Page 52 of Zeke
The fire popped again, sending more sparks into the darkness. She watched them rise, bright for an instant before the night swallowed them whole.
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
The whetstone scraped against steel as Raaze went back to sharpening his blade, the rhythmic sound filling the silence. Zeke sat perfectly still beside her, close enough to touch, but the distance between them felt like the void of space.
He saw her as his to keep safe.
And she just wanted to be seen.
He couldn’t sleep.
Michelle’s weight against Zeke’s chest should’ve been perfect—her head tucked under his chin, one small hand curled against his ribs. But every breath she took reminded him how badly he’d draanthed up. She trusted him enough to sleep in his arms while pissed at him, and that trust hurt worse than he’d expected.
His legion pulsed through his blood, restless as hell. The symbiont didn’t like her being upset either. Its usual contentment had turned into this thrumming thing that made his chest tight.
Great. Even his parasite had opinions about his love life.
He replayed their conversation for the hundredth time, each word scraping at him. She was human, that was just fact. And humans were smaller, more fragile.... they needed protection. But the way her face had shut down when he’d said it, the way she’d pulled away from his touch...
Trall.
He breathed in the scent of her hair, careful not to wake her. The familiar smell grounded him even as his thoughts spiraled. He should’ve explained better. Should’ve told her that her needing protection wasn’t a weakness to him, that it satisfied some bone-deep instinct he hadn’t known existed until he’d met her. The way she fit against him, the way his body moved between her and threats without thinking, the fierce satisfaction of keeping her safe… all of it felt right.
But he hadn’t said any of that. He’d just stated facts like she was some tactical assessment instead of the female who’d changed everything.
Movement across the dying fire caught his attention. Kraath sat against a boulder, dark eyes reflecting the red-orange embers. The garrison commander’s usual rigid posture had softened, shoulders hunched forward.
“Can’t sleep either?” Kraath’s voice stayed low, pitched not to wake the others.
He kept his voice soft. “Michelle’s pissed at me.”
“I noticed.” A ghost of a smile touched Kraath’s lips. “Don’t worry. All couples fight.”
Zeke frowned. “What would you know about it?”
The question came out sharper than he’d meant, surprise overriding caution.
Kraath’s gaze stayed fixed on the embers, but something shifted. The fire popped, sending sparks spiraling into the cool night air.
“I was mated once.” The words hung between them, heavy with old pain. “Feels like lifetimes ago.”
What the draanth?
Shock tightened every muscle, though Zeke kept his body still to avoid disturbing his female’s sleep. Her warmth seeped through his shirt where she pressed against him. Kraath having a mate meant things that didn’t add up. It meant he was old enough to have been an adult when the Lathar still had females, before the plague wiped them out. It meant he’d been a late presentation… no one who’d manifested blood rage young would’ve been allowed to claim a mate.
Holy draanth. How old was Kraath?
“We had furious arguments,” Kraath continued, his voice taking on a warmth Zeke had never heard before. “She had opinions about everything. Never backed down when she thought she was right. And she was always right. Stubborn as stone and twice as unmovable.”
The embers popped, sending up sparks that danced like fireflies before dying. Kraath tracked them as they rose and disappeared into the darkness.
“But we always made up.” His lips curved. “Often in bed. Nothing like passion to burn through anger. She’d rage at me for hours, then drag me to the bedchamber and...” He trailed off, lost in memory.
The wistfulness in his voice made Zeke’s chest tight. This wasn’t the stone-faced commander who ran the garrison with iron discipline. This was someone else entirely… someone who’d loved and been loved, and who carried that loss like a wound that never quite healed.
“What happened to her?”
The question slipped out before he could stop it. When Kraath had presented, he would’ve been exiled, left her behind to grow old alone while he?—
