Page 27 of Bite Sized Bride
It is the most hope I have had in my entire life.
“Okay,” I whisper, the word feeling impossibly large. “Okay, Kael. We’ll find it.”
The relief that washes over his monstrous features is so profound it makes my own chest ache.
But hope is not a map.
For two days, we travel with a new, frantic purpose. We are no longer just running; we are searching. But the forest is a vast, monotonous sea of green and grey. Every direction looks the same. Kael seems to be moving on instinct, drawn by some internal compass I cannot sense, but even he seems lost, a low growl of frustration a near-constant rumble in his chest. We are running out of time. Our wounds are beginning to fester, and the small amount of dried meat we have left will not last another day.
On the third morning, a new scent cuts through the damp air. Woodsmoke.
Kael freezes instantly, his massive form going rigid. He pulls me behind him, his arm a barrier of solid muscle, and sniffs the air, his head tilted. His eyes, which had been so clear, so full of a fragile humanity, are now clouded with the red haze of the hunter.
My own heart begins to hammer against my ribs. Smoke means a campfire. A campfire means people. And people, in my experience, mean pain.
But they might also mean information. They might mean supplies.
“Wait,” I whisper, my hand resting on his arm. The muscle beneath my palm is coiled tight as a steel spring.
He looks down at me, a low warning growl vibrating through his chest.Threat.
“We need help, Kael,” I say, my voice barely audible. “We can’t find this place alone. We need to know where to look.”
He shakes his head, a sharp, violent motion.No. Danger.
“I know,” I say, my own fear a cold knot in my stomach. “But we don’t have a choice.”
The conflict in his eyes is a physical storm. The primal instinct to protect me by eliminating any potential threat is warring with the fragile trust he has placed in me. He is my shield, but I am his guide. His connection to a world he no longer understands.
After a long, tense moment, he gives a short, reluctant nod. But he does not lower his guard.
We approach the source of the smoke with the stealth of ghosts. Kael moves with a terrifying silence, his massive feet making no sound on the damp earth. I follow in his shadow, my heart in my throat.
We stop at the edge of a small, rocky clearing. A tiny fire crackles merrily, a single figure huddled beside it.
It’s a human.
The relief is so overwhelming it almost buckles my knees. He is wiry and thin, his clothes little more than rags, his face gaunt and covered in a dirty, scraggly beard. He is roasting a small, rodent-like creature on a stick, his eyes fixed on the flames with a hungry intensity. He looks like a man who has been pushed to the very edge of survival. He looks like me.
Kael remains hidden in the trees, a silent, brooding mountain of disapproval. I know he wants to kill this man, to eliminate the potential threat before it can even register our presence.
“No,” I whisper, my voice firm. “Let me.”
I take a deep breath and step into the clearing.
The man’s head snaps up, his eyes widening in alarm. He scrambles to his feet, grabbing a sharpened stake from the ground beside him, his posture defensive, terrified. He is a cornered animal.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say, holding my empty hands out where he can see them.
He eyes me suspiciously, his gaze darting from my face to the dark trees behind me. “Who are you? Are you alone?”
“My name is Mikana,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “I am… I was a slave. I escaped.”
The tension in his shoulders eases slightly. He sees the brand on my wrist, the coiled serpent of House Malakor, and a flicker of recognition, of shared misery, passes through his eyes.
“Escaped from Malakor?” he says, his voice a rough rasp. “I’ve heard about Malakor’s slave. Rumors abound. You’ve got a death wish, girl.”
“I’m aware,” I say dryly. “Who are you?”
