His heart skips a beat—he hadn’t shut the door. He rushes to it, his pulse pounding in his ears as he pulls on the handle, only to find it locked from the inside. “Cleo!” he bellows, banging his clenched fist against the door.

  Inside, Cleo jumps at the sound, hitting her head on the wooden frame above her. Groaning, she slips out from under the bed. The thunderous call of her name was far from the welcome she had expected. “Zadarrah?” she calls out weakly, her voice groggy as she limps toward the door, pressing both hands against the heavy stone slab.

  On the other side, he doesn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he exhaled at the sound of his name from her lips. Relief washes over him, but his voice remains firm. “Open the door,” he commands, stepping back and frowning as he notices the knife sticking out of the corpse. He yanks it free, his mind racing with questions.

  Cleo pulls the door open just enough to squeeze through, struggling to stand straight. She folds her arms, biting her bottom lip in a mix of pain and dissatisfaction. “This close…” she holds up her thumb and index finger, indicating a small gap, “…to being torn apart.”

  She limps past him as quickly as she can manage, her pace hurried and determined. The scent of her lingers in the air, fresh and familiar, stirring something in him. He follows, his voice a low rumble of authority. “Where are you going?”

  She doesn’t answer, only quickens her pace, the limp in her step growing more pronounced. As she nears the edge of the destroyed stairwell, she loses her balance with a yelp, her feet skidding dangerously close to the abyss. His arm snakes around her waist, pulling her back from the brink.

  She shoves him away, her eyes blazing. “Did I tell you to touch me?”

  He glances at his hand, then back at her, unfazed. “How else are you going to get down?”

  She tilts her head slightly, a soft smile playing on her lips despite the tension. “I got this far without you.”

  His gaze falls to the bruising on her ankles, and a frown creases his brow. “Who was here?”

  She scoffs, dismissing his concern as he pulls out the knife, her muttered insult barely audible. “Foolish…”

  Turning away from him, she tries to walk off, but he can’t stop himself from grabbing her wrist. She whirls around, confusion flickering in her eyes. “Zadarrah!” Her accent thickens with irritation. “I’m leaving. You don’t need my help. And if you insist on stopping me i will call for my brothers, you caged me like an animal for days, without food, water, or shelter.” Her voice cracks slightly betraying the fortitude she thought she held. “Now let go.”

  “No.” His response is sharp, almost instinctual, making her scoff in disbelief.

  She dares to tug her arm away, but his grip is unwavering. Her defiance only fuels his resolve, yet as he watches her struggle, a flicker of something almost like amusement threatens to surface. His grip weakens just enough for her to break free. As she stumbles back, her eyes widen with horror, the ground slipping away beneath her as she plummets toward certain death.

  Time seems to slow as he reaches for her, their fingertips brushing with a barely perceptible spark, a connection that jolts him to action. Her scream shatters the stillness, snapping him back to reality. Without a second thought, he leaps after her, catching her mid-fall and twisting their bodies in the air. He takes the brunt of the impact, landing hard on his back with her on top of him.

  Cleo’s chest heaves, her breath hot against his cheek as she struggles to regain her composure. Neither of them move, the silence between them thick and heavy, charged with unspoken words.

  “Thank you,” she whispers, the words barely audible as she slowly climbs off him.

  He releases her reluctantly, sitting up as the tension of the moment ebbs away. His eyes follow her as she regains her footing, a strange mix of relief and something else lingering in the air between them.

  he stands to his feet, brushing off the excess dirt on him.

  “where are you going?” his voice threatens as he watches her yank up a foreign coat lingering with another man’s scent.

  she doesn’t answer as she dresses herself quickly. she takes a step forward, her ankle a sore and painful reminder of its condition.

  she groans in pain and silently crutches down to feel the warm swelling

  “you won’t get far on that leg. stay.” his voice takes a sultry tone that melts away all her anger and annoyance with him.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “you left me to starve, cold, dirty and alone for days.” she replies and folds her arms as she turns away from him with a sulk.

  his silence grows longer, she snaps her head back at him. to which he replies, “won’t happen again.”

  she jerks her head back with a questionable tilt of her head.

  “..you have my word.” he says.

  “and i suppose that is supposed to mean something to me?”

  “i swear it.” he quickly answers.

  she inhales and exhales deeply. thrumming her fingers on her arm.

  “good.” she says softly and turns to release a yawn.

  “tired?” he says as he picks her up her feet. she gasps and faces him. realizing their faces are merely inches apart she turns away.

  he takes her up to the room she had been in. “this is yours.” he sets her on the mattress and watches her expression as she examines the room. it’s ash colored uneven walls and shattered windows that would most definitely bring annoyance at night. still it had little to no cobwebs and a window she could graze out from.

  Cleo leaned against the jagged edges of the broken window frame, her gaze fixed on the fading sun as it dipped below the horizon. Her left foot, bandaged with makeshift wrappings soaked in herbal concoctions, barely grazed the floor as she shifted her weight. The pain in her ankle was a constant reminder of how far she had come, both physically and emotionally. How had she ended up here, on this perilous path? Was there any way to turn back now? Samuel and Michael... What could she possibly tell them? What would they say if they knew about her dangerous liaisons with the warlock, about the times she had narrowly escaped death?

  She slid out of the room, towards where she suspected he might be. And as she expected he was there, seated on a similar chair from downstairs, his head thrown back as he slept with his arms and legs folded.

  Her gaze softened at the sight of him having a siesta. She tiptoed towards him, her hands behind her back.

  She could see the exhaustion pulling at each of his limbs, as well as as the faint stain of blood on his shreaded clothes.

  She couldnt help but wonder where he had been and what he had been doing. But more importantly who had inflicted such wounds on him.

  She stepped closer, inspecting each crease and pore on his face. His scared face was typically what made others avoid him. She leaned down, pecking the corner of his eyes on his scared side.

  Yet to her, it was a testament she was destined for him by God Himself.

  She lowered herself to the floor and tucked her head into her folded arms, a sigh escaping her lips. “What now…?” she whispered to the silent room before sleep loomed over her.

  “We’re leaving.”

  Zadarrah’s voice broke through the silence, waking her, but his words were no surprise. Cleo had been ready to leave long before he spoke, eager for whatever awaited them on the road ahead. She could still feel the tension between them, the memory of their pounding hearts as she had squeezed past him in the doorway. She remembered how he had watched her. she had carefully avoided brushing even a strand of her hair against his clothing.

  Standing at the edge of the collapsed stairwell, the memory of their last encounter resurfaced, vivid and unsettling. Cleo inhaled sharply as Zadarrah’s hand suddenly settled on her waist, steadying her as they descended together. Her words caught in her throat, left unspoken as he effortlessly lifted her down.

  Once on solid ground, she quickly pulled away, getting to her feet. “Let me know first, before you…” Her voice trailed off as she averted her gaze, unable to meet his eyes. She couldn’t imagine what expression he would see if she did. She limped away, careful not to put too much pressure on her injured foot.

  The cold breeze outside was anything but welcoming, and Cleo rubbed her elbows, trying to ward off the chill. “Could you slow down?” she called out, her voice laced with frustration as Zadarrah strode ahead, nearly a mile in front of her. They had been walking for nearly six hours, and the relentless sun beat down on them without mercy, the sky void of any clouds to offer respite. Cleo wondered if they would ever encounter another soul; the landscape around them was a barren expanse of sand and sparse greenery.

  “Why did you bring me this far?” she demanded as she finally caught up to him, using a solid branch for support. She knew the obvious answer—that he intended to kill her, and what better place to dispose of her than in this desolate wilderness, where birds of prey would leave little trace of her remains?

  But still, she couldn’t resist asking, “Why did you change your mind about killing me?”

  Zadarrah continued walking, his expression inscrutable as he stared straight ahead. Cleo looked up at him, searching for a hint of emotion, but all she saw was a frown etched across his face.

  “What?” she asked, following his gaze. Her lips parted in awe and confusion.

  He glanced down at her, his voice cold and commanding. “Don’t touch anything. Not even me.”

  Cleo rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, “Why would I touch you?”.

  She adjusted her blouse, annoyance prickling at her as they resumed their pace, marching steadily toward the unknown and sudden oasis stretching as far as they could now see.

  Cleo asked herself when such land had come to life, just moments all she could see was sand and mirages. She then frowned as she could sense 9 people inside the oasis. Could they be responsible for this? Her frown deepened when she could barely get into any of their heads. Recognizing their strength she smiled as she tilted her head. “Joyful.” She whispered as the massacre that was soon to ensue.

  She suddenly felt zadarrahs eyes on her. Her smile faded quickly, replaced with fear and worry. “You had better not leave me behind. Or ill curse you when i get to heaven.”

  He scoffs. “You think youre going to heaven?”

  Cleo smiles as his attempt to continue the conversation with her. “All creations have wishes to meet their creator. And ours so happens to be in Heaven.”

  “Yours.” He corrects.

  Perhaps she wasn’t aware of all the rumors surrounding his hateful birth from the heart of satan himself. But of course they were noting but rumors. Malicious rumors she swore to squash soon enough.

  Cleo squints as she looks at him again. ‘Ours.’ She says mentally as they both crosse into the oasis.