The Primordial Flame

Chasing ghosts.

He crosses the stone floor in terrifying, predatory strides. In three paces, he has closed the distance, the sheer lethal presence of the seasoned scout radiating off him in suffocating waves.

He steps directly between Julian and the stairs, towering over the nobleman, his jaw corded with white-hot tension and his hands clenching into lethal, white-knuckled fists at his sides.

"Put her down," Vane rasps, his voice dropping into a lethal, venomous register, his silver eyes blazing with a dangerous mixture of territorial rage and sickening guilt. "Now."

Julian doesn't flinch. His posture remains perfectly erect, his amber eyes locking onto Vane with cool, haughty defiance, not giving an inch of ground as he holds me securely.

"And let her collapse on the flagstones?" Julian counters, his voice smooth, aristocratic, and biting with open contempt. "She gave birth hours ago, Vane. She dragged herself down two flights of stairs looking for food while you were locked away playing hero. Her knees gave out under her. If I put her down, she hits the floor."

The words strike Vane like an iron blow to the sternum.

His furious gaze snaps down to me, taking in my hollow, sweat-slicked face, the trembling of my limp hands, and the faint, bruised wince pulling at my lips.

Then his eyes dart to Collette, who is clutching Evander and Elowen tight against her belly, her golden eyes blazing with silent, furious reproach.

The colour drains completely from Vane's face, the territorial fury crumbling into staggering, horrified realisation.

"Ame..." Vane breathes, his voice suddenly fracturing, rough and undone.

He takes a half-step forward, his massive, scarred hands reaching out toward me, trembling violently in the cold mountain air. "Gods above, Ame... what are you doing out of bed?"

"I was hungry," I say softly, the words barely carrying over the tense hush of the hall. "And thirsty."

The simple, pathetic truth cuts into Vane harder than a poisoned blade. His jaw twitches, a sick hollow opening in his chest as his hands drop an inch.

Before Vane can speak, Julian turns his head, his sharp amber eyes drifting down to my bare, trembling fingers resting limply against the velvet of his collar.

"Also, you call her your wife, yet there’s no ring on her finger, Veyrith," Julian remarks, his voice dripping with smooth, biting disdain.

The words land like a slap. My brow furrows in a sudden, bruised sting, and a quiet wave of sadness washes across my face. It was an unspoken ache, a shadow between mountain vows and the brutal chaos of the guild that neither of us had ever had the luxury of formalising with gold and stone.

Vane’s eyes darken to charcoal, a muscle in his cheek jumping violently as Julian's barb hits the raw nerve. For a split second, the feral urge to tear the nobleman apart flares in his posture, but the sight of my pale, downcast face completely disarms him, leaving him looking hollowed and exposed.

"Thank you, Julian, for helping," I say softly, my voice weak but carrying the stubborn, unyielding cadence of an elite scout. "But I’d like to walk, please. I made it down. I can make it back up."

Julian glances down at me, his amber eyes softening with concern, clearly reluctant to release me. But seeing the resolute, proud set of my jaw, he lets out a quiet, resigned breath.

With measured care, Julian bends his knees and lowers me until my boots touch the cold flagstones.

The moment his support leaves my back, a vicious, dragging cramp seizes my pelvis. My breath catches sharply in my throat, a ragged hiss escaping my teeth as my knees threaten to buckle beneath me once more.

Vane moves before I can drop an inch.

He steps in, his broad, scarred arm sliding firmly behind my waist to catch my dead weight, his hand pressing flat against my ribs to anchor me.

His other hand reaches forward, hovering protectively in front of me, terrified of hurting my bruised frame but refusing to let me fall.

"Don't," Vane rasps, his deep baritone cracking with raw, desperate anguish right by my ear. "Don't punish yourself just to spit at me, Ame. Lean on me. Please."

"I’m not, Vane," I say softly, my voice trembling with exhaustion and a defensive edge that stings through the quiet hall. "I just want some independence. I don’t like being so helpless. What if something happens and I’m left alone to look after our babies? I need to be able to walk in order to do so."

The words hang in the freezing air, sharp and unsparing.

Vane recoils as if struck across the mouth.

The implication—that he would vanish when danger struck, that he would leave me alone to defend our newborns while half-broken—slices deeper than any blade he’s ever faced. His throat bobs violently, his silver eyes shimmering with a sudden, devastating moisture.

"Left alone..." Vane whispers, his voice cracking into a ragged, broken register. His hand on my waist tightens just enough to keep me from pitching forward, his thumb tracing a frantic, apologetic rhythm against the heavy wool of my robe. "Ame... you are never going to be left alone. Never again. Look at me."

Julian watches from a pace away, his amber eyes hard and calculating, though he remains silent, giving space only out of respect for my frayed strength.

Behind him, Collette steps closer, holding Evander and Elowen high against her chest as their soft whimpers begin to stir again at the chill in the lower hall.

Vane ignores everyone else in the room. He slowly sinks onto one knee right in front of me, taking my cold, trembling hands into his massive, scarred palms. He presses his forehead against my knuckles, breathing in the scent of milk, sweat, and cedar smoke that still clings to my skin.

"You aren't helpless," Vane rasps against my skin, his deep baritone shaking to its core with raw, desperate humility. "You brought two lives through a winter storm. You bled for half a day to give our clan a future. You're the strongest scout this mountain has ever seen, Ame.

But your body is torn open, and I failed you the second you woke up hungry."

He slowly lifts his head, his storm-gray eyes stripped completely of pride, raw and pleading.

"Let me carry you up those stairs," he begs in a hushed, broken murmur. "Not because you can't walk, Princess... but because my arms don't have a single purpose in this world if they aren't carrying you and our children."

A faint, yielding sigh leaves my lips, and I give Vane a small, weary nod.

"Just so you know," Collette chimed in loudly from behind him, her voice dry and unapologetic, "she barely touched her broth, so she’s probably still hungry."

I shoot Collette a sudden, sharp glare, but she only returns it with an unrepentant, knowing smirk, shifting Evander and Elowen higher into the crook of her arms where they are safely bundled against her swelling belly.

"I’ll bring some up for you," Julian offers smoothly. His amber eyes flick from me to Vane, lingering with cool, aristocratic poise that borders on open provocation. "I’m staying here for a few days while the healers do their job. I have more than enough time on my hands."

A dangerous, low vibration rumbles in Vane’s chest at Julian's words, the rogue’s territorial instincts bristling instantly. But Vane doesn't take the bait. He keeps his focus locked entirely on me, refusing to let the nobleman pull his attention away from where it truly belongs.

With infinite care, Vane rises from his knee and slides his powerful arms beneath my back and knees, lifting me effortlessly into his chest. His grip is steady as iron, yet gentler than down feathers, tucking my bruised frame close against the heat of his woolen tunic.

"Collette, bring the little ones," Vane rumbles, his voice rough and thick with suppressed emotion as he turns his back on Julian and starts up the stone stairwell. "Arden, get the door."

Julian gives a faint, mocking incline of his head from the base of the stairs, watching as Vane carries me one slow, deliberate step at a time up into the quiet sanctuary of the upper fortress. Vane’s jaw remains tight, his chin resting against my temple, his breath warm and uneven against my chilled skin.

"Hold onto my neck, Ame," Vane whispers, his voice cracking with a fierce, possessive tenderness that drowns out the entire hall below. "I’ve got you. I won't let go."

"Thank you, Julian," I call softly over Vane's broad shoulder, my cheek resting against the rough wool of his collar.

A sharp tremor ripples through Vane’s frame. His boots hit the landing with heavy, deliberate thuds, carrying us down the dim corridor away from the murmur of the hall.

Collette’s light footsteps trail just behind us, hushed by the thick sheepskin rugs.

"I don’t know why you got so upset," I murmur against the crook of his neck, my voice thin and frayed with exhaustion. "He was simply trying to help."

Vane doesn't answer until Arden pushes open our chamber door, stepping aside to let us pass. The warm wave of cedar smoke and burning pine hits us like a balm, the hearth still radiating a steady, golden heat.

Vane crosses the room and lowers me onto the feather tick with agonizing care, easing my back against the high nest of pillows. He pulls the heavy wolf pelts up over my lap before straightening, his jaw clenched so hard the corded muscle jumps beneath his skin.

"Because he looks at you like he still has a claim," Vane rasps, his deep baritone rough, quiet, and dangerously raw. He turns to Collette, his massive hands reaching out to gently take Evander and Elowen, transferring them one by one into the warm cradle of blankets beside me.

"And because he had every right to sneer at me, Ame. I left you alone. I left you cold and bleeding in this bed to chase after old ghosts, and I let another man be the one to scoop you off the floorboards."

His eyes burn down into mine, swimming with fierce, suffocating guilt.

"I wasn't angry at Julian," Vane whispers, his scarred hand lifting to hover beside my cheek, his fingers trembling before lightly tucking a damp lock of auburn hair behind my ear. "I was furious with myself."