14. Cagan

14

CAGAN

T he cool, hard ground beneath me is the first thing I feel as my eyes flutter open. The silence of the cave immediately engulfs me, a silence so profound it seems to echo off the stone walls. As my eyes adjust to the dim light, a chilling realization dawns on me—Hayden is no longer cocooned in my arms.

A desolate, empty feeling flickers within me, stirring an unfamiliar ache in my chest. I sit up quickly, trying to push away the discomfort before it can take root. My mind races with possibilities—did she leave? Was she taken? The thought of her alone and vulnerable in the wilderness reignites old fears, ones I thought I had buried deep within.

“Hayden?” I tentatively call out, but I’m met only with the growing silence of my surroundings. Shit. Where the fuck is she? I grab my furs and nervously fumble as I quickly put it on. She looked so frail last night, so cold. I hope she didn’t run off again.

Scrambling to my feet, I scan the cave, hoping to catch a glimpse of her—perhaps she's just a little further in, hidden in the shadows. But the cave offers no such solace; she is not here. The emptiness of the space mirrors the sudden emptiness I feel, a stark contrast to the warmth and security that filled it just hours before.

Driven by a mixture of concern and the need to find her, I step outside the cave. The cool morning air brushes against my skin, a stark reminder of the night's lingering chill. My eyes sweep over the landscape, searching, until they land on a figure lounging on the rocks under the early sun.

Hayden.

Relief washes over me like a warm wave, quickly followed by a surge of questions. What drew her out here alone? Does she not feel the safety I thought we had found in each other's company? With cautious steps, I approach her, my heart pounding with a mix of relief and a newfound anxiety about what her departure means.

She notices my approach and smiles, a gesture that beckons yet reassures. I sit beside her, the warmth from her body a stark contrast to the cool stone beneath us. Words fail me at the moment; the relief of finding her safe battles with the confusion over her silent departure.

We sit in silence, the vast landscape stretching out before us, a mute witness to the complexity of human emotions. I want to ask her a thousand questions, to understand her thoughts, but I hold back, giving her the space I sense she needs.

This moment, simple yet profound, marks a turning point. It's a silent acknowledgment of our shared experiences, of the night spent in the warmth of a shared embrace, and the unspoken bond that seems to be forming despite—or perhaps because of—our rough beginnings.

Hayden's voice, soft yet carrying in the still morning air, unexpectedly breaks the silence. "You know, when I first saw you, I didn't really trust you," she confesses, her words slow, reflective.

I frown as I take in her sudden confession.

“I suppose that’s fair. You didn’t know me,” I reply, guessing her hesitation has something to do with my race.

"I actually thought you were kind of annoying once I realized you weren't going to capture me or kill me." A nervous chuckle escapes her, lightening the weight of her admission.

"Why would I want to kill you?" I ask, genuinely perplexed, yet touched that she's choosing to open up. From the moment I saw her, curiosity had piqued my interest, but the thought of harming her had never crossed my mind.

"That’s what orcs tend to do. They kill," she continues, pausing as she looks at me. Today, her usual scowl has softened, replaced by a tentative smile that transforms her features. "Before I ended up out here, I was a prisoner in the Sword Hammer Clan," she reveals, her gaze drifting off into the distance, a veil to shield her vulnerability.

Her confession doesn't surprise me; I'm all too aware of the brutal reputation of the Sword Hammer Clan.

"I was abandoned as a child and by the time I was a teen, I was kidnapped by those orcs," she adds, her voice trembling as she recounts the horrors. "They were so cruel. When they deemed me infertile, I took off.” She looks down and takes a shuddering breath. “They were going to execute me for being an infertile breeder. I was useless, to be thrown out with the garbage. They chased me to the edge of a cliff, and I jumped.”

“Then what happened?” I ask, my heart twisting at her sad story.

“I met you,” she says, looking up at me. Her green tear-filled eyes, bright and intense, lock with mine, pulling me deeper into her world of pain and defiance.

Moved by her trust and the weight of her past, I reach out, gently tucking a stray blonde strand behind her ear. She stiffens slightly, tears welling up and spilling over, each one a testament to her endured sufferings. My heart clenches at the sight, anger simmering within me against those who hurt her. Those fucking bastards, I think, my fingers brushing away her tears with tender care. Her skin is soft beneath my touch, reinforcing the fragile yet growing bond between us.

Without a second thought, I pull her into a tight hug, offering her the warmth and safety she had been denied for so long. She hesitates at first, the walls around her heart not fully dismantled, but then relaxes into the embrace, her body melding into mine as if finding a missing piece of herself.

"No one should have to endure the kind of horrors they put you through," I murmur, my voice low and steady, filled with an unspoken promise of solidarity and protection. As I hold Hayden close, my chin rests gently on her head, a silent gesture of comfort. I wish, futilely, that the warmth of my embrace could erase the scars of her past.

"I promise you, that I will never hurt you," I declare, my tone resolute. I hope the sincerity in my words resonates with her, bridging the gap that her traumatic experiences have undoubtedly created around her. As I pull back to look into her eyes, the shimmering green mirrors of her soul, I am struck by the depth of what she has endured.

Impulsively, I press a gentle kiss to her forehead. The gesture is meant to convey comfort as I don’t want to freak her out or give her the idea that I’m seeking anything more from her in her vulnerability.

However, as my lips touch her skin, a rush of unexpected emotions surges through me. My heart races, a reaction that alarms yet intrigues me. I pause, momentarily caught in the intensity of the moment, and a realization dawns upon me. The initial curiosity that drew me to her, has subtly shifted.

I pull back, still holding her gaze, searching for any sign of discomfort or withdrawal in her expression. But instead, I find a quiet acknowledgment, a shared recognition of the shift between us. The air around us feels charged, heavy with unspoken thoughts and new, burgeoning emotions.

I take a step away from Hayden, distancing myself ever so slightly from the warmth of her presence, I am acutely aware of the tumultuous emotions stirring within me. The sensation of nervousness—unfamiliar and disconcerting—ripples through my chest, leaving me to grapple with its implications. My mind races as I try to decode these feelings, questioning their origin and their impact on my well-guarded heart.

What is it, this vulnerability I’m feeling? The image of her tear-filled eyes is stuck in my mind, her unexpected moment of her own vulnerability has certainly stirred something in me. I glance over at her, her shoulders down, her eyes lost to the horizon and my heart aches for her, for what she’s been through.

At first, I was drawn to her out of sheer curiosity, this lost and beautiful woman. But now, that curiosity has morphed into something more complex. I’m finding myself drawn to her in different ways, ways that surpass being compelled to bring her food, and keep her safe and sheltered.

Am I developing feelings for her? The question echoes in the quiet spaces of my mind, persistent and unyielding. This is not merely a protective instinct, or a camaraderie born of shared struggles; it is something deeper, more visceral.

As I contemplate this new emotional landscape, a part of me wonders if these feelings are simply born out of pity. Hayden, with her tragic past and her resilient spirit, could easily evoke such a response. It would make sense for me to feel something knowing that she’s been out here on her own, open to the dangers the land holds. I’m not a heartless monster, and I’m certainly nothing like those bastards who abused her. But what does it all mean?

She meets my gaze with a sad smile, and I feel it, that flicker from deep inside.

As I reflect on our interactions and the growing bond between us, I recognize that this is something beyond sympathy. This is a connection, an attraction perhaps, that has taken root in the fertile ground of genuine admiration and mutual respect.