Page 83 of Unveil
“Orion?” I feel her cheek shift as she worries her lip, thinking. “Do your scars have anything to do with your nightmares?”
My breath stills.
“My nightmares?”
She nods. “Like the one last night.”
The nightmare that changed everything between us. I made more progress with her while unconscious than I ever had awake. Something about it cracked open the door to her soul just enough to let me in.
And tonight did the same for me.
I knew I cared about her, but now that I’ve seen an unveiled glimpse of Luna when she’s afraid someone’s watching, I wantallof her. I want to seep into her lungs, become every breath, learn every thought, and understand her down to her marrow. I want to know her better than the backwoods I grew up in. By feel, by instinct, in daylight, but especially in her storms.
I kiss her forehead, grateful she let me this close. Terrified it won’t last. I’ve begged her for honesty. I owe her mine.
“Yeah, baby,” I swallow, but my throat is still raw as I whisper into her hair. “My scars have everything to do with my nightmares.”
Idon’t leave her alone this time. After last night? Not a chance.
The storm’s let up some, but the path’s still wrecked, slick with mud, scattered branches, and loose rocks. It’s hell on her ankle, but leaving her behind felt like the more terrifying option.
I hack through the brush with the machete, booting stones off the path so she doesn’t trip. I still can’t tell if this was once a man-made trail or one worn down by animals. Either way, I hope it leads us outta here so I can get Luna home.
Behind me, she holds my crossbow like she was born with it. One hand grips the modified handle I designed, the other aims the bolt down and away from us like I taught her. She’s vigilant, head on a swivel, even as her mouth never quite stops.
Her stream-of-conscious narration rolls on like eerie background music. Pressured to the point of discomfort for both of us, rambling, chaotic. But she’s in good spirits, excited that I’ve gone over more “rules of the holler” with her.
I’ve taught her a lot already, the first being how to walk out here. Her dainty feet clomped like a Clydesdale when we first set off, crunching anything and everything we encountered. SoI showed her how to read the ground, roll heel-to-toe, and find stable footing so she wouldn’t tumble down the drop-offs inches from us—an ever-present danger in these mountains that I never truly feared until I had precious cargo limping behind me.
She listened, thank Christ. Having to focus seems to help whatever storm is spinning inside her. She’s still vibrating with energy, but no longer on the verge of combusting. As far as I can tell, she might even be tiring out, steadily relieving some of the tension in my chest too.
I think the forest calms her, like it does me. People weren’t meant to be so accessible all the time. Out here, it’s easy to escape from the world’s gray chaos and get lost in nature’s rich hues and the grounding feel of rough bark and crumbling dirt under your fingers. For me, the scent of earth and flowers brings thousands of happy memories. My future wife being settled the same way is like a balm on the nerves she fired up last night.
She tossed and turned in my arms until instinct told me to thread my fingers through her hair. As soon as I started massaging her head, her breathing slowed and she finally drifted into a deep sleep. I followed soon after, waking up refreshed.
No night terrors. No flashbacks. No burning screams that left my throat raw. Just peace in Luna’s arms. That’s two nights now that I’ve held her, and two nights the nightmares were kept at bay. Luna can call me superstitious, but I know better. That shit ain’t coincidence.
I don’t bring up how fuckingrightsleeping in her arms felt, and of all the things she’s chattered on about, she hasn’t brought up any part of last night either. I sense she’s more embarrassed than anything, so I leave her be, pretending I’m not hanging on every word for signs she’s slipping again.
Another thing I don’t mention… the fact that she shouldn’t be able to keep up with me. Not with frayed slippers, a shredded tutu, and a bodice that must be stabbing her ribs by now, andcertainly not on that ankle. But she tightened her makeshift tulle wrap and she’s managing the trek remarkably well. I don’t think she’s even cold in the morning mist. She wears my jacket only at my insistence, but it slides off her shoulder as if she doesn’t notice its warmth.
Every sign that she isnotokay wears on me, but I try to take the good, not focusing on the bad omen it feels like. Her energy is too electric, her pain tolerance alarmingly high. The kind of tolerance you only see in fighters who don’t know they’re bleeding out until it’s over. I’m worried, but if she insists she’s fine… I have to trust her. So for now, we walk comfortably in tandem.
Until I realize she’s suddenly quiet, unnerving after hours of her reassuring voice. Then there’s a thump.
“Son of a…” Luna grumbles.
“You good?” I halt and ask over my shoulder, scanning for danger. We’ve come up on a verdant meadow, its colors muted in the hazy fog. Something about it feels… familiar.
“Yeah, sorry,” she answers. “I thought I saw something and bumped into—I think it’s a little fence?”
“A fence?”
“Yeah, an iron one. Got my shin a little. No big deal. But… whoa, cool.”
The coast clear, I lower the machete and turn to find her shifting the crossbow to her back, inspecting a mossy stone. It’s half-sunken in leaves and tall grass, surrounded by bent thigh-high, rusted iron fencing. She brushes dirt away with careful fingers.
“I think this is a gravestone,” she murmurs.
