Page 58 of Zeke
“Please don’t leave me.”
The words reached her, carried more by the vibration through his chest than actual sound. His face blurred, but she caught the shine of moisture on his cheeks.
Zeke crying. She’d done that to him.
“I love you.”
The words, torn from him, became the last thing she registered. They followed her down into the darkness, something warm to hold onto as the cold took her.
I want to say it back. Want to touch his face one more time. I want...
But the darkness was patient, and she had no strength left to fight it.
The world dissolved into nothing.
The weight in his arms was wrong. Michelle had gone slack, her head falling back against his forearm with a finality that stole the air from his lungs. Her chest didn't rise and her fingers hung loose where they'd been pressed against her wounds seconds before.
The sound that ripped from his throat was more beast than man. It was a legion's grief, a physical force that made the canyon walls tremble. His legion amplified the sound. The ground beneath him began to vibrate and warriors stumbled.
He pulled Michelle against his chest, her body so light without life animating it. Blood, hers and his, soaked through what remained of their clothes, but he couldn't feel the wounds it had torn in his flesh. Couldn't feel anything except the gaping hole where his heart used to be. His chest felt hollow. Each breath was an empty pull of air in a body that had already died.
Tears burned tracks down his face, cutting through the blood and dirt. He hadn't cried since he was eight years old, since the transport took him away from everything he'd known. But now he couldn't stop. Each breath caught in his throat as he gathered her closer, trying to shield her from the chaos around them, even though it was too late for protection.
"Michelle." Her name came out broken, barely a whisper against her hair. "My brave, stubborn female. You weren't supposed to..." His voice cracked completely. "You were supposed to run. I told you to run."
The battle had ended while he held her. Izaean warriors moved through the canyon, dragging feral corpses into piles for transport. Someone barked orders about tissue samples. Another voice called for tracking teams to follow the survivors. The mechanical roar of transport engines filled the air, but it all seemed muffled, like his ears were stuffed with cotton. He could only feel the wrongness of her weight in his arms.
He shifted her in his arms, needing to see her face. His hand trembled as he smoothed dark strands back from her forehead, the gesture gentle despite his shaking. Her skin had already started cooling, taking on a waxy pallor that made his stomach clench.
"You fought for me." The words came out raw, his throat tight. "You saw that thing and you still... Gods, kelarris. You're so strong. Stronger than any warrior I've known." His thumb traced the curve of her cheekbone, memorizing the feel of her skin. "I love you. Should have said it better. Should have said it more."
His vision blurred again, fresh tears spilling over. He'd only had her for days. Just days of her touch, of the way she looked at him without fear. She'd argued with him, challenged him, and broken open parts of him he never knew existed.
"I was going to keep you." The confession tumbled out, even though she couldn't hear. "Was going to claim you properly when we got back. Move you into my quarters. Spend weeks learning every inch of you." His voice broke on a sob. "We were supposed to have time."
Movement at his wrist caught his eye. He almost ignored it, too lost to care about anything beyond the female in his arms. But the dark lines spreading across his skin demanded attention, pulling him from the spiral of despair long enough to focus.
Mating marks.
The vine-like patterns wrapped around both wrists, dark as ink beneath his skin. They pulsed faintly with his heartbeat, intricate whorls and curves that looked like they'd been etched by an artist's hand. Beautiful and damning all at once.
A bitter laugh escaped him, the sound jagged. "Now? The gods choose now to mark us?" He held his wrist up to the light from the hovering transports, watching the marks in the light. "She's dead, and now you tell me she was mine? My soul's match?"
Of course. The gods gave him their blessing only after they'd taken her away.
"Sir?" Kraath's voice penetrated the fog around him, careful and distant. "The feral that was commanding them—she had yellow eyes. Like Zeke. We need to?—"
Footsteps approached through the mud and blood. Zeke's muscles coiled, his legion stirring despite his grief. If someone tried to take her from him, he'd kill them. Simple as that.
"Easy, brother." Raaze's voice, closer than expected. “We need to get you both on a transport. Get you back to the garrison."
"No." The word rumbled from deep in his chest. "No one touches her."
"Zeke." Raaze moved into his peripheral vision, hands raised peacefully. "You're bleeding out, and she needs?—"
The snarl that ripped from his throat made Raaze step back. "I said no one touches her!" His legion armor spread across his arms, responding to the protective rage flooding his system. "She's mine. She stays with me."
"Look at yourself." Raaze's tone stayed steady, but his red eyes tracked the way Zeke hunched over Michelle's body. "You're bleeding all over her."
