The man's throat bobbed as he swallowed, and his lips parted slightly, but no words emerged. His breathing was ragged and uneven, as if he had been dragged out of a storm. Even in his fevered state, his presence was overwhelming, his raw strength visible in the way his muscles tensed as if still fighting something, something unseen, something buried deep in his mind.
Aylin stayed still, watching him carefully, her dagger hidden beneath her palm. If he made a wrong move, she would not hesitate.
Her wolf stirred. 'You wouldn't hurt him.'
'I would if I had to,' Aylin shot back internally, though she knew the argument was weak. She had every reason to leave this stranger to his fate, yet she remained.
His chest rose sharply, drawing taut the smooth, battle-worn planes of his torso. Scars crisscrossed his skin, reminders of previous wars and battles fought and survived. However, they did nothing to diminish his striking beauty. The firelight cast a golden glow over his bronzed skin, highlighting the sharp edges of his jaw, the proud slope of his nose, and the impossibly long, inky-black lashes that fanned over his high cheekbones. Even in pain, he resembled something out of a legend, too beautiful and dangerous to be true.
Aylin was used to seeing handsome men, but this one was like on others; Silas could not compete in size and power with him. And that unsettled her.
'He's stronger than Silas,' her wolf mused. 'Stronger than any wolf I've seen.'
Aylin frowned. 'That doesn't mean anything. Strength alone doesn't make him trustworthy.'
His fingers twitched against the wooden floor, his mouth opened again, and something slipped between his lips.
A name.
Not hers. Not her sister's. Someone else's.
The syllables were slurred, lost between the fever and exhaustion. A whisper of something important.
'He is repeating names; maybe he doesn't know my sister, but even so I can't let him like this. '
She searched her leather pouch for the powder she had saved for a fever while on the road. With trembling hands, she gathered enough water from outside the cabin to make the powder into a paste and shoved it into the man's mouth.
She realized she needed to wait for the medicine to work, so she reached for the old wooden crate and pulled out some hunting clothes she had left behind. She dressed herself while looking at the man; she did not want to be seen changing.
Then, suddenly, his body jerked. His head swung to the side, and a deep growl echoed in his throat, both painful and dangerous. His breathing quickened, and sweat beaded across his brow. Strands of damp black hair clung to his forehead, framing his face in a way that made him appear even more haunting, untamed. He was caught between unconsciousness and wakefulness, engulfed by whatever nightmare was holding him captive.
"No..." he rasped, barely above a whisper. "I... I won't..."
Aylin finished dressing and approached him. Whoever this man was, he was reliving something. A fight? A betrayal? His body was covered in old scars, but this wound, a wound she cannot see, burned his skin with fever, was new.
'You should leave,' she told herself. 'This isn't your problem.'
Her wolf growled softly. 'But you won't.'
Her throat tightened. No, she wouldn't. Even as logic screamed at her to walk away, instinct anchored her to the spot. She was drawn to him because of his presence and pain.
"Who are you?" she demanded again, this time sharper.
His head tilted slightly, his eyelids fluttering. His breathing became shallow, and for a split second, his dark, shadowed gaze met hers again.
But he didn't see her.
Not really.
She was talking to no one; he was not in a state that would give her any answers. Aylin looked at him, trying to convince herself to leave him here.
'But you can't go anywhere yet.' Her wolf's voice was soft, knowing.
His eyes were unfocused and distant, fixed on something far beyond the cabin walls. The fever had him in its grasp, dragging him back into whatever haunted him. His lips moved, forming barely there words, but Aylin caught them this time.
"They're coming…" His voice was hoarse, raw. "I have to... stop them."
A chill ran down her spine.
Who?
Who was coming?
Aylin hesitated for only a second before reaching for the cloth she had abandoned earlier. The fever wasn't letting him go, and if he burned too hot, he might not wake at all.
'He's dangerous,' she reminded herself.
'So are we,' her wolf countered.
She pressed the damp fabric to his forehead, ignoring the way her heart beat against her ribs. His skin was unbearably warm, yet beneath the fire of his fever, he still radiated something deeper, powerful, and consuming.
His body tensed at the touch, a new growl vibrating through him, but this time, his head tilted slightly, as if seeking coolness. His dark eyelashes fluttered, casting shadows on his sharp cheekbones. His lips, parted from fevered breaths, were full and well-formed, deceptively soft despite the hardened edge of his expression.
'He's not ours, Aylin.'
She knew that. She did. But as she looked at him, at the way he fought even while unconscious, something in her hesitated.
He needed rest. He needed to survive whatever had brought him here.
Aylin exhaled slowly. 'Leave him,' her wolf insisted, but there was uncertainty and hesitation. She could sense the pull between them—something deeper than just curiosity. This man... he was important. She could feel it in her bones.
Then—
A sound.
Her breath hitched, her nerves already at their limit.
Footsteps.
Soft but deliberate. Just beyond the cave's entrance.
Her wolf snarled, rising in warning.
Aylin's fingers curled around her dagger as she slowly turned her gaze toward the shadows creeping at the cave's edge. Someone was out there. Someone had found them.
She barely had a second to react before a strong hand shot out, clamping around her wrist.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips as she was yanked forward, her dagger slipping from her grasp and clattering against the stone floor.