Page 7 of Beast in the Badlands
The words hit harder than any blow I’ve ever taken in battle. They cut deep into something raw inside me—a chasm of uncertainty that opens wide and unfathomable beneath my feet.
I swallow hard against rising frustration but push it down; anger won’t help me now.
“So… this is it then?” I attempt humor even as despair creeps in like fog over a battlefield. “My life ends here?”
Her expression softens for just a moment—a fleeting crack in her steely façade—and something within me shifts furthertoward this strange human who’s taking care of me when others would leave me for dead.
“I don’t know what kind of life you’re hoping for,” Emry replies with an edge of challenge in her voice, “but if you want to survive this place? You’ll need more than just luck.”
“I can manage.” My bravado feels shaky but necessary; it’s all I have left.
“Yeah? Because from what I've seen so far...” She rolls her eyes playfully but doesn’t lower her weapon entirely yet. “You could use some help.”
A growl rises within me—a response both instinctual and foreign—possessive instincts surfacing anew like old scars being reopened without warning. Who is this woman? This Emry who looks at me not with fear or disgust but with something else entirely?
And why do I feel so protective over her already?
“We’ll see about that,” I say, holding her gaze steady despite the chaos swirling within and outside these walls—the last remnants of an existence barely clinging on to life itself.
CHAPTER 6
EMRY
Ikeep my weapon steady, the barrel aimed at Renn’s chest as he lies there, muscles taut beneath his patterned skin. His presence fills the room, larger than life, a testament to everything I’ve heard about Reapers.
“Do you always greet strangers with a gun?” he asks, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
I don't crack a smile. “You look like you might bite,” I retort, my voice firm despite the tremor of uncertainty deep inside me.
He shifts slightly, testing his limbs as if weighing how much pain he can endure before giving in to it. I take a breath and lower my weapon just enough to ease the tension in my shoulders but keep it close enough that he knows it’s still there.
“What’s this place?” he asks, his red eyes narrowing as he surveys the crumbling walls and flickering lights.
“An abandoned Coalition med outpost,” I reply, keeping my tone even. “Used to be a hub for military logistics until they lost interest and moved on.”
“Lost interest.” He echoes the phrase like it tastes bitter on his tongue. “And now?”
“Now? It’s a ghost town,” I say bluntly. “Just me and a few others trying to survive.”
“Others?” His brow furrows slightly as if weighing whether to probe deeper or drop the subject altogether.
“Deserters, civilians—people who didn’t fit into anyone’s plans after the war,” I explain, crossing my arms against the chill of the room. “Like you.”
He studies me for a moment longer, something flickering behind those red eyes—curiosity? Intrigue?
“How did you find me?” He shifts again, pushing himself up slightly.
“I saw your ship crash,” I say without hesitation. “Thought it was another merc faction coming in for territory.”
Renn scoffs lightly, but his expression remains serious. “And instead of running away or hiding, you went straight to it?”
“I don’t run.” The words slip out before I can hold them back.
His gaze sharpens as if piercing through my bravado. “You stayed behind to help people here?”
“Someone has to.” My heart races; this conversation is raw and unfiltered—a dance along an edge neither of us should be teetering on.
He studies me again—this massive Reaper now trapped by injury but alive because of me—and I feel exposed under that gaze.
