch or stain to be seen. Even his hair remained perfect, as though the battle had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience. She shuffled closer to hear.
"We need to figure out how to move everyone without the carriages." Torvyn stated.
"That’s going to be difficult. We have too many wounded to walk on their own." Tharion nodded. "We’ll have to redistribute. The strongest of us can walk or double up on horseback, while the injured ride in the carriages that still have wheels. But it’s added a few more hours with the horse pulling so much weight."
Torvyn crossed his arms. "We take turns. Rotate the riders to keep a steady pace. We can make it work if we’re careful."
Ren sagged against the broken wheel, "That only works if we don’t run into more trouble.” Ren’s gaze slid to Mira.
She turned away from him. Shame, deep and painful settled in her chest. People were dead, Bharalyn people. A consequence of her choice. Their blood was on her hands. Mira stared at the fire, jaw clenched so tight it ached.
Ren continued, “If we’re ambushed on the way back, we’re slow and exposed. We need a better plan." Mira exhaled through her nose.
"Also the supplies? We lost most of them when the carriages went down and we can’t carry what’s left.” Torvyn warned.
