The forest had fallen silent after the clash only the whisper of the wind carried through the broken branches. You stood still, breath shallow, bow still raised though the threat was gone. Your fingers trembled slightly, the sting of adrenaline fading. Behind you, footsteps slow, heavy, familiar. The assassin emerged from the shadows, his cloak torn, blade dripping red. Even bloodied, he moved like death itself, silent and graceful.

He stopped when he saw you, his jaw tight, eyes flicking from the cut on your cheek to the trembling of your hands. “You think I’ll let my woman fight alone?” he muttered, voice rough with restrained fury. His hand caught your wrist, pulling you closer until you could feel the warmth of his breath against your temple.

You wanted to tell him you didn’t need protection that you could fight but his hold said otherwise. Beneath the cold exterior, there was fear. Not for himself, but for you. He was a man who had faced a thousand blades without flinching, yet the sight of you bleeding made him tremble. In that silent forest, his obsession was clear he would kill, burn, and destroy anyone who dared to touch what was his.