The Guy Named Nali

Ten

The night wrapped itself around them like a shroud, the forest below nothing more than a shifting shadow. Somewhere in the distance, a branch cracked, a harmless sound this time, too irregular to be the careful step of a trained killer.

Nali hadn’t moved since he’d settled her against him on the ledge. His arm was still draped across her shoulders, a barrier against both the cold and whatever might still stalk them. Selena could feel the faint, steady weight of his hand resting against her upper arm, each subtle shift of his fingers making the mark at her collarbone ache with a strange, quiet pulse.

At first, all she could think about was the nearness of him, how his body shielded her from the open air at her side, how his breath warmed the shell of her ear. She told herself she was only staying close because of the cold, that she was only leaning into him because the stone wall behind her was too hard to rest against.

But then she noticed something else. He was warm. Not the way most people were warm from the outside in skin chilled, but heat beneath. His warmth seemed to radiate outward, like a banked fire beneath his skin. It seeped into her shoulder where they touched, into the side of her thigh where it brushed against his.

She had always imagined him cold. Everything about him suggested it, the stillness, the measured words, the way his eyes seemed carved from something unyielding. A man like him shouldn’t have felt alive in such a human way. And yet here he was, his warmth wrapping around her in the dark like something deliberate.

Her fingers, tucked between them, shifted just slightly. The movement was small enough that it could have been an accident, but the moment her knuckles brushed his side, the heat there confirmed it wasn’t her imagination. She tried to pull back, embarrassed at the thought of being caught… curious.

His arm tightened slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her of two things: she wasn’t going anywhere without his permission, and he noticed everything.

“Something wrong?” His voice was low, the question sounding almost casual. Almost.

“No,” she said quickly, hoping the darkness hid the flush in her cheeks. “I was just—”

“Rest,” he interrupted, as though the topic wasn’t worth pursuing.

It should have been easy to obey. The adrenaline of the chase had drained her, leaving her muscles heavy, her eyelids tugged down by fatigue. But the warmth kept her awake. Not uncomfortably just insistently. It was impossible to ignore, like being aware of a candle’s flame in a dark room.

Every so often, the wind would shift, and she’d catch the faintest change in his scent, smoke and steel, yes, but also something sharper, something like cedar bark peeled fresh from a tree. It felt… alive.

She found herself wondering if it was part of what he was, or just him. The thought was ridiculous. She didn’t even know exactly what he was. She’d pieced together fragments, strength beyond human, speed like a shadow moving faster than the eye could follow, that mark on her collarbone that pulsed when he was near. None of it explained the heat.

She closed her eyes, trying to will herself into sleep, but that only made her more aware of the subtle movements he made when he shifted his weight. Even sitting perfectly still, he carried a coiled readiness in him, like a predator poised to spring. And yet, when his hand adjusted slightly against her arm, the motion was unhurried, measured in a way that made her think he was aware of exactly how much pressure to use, exactly how much contact to keep.

The warmth sank deeper into her, settling low in her chest. She tried to focus on the sounds of the forest instead. A distant owl. The whisper of leaves. The faint scrape of his boot against stone when he shifted again.

She risked opening her eyes. The world was all shadow, but his profile was just visible in the faint spill of moonlight, sharp jaw, high cheekbones, eyes fixed on some point she couldn’t see. Watching. Always watching.

And then his gaze flicked down to her. It was brief, just a glance but it felt like he’d peeled back the darkness and found the exact thoughts she was trying not to have. Her breath caught.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t smirk, didn’t make a remark. Just turned his head back toward the forest. But his arm didn’t move.

When the first thin line of dawn touched the horizon, he shifted for the first time in hours. “We move,” he said simply.

Her muscles protested when she pushed herself upright, stiff from holding the same position all night. She rubbed her arms, expecting to feel the morning chill bite through her clothes but the warmth lingered.

She glanced at him, opening her mouth to ask something she wasn’t even sure what but stopped. His expression was the same as always, unreadable.

She followed him down from the ledge, careful where she placed her feet on the narrow path. His hand hovered close to her back whenever the rock crumbled underfoot not touching, but near enough that she knew he could catch her before she fell. The memory of his body heat clung to her all the way down the cliff.

That night, after they made camp in a small hollow between two boulders, she found herself hesitating before lying down.

The firelight cast his features in gold and shadow, making him look even more unreal. He sat cross-legged beside the flames, sharpening a blade with smooth, even strokes. The sound was rhythmic, almost soothing if not for the knowledge of what that blade could do.

She should have been exhausted enough to sleep instantly. Instead, she lay staring up at the jagged cut of the night sky through the rocks, listening to the steady scrape of steel. She told herself she wasn’t waiting for him to speak. And yet, when the sound stopped, her heartbeat jumped.

His shadow fell across her before she heard him move. He crouched beside her, resting his forearm casually across one knee.

“You’re awake.” Not a question.

She swallowed. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He studied her for a moment. The firelight caught in his eyes, making them burn faintly gold.

“Because of me,” he said. It wasn’t exactly a guess.

She almost denied it. Almost. But then her fingers brushed her own collarbone, finding the faint warmth there again, and the truth rose like heat from embers. “Maybe,” she admitted softly.

His gaze lingered on her face for a heartbeat too long. Then he straightened, the moment breaking like the surface of still water.

“Sleep,” he said again, turning away.

But when she finally drifted off, she thought just for a moment that she felt that same steady warmth again, close enough to chase away the cold.

TO BE CONTINUED...