Page 29 of Zeke
“Eight.”
Silence stretched between them. When he looked up, her face was pale with shock and growing outrage. Her hands were clenched into fists in her lap, knuckles white against the dark fabric of his shirt.
“Eight years old?” Her voice cracked on the words, raw with emotion. “They sent you away when you were eight?”
“My blood rage manifested early.” He served the cooked food onto two plates, his movements mechanical. The smell of hot breadfruit filled the space between them. “I was sent here for everyone’s safety.”
“Whose safety?” Fire sparked in her brown eyes, turning them molten. Her nostrils flared with anger, and color stained her cheeks. “You were a child. A baby.”
The fierce protectiveness in her voice did something strange to his chest. Like warmth and pain twisted together until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Her scent sharpened with her fury… something wild and protective that called to every possessive instinct he had.
“The system works.” He shrugged. “Keeps everyone safe.”
“Bullshit.” Her chin lifted in defiance, and he memorized the stubborn line of her jaw. “It’s barbaric. Tearing children away from their families?—”
“I don’t remember much from before.” The lie came easily.
“Do you want children of your own?” she asked after a moment.
He paused, food halfway to his mouth. Want children? The concept was so foreign that he struggled to process it. “I’ve never considered it. The Izaean have no females, so it’s never been an option.”
“There are plenty of younger human women with the construction crews,” she pointed out. Her voice was neutral, but tension radiated through the set of her shoulders. “And the supply teams that fly in materials. If you wanted...”
He shrugged, discomfort crawling under his skin. “Not interested.”
“Why not?” The question was soft, but her eyes never left his face.
The air left his lungs. Because what if he passed along his curse? What if his children inherited the blood rage that marked them as monsters? Any child he had would be born here, trapped on Parac’Norr like he was.
Imprisoned for life.
“I wouldn’t want to pass along my curse.”
Surprise flickered in her eyes, and he caught the quick intake of her breath. “Why do you think you’re cursed?”
Because he was. Because violence lived in his soul, and he could tear apart ferals with his bare hands and feel satisfaction instead of horror. Because the blood rage made him into something monstrous.
“You saw what I did out there.” He nodded to the door. “What I’m capable of.”
She leaned forward, setting her plate aside. Her small hand settled on his forearm, fingers tracing the edge of a scar. The touch sent electricity through his veins, her skin warm and soft against his.
“You were protecting me.” Her grip tightened on his arm, anchoring him to the moment. “You have no idea what they were going to do.” Her face went tight, fury and remembered terror warring in her expression. Lines appeared around her eyes, and her breathing quickened. “The worst kind of violence. Things that would have broken me.”
Her fingers pressed into his skin like she was afraid he might disappear. “I’m glad you were there, Zeke. Those bastards deserved everything they got.”
Hope, sharp and unfamiliar, unfurled in his chest. She wasn’t afraid of him. Wasn’t disgusted by what he’d done. If anything, her eyes held nothing but fierce approval, and the sight made his heart race.
But hope was dangerous. Hope made him want to close the distance between them, to pull her against his chest and never let go. Hope made him think about carrying her back to the pallet and showing her exactly how much she meant to him.
Control. He needed distance before his instincts got the better of him.
He stood, moving away from her touch. The cabin felt too small, the air too thick with her presence and the heat from the fire. He needed something to focus on besides the way she looked at him like he was worth something.
The restless energy from the Legion made it impossible to sit still. He paced to the window, then back to the fire, hyperaware of every detail around them. Something had been nagging at him since yesterday. There were little details that didn’t add up.
His eyes swept the interior with new focus. The construction was too good for ferals… he’d noticed that yesterday. But now he saw other things. Like the way the walls were lined with woven rushes, creating insulation against the cold, and the careful placement of the window to maximize light and warmth.
This wasn’t some random shelter. Someone had built this place to last.
