Page 58 of Savage Devotion
I help him lift the damaged armor over his head, careful not to jar whatever injuries lie beneath. The revealed skin tells a story of recent violence, puncture wounds from vine thorns, already showing signs of infection. Bruising suggests internal damage. And older scars that speak of a lifetime of battles survived.
"This needs cleaning." I pull medical supplies from my pack, the same kit I used to treat him after our first encounter. "And proper stitching. Some of these cuts are deeper than they look."
"I've had worse."
"I'm sure you have." I pour water over the worst of the punctures, washing away blood and plant debris. "That doesn't mean you should ignore them."
He hisses as the water hits raw flesh, but doesn't pull away. Instead, he watches my face while I work, those rust-red eyes studying my expression with uncomfortable intensity.
"You're blaming yourself for their deaths."
It's not a question, and I don't bother denying it.
"Three good soldiers died because I was distracted. Because I've been thinking about..." I gesture vaguely between us. "This. Whatever this is."
"The vine-beasts killed them. Not your distraction."
"The vine-beasts were a known threat in this sector." I thread a needle with practiced efficiency. "I chose to ignore the risk assessment because the supply run seemed routine. Because my attention was elsewhere."
The needle slides through skin, drawing the edges of a deep cut together. Kaelgor doesn't flinch, but I feel the tension in his muscles as I work.
"Where was your attention?"
The question is loaded with implications I'm not ready to examine. But honesty has always been easier than deflection, even when it hurts.
"On you. On what happened between us in the forge. On what keeps happening every time we're in the same space." I tie off the stitch, move to the next wound. "On how I've managed to betray everything I swore to uphold."
"What have you betrayed?"
"My House. My command." I pause, needle halfway through another puncture. "Maybe you."
"Me?"
The words come out sharper than intended, cutting through the canyon's stillness. I finish the stitch before answering, buying time to organize thoughts that feel scattered and dangerous.
"There's a spy in my command. Someone feeding information to Heldrik about our cooperation. About..."About us."About tactical decisions that should remain confidential."
"You think I'm the spy."
"No." The denial comes immediately, instinctive. "But I should be considering the possibility. Any competent commander would."
"But you're not."
"No." I set down the needle, finally meeting his gaze directly. "And that's the problem. I'm compromised. Emotionally invested in a way that makes objective assessment impossible."
Kaelgor reaches up slowly, touching me with unexpected gentleness. "And that terrifies you."
"Yes." The admission feels like stepping off a cliff. "I've spent years learning to keep emotion separate from duty. It's the only way to survive in military command, especially as a woman in a male-dominated structure. You have to be twice as cold, twice as calculating, twice as willing to sacrifice for the greater good."
"But?"
"But when I look at you, all that training disappears. When you're injured, all I can think about is getting you safe. When you're in danger, tactical considerations become irrelevant." My voice drops to barely above a whisper. "When those creatures had me, I wasn't thinking about command structure or political implications. I was thinking about how much I wanted to live long enough to see you again."
The confession is like a bridge we’re not sure we should cross. Kaelgor's thumb brushes across my cheek, and I realize I'm crying, tears I didn't notice falling now mixing with the blood and grime on my face.
"Ressa." His voice is soft, careful. "Look at me."
I do, though it takes effort. His eyes hold something I've never seen before, not just desire or tactical respect, but something deeper. Something that looks dangerously like understanding.
