THE STORM

The sky didn't turn gray; it turned green.

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‎We were three hours north of the camp, deep in the rocky foothills of the Dead Zone. Dr. Aris needed Nightshade Root for the antidote prototype, and Kaelen had insisted on leading the harvesting party himself.

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‎"It’s not safe for you to be out here," Kaelen had argued.

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‎"I know what the root looks like," I had countered. "You’ll pull up weeds. I’ll pull up medicine."

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‎So, we had gone. Just the two of us, moving quickly through the dense underbrush. 

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‎But now, the air pressure dropped so fast my ears popped. The wind died instantly, leaving an eerie, suffocating silence.

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‎Kaelen stopped dead in his tracks. He lifted his nose to the air, his nostrils flaring.

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‎"Run," he said.

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‎"What?"

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‎"Storm," he barked, grabbing my hand. "A bad one. Move!"

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‎He didn't wait for me to argue. He hauled me forward, setting a pace that made my healing ankle twinge.

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‎Seconds later, the sky opened up.

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‎It wasn't just rain. It was a deluge. Water fell in sheets so thick it was like walking through a waterfall. The temperature plummeted instantly, turning the humid afternoon into a freezing nightmare. Thunder cracked directly overhead, shaking the ground.

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‎"We can't make it back to camp!" I yelled over the roar of the wind. My clothes were soaked through in seconds, clinging to my skin like ice.

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‎"I know!" Kaelen shouted back. He scanned the cliff face to our right, wiping water from his eyes. "There! Up there!"

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‎He pointed to a dark fissure in the rock, about twenty feet up a scramble of loose boulders.

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‎"Climb!"

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‎He boosted me up the first ledge. I clawed at the wet stone, my fingernails breaking, slipping on the moss. Kaelen was right behind me, his hand warm and steady on my back, pushing me upward.

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‎We scrambled into the opening just as a bolt of lightning struck a pine tree fifty yards away. The tree exploded in a shower of sparks and wood, the thunder deafening us.

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‎We collapsed onto the dry, dusty floor of the cave, gasping for air.

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‎The cave was small—barely deep enough for two people to sit, with a low ceiling that forced Kaelen to hunch over. Outside, the world had turned into a gray wall of water.

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‎I wrapped my arms around myself, my teeth chattering instantly. "I-I-It’s f-freezing."

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‎Kaelen looked at me. His hair was plastered to his skull, water dripping from his nose and chin. But unlike me, he wasn't shivering. Shifters ran hot—their natural body temperature was nearly 102 degrees.

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‎"You're turning blue," he observed, his voice grim.

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‎He moved to the back of the cave, gathering a pile of dried leaves and twigs that had blown in. He pulled a flint striker from his belt. Within minutes, a small fire was crackling, casting dancing orange shadows on the limestone walls.

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‎It helped, but not enough. The cold from my wet clothes was seeping into my bones.

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‎"You need to take them off," Kaelen said, not looking at me. He was staring into the fire.

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‎"What?"

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‎"Your clothes," he said flatly. "They're soaked. You'll get hypothermia if you keep them on."

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‎I hesitated. I was wearing the flannel shirt and trousers, but underneath, I only had a thin camisole and undergarments.

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‎"I'll turn around," Kaelen said. He shifted his position so his broad back was essentially a wall between me and the entrance. He pulled off his own soaked shirt, wringing it out with a splash, and laid it on a rock near the fire. The firelight danced across the scars on his back—the burn marks, the claw marks.

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‎I swallowed hard. My hands shook as I unbuttoned the flannel shirt. I peeled off the heavy, wet wool trousers. I laid them near the fire, shivering violently in my underthings.

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‎"D-done," I stuttered.

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‎Kaelen didn't turn around yet. He reached for his leather jacket—which had been relatively dry inside out—and tossed it backward over his shoulder.

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‎"Put that on."

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‎I grabbed the jacket. It was heavy, lined with fleece, and smelled overwhelmingly of him. I pulled it around me, burying my nose in the collar. It was like wearing a hug.

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‎"Better?" he asked, finally turning to face me.

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‎He sat cross-legged by the fire, shirtless, the flames illuminating the tribal tattoos on his chest.

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‎"A little," I whispered, pulling my knees to my chest. "Thank you."

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‎The storm raged outside, sealing us in a bubble of silence. 

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‎The intimacy of the small space was suffocating.

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‎"Tell me about your leg," I said suddenly, needing to fill the silence. "Rhea told me you carried her."

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‎Kaelen looked at the fire, his expression darkening. "Rhea talks too much."

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‎"She said you saved her during the Night of Ash."

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‎Kaelen picked up a twig and snapped it in half. "I didn't save her. I just didn't let her die. There's a difference."

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‎"You were fourteen, Kaelen," I said softly. "You were a child."

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‎He looked at me for sometime seemingly fighting the urge to not open up.

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‎"I stopped being a child the moment Julius's men kicked down our door," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I hid Rhea in the cellar. I listened to my mother scream my name. She wasn't screaming for help. She was screaming 'Run'."

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‎He looked up at me, his gray eyes haunted.

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‎"I wanted to run out there. I wanted to fight them. But if I had... they would have found Rhea. So I stayed in the dark. I held my hand over her mouth while they slaughtered everyone we loved."

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‎He threw the twig into the fire.

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‎"That's not bravery, Celeste. That's cowardice. I survived because I hid."

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‎"No," I said fiercely. "That’s sacrifice. You sacrificed your need for revenge to save your sister. That’s what an Alpha does."

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‎Kaelen looked at me, surprised by my vehemence.

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‎"And you?" he asked, turning the tables. "What happened to your mother? You have the Violet Gene. She must have been powerful."

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‎I touched the silver comb in my hair—the only piece of her I had left.

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‎"She was," I whispered. "She was a slave in my father's pack. But she had magic. Real magic. She could move things with her mind."

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‎I stared into the flames, seeing the memory of the violet eyes.

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‎"Julius, through my stepmom sent assassins for us too. My father found us... but he was too late."

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‎I felt a tear slip down my cheek. I wiped it away quickly.

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‎"I hid too, Kaelen," I confessed. "Under the floorboards. I watched her die. So if you're a coward... then so am I."

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‎Kaelen moved then.

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‎He didn't walk; he shifted his weight, sliding across the dirt floor until he was sitting right next to me.

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‎He didn't touch me. He just sat close enough that his body heat radiated against my shivering side.

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‎"We aren't cowards," he murmured, his voice rough. "We are the ones left behind. The ones who have to carry the ghosts."

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‎I looked at him. Up close, the scar on his jaw wasn't scary. It was just a line of white skin, a testament to survival.

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‎"I'm cold," I whispered, though it wasn't entirely true anymore. 

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‎Kaelen hesitated. His hand hovered near my shoulder.

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‎"Come here," he commanded softly.

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‎He opened his arm.

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‎I didn't hesitate. I scuttled closer, tucking myself against his side. He wrapped his arm around me, pulling me flush against his bare chest.

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‎The contact was electric. The bond hummed—a low, contented purr in my chest. Home. Home. Home.

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‎He was so warm. Hard muscle and soft skin. I rested my head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of rain and smoke.

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‎"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice tight.

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‎"Yes," I breathed.

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‎He rested his chin on the top of my head. I felt his muscles relax, the tension draining out of him for the first time since I’d met him.

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‎"You're small," he muttered. "Too small for this war."

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‎"I'm learning to bite," I reminded him sleepily.

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‎I felt his chest rumble with a silent chuckle.

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‎"Yeah. You are."

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‎The storm raged on outside, wind howling like a banshee. But inside the cave, wrapped in the arms of the man who was supposed to be my enemy, the world felt still.

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‎We didn't speak again. We just sat there, two broken children of war, holding each other in the dark, keeping the ghosts at bay for one more night.