Page 31 of Zeke
“Perfect fit,” he said, his voice thicker than before.
She smoothed her hands down the tunic, aware of how his attention followed the movement. The leather was practical and well-made. Exactly the kind of thing she needed to survive in this wilderness.
Moving to the fire, he added fuel with sharp, controlled movements. The flames leaped higher, casting dancing shadows across the wall opposite. “We’ll eat, then check the area.”
They settled on the pallet with their plates, the space humming with tension between them. She tried to focus on the food, the nutty breadfruit, the sweet tubers, but her eyes kept drifting to him. The skin of his torso was covered in old scars that told stories she wanted to hear.
“Eight years old,” she said, the words bursting out of her. “They sent you away when you were eight.”
His fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Michelle?—”
“No.” Fury blazed through her chest, hot and righteous. “Don’t defend them. You were a baby. A little boy who needed his family, not exile.”
She thought of her own children when they’d been eight… Lily with her gap-toothed grin, and Edward with his collection of dinosaur books. She would have torn apart anyone who tried to take them from her… would have fought armies to keep her babies safe.
“It was necessary.” His voice stayed level, but she caught the tension in his shoulders. “The blood rage is dangerous. People could have been hurt.”
“Where was your mother?” The question tore out of her. “How did she let them take you?”
Something flickered across his features, too fast to catch, but raw enough to make her heart ache.
“The system works,” he repeated, but his voice had gone hollow.
“Bullshit.” She leaned forward, her hand finding his forearm. His skin was warm beneath her palm, muscles tense as steel cable. “You were eight. Eight-year-olds need comfort and security, not military training and isolation.”
He stared down at her small hand on his arm. When he looked up, his gaze held something vulnerable, something that made her chest tight with emotion.
“No one ever questioned it before,” he said quietly.
“Well, I’m questioning it now.” Her grip tightened on his arm, feeling the steady pulse beneath his skin. “What they did to you was wrong. Child or not, blood rage or not, you deserved better.”
The silence between them thickened, charged with everything she’d said and everything he hadn’t. His free hand covered hers and the contact sent electricity racing up her arm.
“You’re the first person to say that,” he murmured.
Fire filled his eyes as he looked at her, and her breath caught at the intensity of his stare, the way he looked at her like she was something precious. Something worth protecting.
The space between them seemed to shrink. She could smell his skin—salt and something that made her want to press closer. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, remembering how his lips had felt against her forehead during the fever. What would they feel like against hers?
He’s so young, part of her whispered. And you’re?—
Alive, another part answered fiercely. And he wants you. Look at how he’s looking at you.
His thumb traced across her knuckles, the gentle touch making her shiver. His breathing had gone shallow, pupils wide with need.
Her name was a rough whisper on his lips.
She leaned closer, drawn by the blaze in his eyes, the way his scent wrapped around her like a physical thing. His hand slid up her arm, fingers trailing fire across her skin through the leather.
A sharp crack outside shattered the moment.
His head snapped toward the window, every muscle in his body going taut.
“What was that?” she whispered.
“Could be nothing.” But his voice carried deadly focus now. “Or it could be the traps.”
He stood in one fluid motion, muscles coiling as he prepared for action. She watched the transformation… from vulnerable man to lethal predator in the space of a heartbeat.
