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Tarkyn clawed a hand through his hair, then twisted the lengths into a tight, functional bun that he secured with a leather strap. He needed to face this day with clear sight.

His belly quivered at the thought.

But once he was moving, he found every time his eyes strayed to his mate’s soft skin, to her uncertain smile, every time her sweet voice reached his ears, the tension only increased.

He’d slept, but only barely. His night plagued by dreams of losing her.

Her.

Not his people.

Not his queen.

.....

Not a war, or a moral victory.

Her.

He was Defender. He was Captain. He was Emissary.

But his heart was male. Was lover. Was mate.

He’d fought it from the very first day she appeared, this tension within him. This undeniable call to protect at any cost.

It stole his breath.

He was capable. He was strong. He could get her out of this and keep her safe, bury her in the far-reaches of the unknown lands. He could have her, guarantee himself his mate and her safety… and all at the low, simple cost of his integrity.

That was the battle he’d been fighting since she arrived. And he’d thought he was winning, finding the way to balance the two. He’d thought himself successful at walking that tightrope.

He was a fool.

Twice in the night he’d found himself strategizing, planning how he might incapacitate the four guards outside of their cave, knock them senseless in the dark, then steal her away.

He’d shied from it when he’d realized what he was doing… but the thought hadn’t left him. He’d been forced to examine himself and admit…

He was a faithless, selfish traitor at his core.

And that had made him angry.

While Harth slept, he’d mentally wrestled resentment, fear, bitterness, and selfish ambition—not for power, but for her.

At some point he’d finally slept, but he’d woken angry—his very first thought a smile because he smelled her and felt her warmth, felt her eyes on him… and the very next a volcano of rage because she might be taken from him today.

And he was expected to walk into that willingly?

At times in his life and career he’d woken afraid. He’d woken angry. He’d woken having to wrestle his will into control.

He’d never woken before wanting out. He’d never woken wishing himself to be someone else. A nameless, faceless male who could take his mate and never look back. Set eyes on a future and pursue it without thought for anyone else.

He’d never imagined another person could mean enough to him that he would want to forget his own integrity. Just throw it aside like unwanted weight.

What had become of his heart?

His eyes landed on Harth’s face to answer the question, and the mating call had rolled in his throat.

Their coupling was fast, breathless, thrilling… and terrifying.

He’d grabbed for her, taken her in the purest sense of the word. She’d smiled and called to him, surrendered herself—and it only made him take more, press harder, with teeth clashing kisses and nails in her skin. He’d roared his climax with his teeth at her throat as she shuddered and clenched around him.

And when they’d both slumped, sweaty and breathless, he’d held her so tightly she’d struggled to breathe.

“Tarkyn, relax. I’m here—”

“I can’t.”

“I’m not going to—”

“It’s not you I’m worried about.”

Lies. All lies.

It was only her that he worried about, and that was the problem.

He’d failed in his life—it was impossible to succeed, to grow without losing and failing. He knew that. Taught it. Coached others towards it.

He’d failed. He’d lost. And he’d been weak.

He had never despised himself before.

And he couldn’t remember a day he’d ever wished to close his teeth on the throat of his Queen… or the Creator.

He’d had to leave Harth. Had to force himself to do it. He’d made excuses for needing to speak with Lhars, but he thought she knew, because her eyes were too round, too tense when he finally kissed her and turned his back, walking in stiff, jolting strides from the cave because if he didn’t leave, right then, he never would.

He would shift and defend.

A single lion in the mouth of this small cave—especially a desperate one—could defend against an entire legion.

They’d never touch her. He wouldn’t let them.

He shuddered, growling as he stalked through the wood—not following any trail, but rather cutting through the wood as the crow flies—the four guards who were tasked with following him, shadowing him through the trees.

None of them spoke and Tarkyn thought they knew.

They, too, were soldiers. Fighters.

He’d shown each of them nothing but respect and understanding… and they returned it in kind.

Barely able to breathe, Tarkyn turned his head slightly to find the male to his left—a tall, strong wolf that held the leadership of this little fist.

Tarkyn would have named him Sergeant, though he gathered the Chimera didn’t hold with military rank.

When their eyes met, the male nodded once, his jaw tight. Tarkyn returned it. Then abruptly stopped walking.

Around him, the four stopped too, a question in their eyes, but Tarkyn only watched their leader.

“I mean not harm to you, or any Chimera,” he said without preamble.

The male’s brows rose and his hand landed on his spear, but he nodded.

“I want no harm for the Chimera—I pray that we will leave this day brothers in arms.”

“So do I,” the male growled.

“I ask for your mercy.”

The male’s gaze flattened. “Tarkyn, we can’t leave you—”

“No, no. That’s not what I meant.” He raised his hands to soothe. “I… I need time to face my Creator. To face the future. To find… to find my strength again.”

The male gave one simple huff. “You’ll have no interference from us,” he said dryly.

“Thank you,” Tarkyn said with another nod, and then he began walking again.

Not towards camp. Not towards Harth. Not even towards Elreth.

He walked with brisk, determined steps, towards privacy. Because he was a fighter, but no one could win in a battle with the Creator. And so… as he walked to face his God, he accepted that they may be the last steps he would ever take. Because he had faced his Creator in sacrifice to find her… but he could not, would not, surrender her this soon.