Chapter 89
Chapter 89
Amelia’s POV
The fire burned low.
I should have slept. I should have let exhaustion drag me under, safe in Demian’s arms, safe in the heat of his heartbeat beneath my ear. But sleep never came—not with Klaus’s words replaying in my head.
“Something I can’t name.”
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face across the fire, shadow and flame dancing over sharp angles and a gaze that stripped me bare.
And every time, guilt twisted like knives in my chest.
Because Demian was here. He was mine, and I was his. His arms held me tighter when I shifted restlessly, his lips pressed into my hair as if to anchor me. He trusted me.
So why couldn’t I stop thinking about his brother?
\---
Dawn came slow, gray and merciless. Snow crunched underfoot as we set out again, the cold slicing through my bones. My legs screamed, my lungs burned, but I forced myself to keep pace. I wouldn’t falter. Not again.
Demian kept close, always half-turned toward me. His hand brushed my back when I stumbled, his eyes softened when he thought I wasn’t looking. That warmth steadied me more than he could know.
But every time I caught myself leaning too much into him, every time I felt the ache of dependence, I remembered Klaus’s hands correcting my grip on the blade. His voice low in my ear: “If you’re going to stay at his side, you should at least know how not to die.”
I hated that those words felt like strength.
\---
By midday, Corrin was muttering curses again, his breath fogging in sharp bursts. “Bloody snow. Bloody wolves. Bloody fate dragging us through this wasteland.”
“Shut it,” Kira snapped, though her voice carried the same weariness.
Elian ignored them both, eyes fixed on the trees, as if daring the shadows to move.
I walked in silence, Demian’s hand brushing mine every so often. But my attention kept sliding back.
To Klaus.
He trailed just behind us, his stride steady, his expression carved from stone. Yet every time my step faltered, every time my breath hitched, his gaze flicked my way.
Not with scorn. Not anymore.
With something worse.
Concern.
\---
When we stopped for water, my legs nearly gave out as I sank onto a fallen trunk. Demian crouched immediately in front of me, worry etched in every line of his face.
“You’re pushing too hard.”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly.
“You’re not fine. Your lips are blue, Amelia.” His hands caught mine, rubbing warmth into my frozen fingers. “We need to stop longer. You need rest.”
I shook my head. “If we stop, we fall behind. You said yourself—they’re close.”
His jaw flexed. “I don’t care.”
But I did. I couldn’t be the reason we slowed, not again.
Before I could argue, a shadow loomed to my side.
Klaus.
He held out his waterskin. Not to Demian. To me.
“Drink,” he said simply.
My throat tightened. I hesitated, glancing at Demian. His eyes narrowed, sharp and dangerous.
“She doesn’t need—”
“Yes, I do,” I interrupted, surprising myself. I reached for the waterskin before I could think better of it.
Demian’s head snapped toward me, shock flashing across his face. But I lifted the flask to my lips, the cold water burning down my throat like fire.
When I handed it back, Klaus’s fingers brushed mine. Deliberate.
“Better,” he murmured.
I swallowed hard, my pulse stumbling. “Thank you.”
Demian rose slowly to his feet, stepping between us like a wall of fury barely held in check. “Stay away from her.”
Klaus’s gaze didn’t waver. “If you want her alive, maybe stop coddling her and let her stand.”
Demian’s growl vibrated low and dangerous. “She’s mine to protect.”
“And mine to judge,” Klaus snapped back.
The words cracked the air open like lightning.
I rose unsteadily, my voice sharp. “Enough!”
Both brothers froze, their eyes swinging to me.
“I don’t need you fighting over me like I’m some possession,” I said, my voice trembling but loud. “I chose to be here. I chose to fight. And if either of you thinks I can’t handle myself, then maybe you don’t know me at all.”
The silence that followed was heavier than snow.
Demian’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. Klaus’s eyes softened, almost imperceptibly.
I turned away before either of them could speak, forcing my legs back into motion. My chest heaved, my heart slamming.
But beneath the fury, beneath the guilt… a dangerous truth whispered through me.
Part of me had wanted Klaus to argue.
Part of me had wanted him to look at me the way he did—like I was more than chains, more than weakness.
And gods help me… part of me liked it.
\---
The hours bled together, step after punishing step. My body screamed, but my mind was louder. Every glance, every word between the brothers pressed down like storm clouds ready to break.
By the time night fell, the tension was suffocating.
We built the fire in near silence. Demian sat close, his arm tight around me, his body radiating warmth I clung to. But across the flames, Klaus sat where he always did—watching. Always watching.
And I hated myself for watching back.
\---
Later, when the others had drifted toward uneasy sleep, I shifted in Demian’s arms, unable to stay still. My eyes caught Klaus’s again.
This time, I didn’t look away.
“Why?” I whispered.
He tilted his head. “Why what?”
“Why are you—different?” The word felt fragile on my tongue.
For a long moment, he only stared. Then he said quietly, “Maybe I misjudged you.”
My breath caught.
His eyes didn’t waver. “Maybe you’re not weakness. Maybe you’re something else.”
The fire popped, throwing sparks into the dark. My heart hammered so loud I was sure Demian could hear it.
But he didn’t stir. He slept, trusting me. Trusting me even as I sat here, letting his brother’s gaze undo me.
I swallowed hard, tearing my eyes away.
But even when I buried my face against Demian’s chest, Klaus’s words echoed in my mind.
Not weakness. Something else.
And for the first time, I dared to wonder what that something might be.
\---
The days ahead blurred, each one colder, harsher, heavier. The wolves still followed, their howls threading through the trees like promises of blood. But worse than that was the storm building between the three of us—silent, sharp, waiting to break.
Every kindness from Klaus cut deeper. Every touch from Demian felt both salvation and guilt.
And me?
I was caught in the middle.