Page 22 of Beast in the Badlands
I set the knife down, the edge sharp enough to slice through doubt. Emry’s gaze doesn’t waver as she pulls a few more supplies from her pack.
“Why haven’t you tried contacting your people?” she asks, tilting her head slightly, a lock of hair falling over her face.
I swallow hard, the weight of silence pressing against my chest. “Repaired an old transmitter,” I admit, hating how casual it sounds. “The signal went through for half a second. Could’ve been Kairon. Could’ve been nothing.”
Her brow furrows with concern, and I see the worry creep into her eyes. “Is he looking for you? Kairon? Where’s he at now?”
“I don’t know.” The words hang in the air like smoke from a long-dead fire. “No way to tell where they are.” I run a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “But Kairon wouldn’t leave one of his crew behind.”
Emry studies me, and I catch a glimpse of something in her expression—a flicker of hope that quickly dims as I turn away. Almost say something about Ava, but stop myself short. No point in scaring her further with thoughts of bonds or mates or anything that might twist this fragile alliance we’ve built.
She steps closer, her voice softening. “You’re family,” she says.
I let out a scoff that morphs into a bitter laugh, the sound leaving a sour taste on my tongue. "Family? Sure—whatever twisted, fucked-up version of that we are." The words come out harsher than I intended, but the truth has a way of cutting deep when you least expect it.
She takes a step back,creating a subtle chasm between us, her body language shifting as she returns to rummaging through her pack. It’s as if she believes that putting space between us will somehow lighten the weight of our conversation—make all of this less complicated than it truly is. I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her brow furrows slightly as she focuses intently on her task, as if the supplies within her bag hold the answers to the questions we dare not voice.
I watch her work,intrigued by the dexterity of her hands, which move with an expert precision despite their evident weariness. Each motion seems deliberate, almost urgent, as she throws herself into the task with an intensity that suggests she sees it as a lifeline, a fragile buoy tossed into turbulent, choppy waters. There’s a kind of strength in her determination that I can’t help but admire, yet it also serves as a reminder of how far we’ve both fallen in this unforgiving world.
After what feelslike an eternity of silence stretching between us, she finally speaks, her voice quiet and cautious. “Do you really think they’d come for you?”
The question hangsin the air, heavy with uncertainty, gnawing at me like hunger pangs that refuse to fade no matter how hard I try to ignore them. It’s an uncomfortable truth, one I’d rather not confront.
“Of course,”I reply at last, the words escaping my lips like a reflex. Yet even as I speak, I can feel the weight of my own doubt pressing down on me, making the words feel flimsy and insubstantial under the scrutiny of our reality.
They seem morelike a shield against the encroaching darkness than a genuine expression of certainty. The flicker of hope that ignites within me is tenuous, a fragile flame battling the overwhelming backdrop of our bleak existence. I can’t shake the nagging fear that this could all be nothing more than wishful thinking—that we might remain here, trapped in this forgotten corner of the universe, with no rescue and no reprieve ever coming our way.
“What happens when they do?”Emry probes again, her voice cutting through the thick air after another heavy pause. Her words are laced with concern, a reminder that even amidst our shared silence, we are both acutely aware of the stakes involved.
And just like that, I’m drawn back into my own mind—the relentless cycle of survival and loyalty clashing against despair—and all those thoughts tumble into one single certainty:
“I’ll take you with me.”
It feels like both promise and challenge wrapped into one truth spoken out loud between two souls fighting against their own demons while standing side by side in this ruined world together—but still holding on tight to whatever remains unbroken inside them both.
Her silence stretches longer than before—a pregnant pause hanging heavy over us as our eyes lock again—but no words come from either side as night begins to settle around our small sanctuary amid uncertainty and hope tangled together like threads of fate we can’t quite untangle yet.
CHAPTER 18
EMRY
Isit on the edge of the cot, the dim light from the solar lantern casting flickering shadows across Renn's sleeping form. His shirt lies discarded on the floor, revealing deep scars that crisscross his chest and ribs—evidence of battles fought and survived. One hand rests under his head, while the other hovers near a weapon like a guardian ready to strike at a moment’s notice.
In the dim light, he looks almost peaceful. I used to think aliens were hideous—those tales of monstrous aliens and twisted faces, bloodthirsty eyes glinting with malice. Soldiers spun stories of grotesque figures looming in shadows, ready to slaughter without remorse. But as I watch Renn breathe in and out, my heart stutters in my chest.
His features are striking: sharp cheekbones give way to a strong jawline, framed by dark hair that falls just above those stormy gray eyes. The contours of his body speak of strength and power—muscles taut under scarred skin. He doesn’t look like a monster at all; instead, he possesses an undeniable allure that draws me in closer.
I shake my head, chastising myself for such thoughts. This is a Reaper—the very embodiment of war—and yet I can’t helpbut admire him in this vulnerable state. Maybe it’s the way his lips curve slightly even while he sleeps or how his brow smooths when nightmares fade into dreams.
I push myself up from the cot, unable to linger any longer in this strange reverie. The weight of silence fills the room as I tiptoe out into the cool night air outside our makeshift med bay.
The faint hum of insects surrounds me as I settle onto an old crate beneath the flickering lantern. My breath steadies as I look up at the sky—a tapestry of stars peeking through a shroud of clouds. Here, under this failing solar lantern's glow, I can breathe freely again.
Cleaning equipment inside feels suffocating after witnessing him like that—alive but still so broken beneath that tough exterior. It feels like an admission I can’t afford to make: caring for him is becoming more than duty; it’s something deeper and far more dangerous than survival alone.
I glance back at the med bay door—my heart lurching again when I think about how he’d react if he knew what I felt stirring inside me. But for now, it’s just me here, with shadows dancing around as if they hold secrets waiting to unfold.
I gaze up at the stars, each one a distant reminder of the chaos unraveling in the void beyond this shattered world. The shimmering points of light seem to twinkle with a different kind of energy, as if they hold stories of battles fought and lives lost. I think of those still fighting—fleeing, dying. My heart sinks under the weight of their plight, but I can’t let it consume me. Not here.
