The Guy Named Nali

Eight

The night was clear, the stars like a thousand pinpricks in the black sky. The cliffside wind whispered through the trees, tugging gently at her hair, carrying the smell of pine and the faint tang of stone.

Selena lay curled beneath her blanket, back to the fire, but sleep wouldn’t come. The mark at her collarbone pulsed in slow, steady beats, each one a quiet reminder that the man sitting just beyond the firelight had claimed whether she had agreed to it or not. She could feel his eyes. Not heavy, not demanding, just… there. Watching.

Finally, she turned over, propping herself up on one elbow. “What?”

Nali was still in that same position, cross-legged, his blade resting idle in his lap this time. His gaze held hers for a long moment before he answered. “You don’t sleep easily.”

She huffed a small laugh. “With you sitting there staring at me? No. Not exactly dream material.”

Something flickered at the corner of his mouth, too quick to be called a smile, but not nothing either. He reached down, picked up a small stick, and poked idly at the fire. Sparks rose and drifted up into the night.

“Most people I’ve been near,” he said slowly, “don’t sleep at all.”

Her brow furrowed. “Because they don’t trust you?”

He gave a faint shrug. “Because they had reason not to.”

There was weight to the way he said it like an unspoken history sat between them. She shifted, curiosity tugging despite herself. “And I… have reason to?”

His gaze lifted from the fire to her face. “If I wanted to harm you, little one, I wouldn’t be waiting for you to fall asleep.”

She didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so she stayed quiet, hugging her blanket closer.

For a while, the only sounds were the fire’s gentle crackle and the distant rush of wind over the cliffs. Then, to her surprise, he spoke again, his tone quieter this time, almost reluctant. “I was born in the mountain valleys called Floves, far north of Artic. Snow falls half the year, ice on the rivers until late spring.”

Her head tilted slightly. He’d never told her anything about himself before, not where he came from, not even if Nali was his real name.

“I didn’t have much,” he continued, eyes fixed on the flames, “but the land… it gives you what you can take from it. My mother used to tell me the snow listened. That if you stood still long enough, it would speak back.”

It was strange, hearing him talk about something so… human. No threat behind his words. No calculated edge. Just memory.

“What happened to her?” she asked before she could stop herself.

His jaw tightened. “She died when I was still a boy. After that, there was no one left to listen to the snow.”

The firelight caught the faint line of a scar along his cheek as he glanced her way. “I left the valleys soon after. Haven’t been back.”

She sat up a little more, studying him. “And you never… wanted to?”

He shook his head once. “The past has nothing for me.”

But there was something in his voice, something quiet and hidden that told her it wasn’t entirely true.

Silence settled between them again, softer this time. The air didn’t feel so sharp. She found herself staring at him, trying to reconcile this version, the man who spoke of icy rivers and a mother who believed in listening to snow with the one who had dragged her wrist into his grip like it was nothing, who had killed without hesitation. It was hard to tell which was more dangerous.

“You smiled,” she said suddenly, before she could lose the thought.

One of his brows lifted. “When?”

“Just now. Or… something close to it. First time I’ve seen you do that.”

His lips quirked again, faint but undeniable this time. “Maybe you weren’t looking before.”

She shook her head. “No. I was looking.”

For the briefest moment, his eyes warmed not much, just a shade softer but it was enough to make her pulse stutter.

The fire crackled, throwing shifting shadows across his face, and she realized the change unsettled her more than the constant danger ever had. Because if he could be like this, if he could offer softness even in fragments… It would be that much harder to resist him.

The wind grew colder as the night deepened. Without looking at her, he said, “Move closer to the fire.”

“I’m fine,” she murmured.

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated, a little more firmly.

This time, he did look at her long enough that she felt the weight of it down her spine. Then he set his blade aside completely and stood, stepping around the fire until he was beside her.

Before she could protest, he crouched and pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders. His hands were so warm, surprisingly so for someone who seemed made of steel and winter and the simple contact sent a rush of heat through her that had nothing to do with the flames.

“There,” he said softly. “Better.”

She stared at him, searching for some trace of mockery in his face, but there was none. Just that same unsettling calm.

“Why are you being…” She trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

His head tilted slightly. “What?”

“Like this.”

A faint pause. “Because you’re mine,” he said again, but this time the words lacked the cold edge they’d carried before. This time, they almost sounded… protective.

The mark at her collarbone pulsed in answer, and she hated that part of her welcomed it.

They stayed like that longer than she meant to her seated, the blanket tight around her, him crouched nearby with one hand braced casually against the ground. The firelight painted his face in gold and shadow, making it hard to tell where the danger ended and something gentler began.

Eventually, he stood, stepping back to his place across the fire. But his gaze lingered a second longer before turning to the darkness beyond.

She lay back down, pulling the blanket closer, her heart still unsettled. The wind whispered through the trees, and she wondered if it carried voices only he could hear. And for the first time since meeting him, she found herself wanting to.

TO BE CONTINUED...