Chapter 35 The Storm Between Us
Lyanna
The storm broke without warning.
One moment the sky hung low and gray, heavy but restrained. The next it split open like a wound. Rain slammed down in violent sheets, turning the road to churning mud within minutes. Cold seeped through my cloak as the fabric darkened and clung to my skin.
The wagons slowed.
Then one of them sank.
A wheel vanished into the earth with a wet, sucking sound. The mule screamed, hooves skidding wildly. Soldiers shouted as another wagon lurched sideways, its cargo shifting.
I tightened my grip on the transport rail, fingers numb.
Three days since their mad talk.
Three days since Elias had ridden ahead to clear their paths of bandits.
My body knew it even if the sky didn’t care.
The nausea had followed me since dawn—a sour roll in my stomach that never fully faded. I had barely eaten that morning. Food had become a negotiation. How much I could force down before it came back up.
A sharp whistle cut through the rain.
“Wagons off the road!” someone shouted. “They’ll bog down completely—unload!”
Another voice followed, colder.
“Omegas dismount. You walk.”
The words landed like a blow.
None of us moved at first. We stared at one another through the rain, veils plastered to our faces, shoulders hunched.
A soldier slammed his hand against the wagon.
“Now.”
I climbed down.
My boots sank instantly into mud, filthy water spilling over the tops. I stumbled and caught myself, one hand flying to my stomach before I could stop it. I forced it back to my side.
Don’t.
I adjusted my veil as rain dragged it sideways, tugging it lower to hide the pale strands of my hair. Silver always betrayed me when I was tired. When my hands shook.
The line began moving.
Mud dragged at my legs with every step. The ground shifted beneath us, uneven and treacherous, but the pace never slowed.
My breathing turned careful and shallow.
In through my nose. Out through my mouth.
The nausea clenched harder. My vision blurred.
I swallowed it down.
One step. Then another.
I did not fall.
Not yet.
Rain hammered down like punishment. Someone slipped ahead of me, dropping to one knee before a soldier hauled them upright without slowing.
Another omega doubled over, retching into the mud.
I looked away.
If I watched too long, I would join her.
I fixed my gaze on the boots ahead of me and walked.
When the order finally came to halt, my legs were trembling.
“Trees! There—under the trees!”
It was barely shelter. A thin stand of twisted trunks, branches sparse but enough to break the rain. The ground beneath them was firmer.
I staggered into the clearing and nearly collapsed.
My vision tunneled. Darkness crept at the edges.
I bent slightly, pretending to adjust my cloak while my stomach twisted violently.
Not here.
Not now.
A shadow fell across me.
“Hold.”
The voice cut through the storm.
Everything in me went still.
When had he returned?
I straightened slowly.
Elias stood just beside me, rain streaming from his cloak. His presence changed the air around him, narrowing the world to the small space we occupied.
He didn’t touch me.
Instead he turned slightly and signed, his movements sharp and precise.
Inventory check. I need assistance. You—come.
A soldier hesitated nearby.
“Sir—”
Elias simply gave him a look.
That was enough.
The soldier stepped back.
I lowered my gaze, nodded once, and followed.
The walk to his tent was short. Too short. I could feel eyes on my back the entire way.
Inside, the air smelled of wet leather and oil. Rain drummed against the canvas overhead. The flap remained open.
No privacy.
Still, the moment I stepped inside, the tension shifted.
Elias gestured to a crate.
Sit.
I obeyed, mostly because my knees were shaking.
The nausea surged the instant I stopped moving. I gripped the edge of the crate, forcing my breathing steady. My veil stayed in place.
Do not be seen.
Elias reached for a waterskin hanging from a tent pole and handed it to me. Our fingers didn’t touch, but I felt the warmth of him through the damp air.
He signed.
Drink.
I took a cautious sip.
The water tasted different.
Not the dull emptiness of ration water. Something warm lingered beneath it.
Ginger.
My stomach eased almost immediately.
I looked up, startled.
Elias was watching my face.
His brow furrowed slightly.
What? he signed.
I hesitated, then answered.
You added something.
He glanced at the flask as if remembering it.
Ginger. You’ve been swallowing too often.
Heat crept into my face.
I’m fine, I signed.
He watched my hands, then my expression.
No, you’re not. You haven’t eaten properly in days.
My pulse tripped.
I signed it again, slower.
I’m fine.
He ignored that.
Instead his gaze shifted downward—to my stance, the way I favored one foot without realizing it.
Your leg, he signed. How bad?
I stilled.
It’s fine.
Too quick.
His eyes sharpened.
You’re favoring it.
Wind rattled the tent poles.
I adjusted my weight instinctively.
It healed, I signed.
Mostly, he corrected. Not for this terrain.
He stepped closer. Still careful not to touch.
How long has it hurt?
I hesitated.
Since the mud swallowed the road. Since the cold settled into the bone.
Just tired.
His jaw tightened.
You’re not convincing.
I hated that he noticed. Hated that part of me was relieved he did.
You stopped twice before the trees, he continued. Your breathing isn’t steady.
You don’t need to worry about me.
That earned a sharper look.
I do.
The words seemed to surprise him.
He continued before the silence stretched.
You don’t get to be “fine” if you plan to leave this caravan alive.
Leave.
So certain.
He had already accepted it—my escape, my disappearance.
If I can’t adjust the pace, he signed, you won’t make it far enough to disappear.
Disappear.
Freedom.
My fingers hesitated before moving.
The leg. It pulls worse in the cold.
His gaze dropped to the shift in my posture. Calculation flickered behind his eyes.
Then he signed again.
And the nausea.
I froze.
Of course he noticed that too.
He pressed the waterskin back into my hands.
Finish it.
I drank more deeply this time.
The ginger spread warmth through my chest, settling the sour churn in my stomach.
My shoulders relaxed slightly.
Elias noticed.
Rain and exhaustion will worsen it, he signed. If you develop a fever—
His hand lifted toward my forehead.
Instinct.
For a moment I forgot to breathe.
He stopped himself.
His fingers curled slowly before they reached my skin.
Restraint.
Instead he adjusted my cloak, lifting the soaked fabric from where it clung too tightly and settling it higher around my shoulders to block the chill.
Even then, his knuckles never touched me.
Outside, a guard shouted. Another omega cried out.
I flinched.
Elias heard it. Something cold moved behind his expression.
I studied him—the man who measured my breathing in the rain, who slipped ginger into my water without comment, who stopped his own hand rather than touch me uninvited.
Outside the tent, men from his country barked orders at omegas like animals.
Why him?
My hands moved before I could stop them.
Thank you.
He inclined his head once.
You won’t leave this caravan unless you’re strong enough to survive it.
Then, quieter:
No pretending. Not with me.
The tent flap shifted.
“Commander.”
Elias turned instantly. Whatever warmth had been there vanished.
“What.”
“There’s an issue with the rear escort.”
His jaw tightened.
“Of course there is.”
He glanced at me once more. The message was clear.
Stay.
Then he stepped back into the rain.
I remained on the crate, hands folded in my lap, heart pounding in the dim tent.
Voices rose outside.
“You overstepped.”
“I followed protocol.”
“You endangered them.”
Silence followed.
Then I felt it.
Not nausea.
Not pain.
Attention.
The prickling awareness of being watched.
I shifted slightly, glancing toward the open tent flap.
Through the rain and movement, someone stood too still.
Watching.
Not Elias.
Someone else had their eyes on me.