15. Dexari

Chapter 15

Dexari

The night air is thick with the scent of damp earth and vegetation, the quiet sporadically interrupted by the sounds of nocturnal creatures. My vision is fair in the darkness, though not every shadow or shape is distinct.

Ahead of me, Sloane moves through the forest, her small form weaving between the trees with impressive determination. A beam of light cuts through the darkness, illuminating her path. Like the rope she used to scale the perimeter wall, where she got the device that lights her way is a mystery. Her resourcefulness intrigues me.

She remains unaware of my presence, which allows me to observe her movements. She favors her injured ankle, her limp a constant reminder that I watched her fall without intervening to help. Sloane must face real danger before I come to her rescue. Only then will she see me as more than just her captor.

Uncharacteristic doubt makes me wonder if my plan to win Sloane's heart will fail—whether I overestimate my ability to keep her safe. Those thoughts dissipate as quickly as they appear. I am a formidable warrior and will do whatever it takes to win my mate.

Sloane's alien features, so different from any orc female, appeal to me on a primal level. Her short dark hair, similar in color to my own, calls attention to her pale, unmarked skin. Though small in stature, her delicate curves are enticing, and I find myself wondering how she will feel in my arms, how she will taste when we finally consummate our bond.

My need to protect her, to claim her, borders on obsessive. Earning her trust may be the greatest challenge I have ever faced.

As we venture deeper into the forest, I close the distance between us, my senses on high alert. Soon, I notice a change in our surroundings. The sounds of night have gone silent, the air around us tainted by the foul scent of fanghounds.

My muscles tense as I scan the darkness, looking for the fearsome predators who stalk their prey in packs. Sloane seems to sense danger as well. She slows her pace, using her light to search for something she cannot see yet instinctively knows is out there.

This is the moment I have been waiting for, yet the thought of Sloane being attacked by beasts with razor-sharp teeth sends fear coursing through my veins. My need to keep her safe is visceral and all-consuming, and I fear my plan has backfired.

This situation is far more dangerous than I anticipated. Gone are any thoughts of a controlled yet valiant rescue. What matters now is saving her life.

I draw my sword, prepared to fight, and edge closer. Every muscle in my body is coiled tight and ready for action. Fanghounds are a fearsome enemy, yet I am a formidable opponent. When they attack, I will be ready.

A low chorus of menacing growls shatters the silence, and Sloane freezes. Her eyes dart around, searching for the source I already see: the pack emerging from the shadows.

The beasts are large and muscular, their mottled fur blending in with the darkness. Elongated fangs gleam in Sloane's light, promising swift and brutal violence. They move with practiced precision, fanning out to surround my mate, cutting off her chance of escape, their growls intensifying as they close in.

Sloane picks up a thick fallen branch, brandishing it like a club. Her bravery is admirable yet foolish; fanghounds cannot be defeated by such a rudimentary weapon. I must draw the beasts away from her.

Without hesitation, I charge toward the nearest fanghound, the familiar weight of my sword in my hand giving me a sense of purpose. I swing the blade back and forth in a wide arc, drawing the beasts' eyes in my direction. And when I have their attention, a mighty roar bursts from my throat—a primal challenge declared from one predator to another.

As I prepare to fight, Sloane's fearful cries pierce the air, yet I resist the urge to glance her way.

"RUN!" I command, hoping she obeys.

The attack comes swiftly. A massive fanghound, larger than the others, lunges at my flank. I pivot, bringing my sword up to defend myself. Yet its jaws clamp down on me before I can fully deflect the attack. Pain explodes through me as its teeth tear into flesh, muscle, and bone.

I snarl in fury, twisting to dislodge the beast, and my sword finds its mark. The fanghound releases me with a yelp, yet the damage to my body is done. Blood seeps from the wound, and my strength quickly wanes.

Sensing weakness, the pack closes in. I will fight with everything I have left, though my survival is in doubt as the world begins to blur, the edges of my vision darkening.

My thoughts turn to Sloane, my fated mate. Regret washes over me. Not for the fight I am losing…for the bond we never had the chance to consummate.

Then, I slip into unconsciousness with her name on my lips.