Her pov

The roar split through the jungle so suddenly that my body reacted before my mind did. I turned, and the tiger hit me. One moment I was running through the jungle to reach home branches whipping against my skin, lungs burning from the climb and the next a striped blur exploded out of the trees and slammed into me with enough force to throw me against a massive trunk. Pain burst across my back; the world shook; mud filled my mouth. I rolled instantly; a massive paw struck the ground where my head had been a breath earlier. The earth shook beneath the impact; I pushed myself up on one knee, breath tearing through my lungs, rain dripping into my eyes. The tiger stood only a few steps away now, shoulders rolling beneath striped skin, tail lashing through the bushes. Something must have disturbed it.

Another roar exploded from its throat and the sound vibrated inside my ribs.

I tightened my grip around the short spear in my hand and lowered my stance automatically — one foot behind me in the mud, knees bent, body turned sideways.

Do not face it head-on. Do not let it pin you.

Do not fall beneath its weight.

The lessons screamed through my head even as fear clawed its way up my throat.

The tiger lunged.

I moved sharply left. Claws sliced across my arm; fire ripped through my side. I hissed through my teeth but forced myself not to stumble. My fingers caught a hanging vine overhead, and I swung with the momentum before the tiger could crush me beneath another strike. I raised the spear horizontally rather than aiming the tip at it. Killing a tiger with a short hunting spear was madness. Survival came first. It was already evening, and being late here in the deep jungle would only attract problems; suddenly, the tiger attacked again. I tried escaping. “Haah!”

The sound ripped from my throat before I realized I made it. Loud. Sharp. Challenging. The moment it leapt, I planted my foot deep into the mud and shoved the shaft of the spear against the side of its neck with every ounce of strength in my body.

The impact nearly snapped my arms backward.

Its weight still struck me.

We both crashed down the slope together. Everything became chaos.

Its jaws snapped beside my face so loudly my ears rang. I shoved my forearm beneath its throat immediately, locking my elbow against its jaw to keep its teeth away from my neck.

Its breath was hot.

Rotten.

My muscles screamed as I fought its weight. One claw tore across my thigh. The tiger’s weight crushed the breath out of me.

Its paw slammed against my shoulder, forcing me flat into the mud. My back hit the ground hard enough to rattle my skull, and suddenly all I could see was striped fur, flashing teeth, rain pouring from whiskers.

I shoved both hands against its throat desperately.

It did nothing.

The beast snarled directly over me, jaws opening wider, hot breath flooding across my face.

Too heavy.

Gods—

Too heavy.

My arms trembled violently beneath its strength. Mud soaked through my hair, my clothes, my skin. One claw pressed into the earth beside my neck, deep enough to disappear into the soil.

I could not move. Panic finally struck me then. Real panic. The kind that freezes the spine cold.

The tiger roared inches from my face and lowered its head—

Then suddenly jerked sideways. A sharp metallic sound rang through the jungle.

The pressure vanished.

I sucked in air so violently my chest hurt.

The tiger twisted away from me with a furious snarl, and through blurred vision I finally saw him.

A man.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

He had driven a sword into the tiger’s shoulder — not deep enough to kill, but enough to drag its attention away from me.

The tiger swung toward him instantly.

He barely dodged.

Its claws tore across his arm anyway, shredding cloth and skin together. My breath caught.

The man hissed sharply but did not retreat. Instead, he stepped forward again.

Toward the tiger.

What kind of madman—

The tiger lunged at him, and he twisted sideways at the last second, one hand gripping a low branch above him to pull his body away from its jaws. His boots slid through mud as he landed hard on one knee.

Fast.

Very fast.

But the tiger was faster.

It spun immediately and struck him across the chest.

He crashed into a tree trunk hard enough to shake leaves loose overhead.

I froze.

For one stupid heartbeat, I stared.

The man pushed himself upright again, breathing heavily now, sword still clenched in his hand despite blood pouring from his arm.

And somehow he looked directly at the tiger instead of his wounds.

As he had already decided dying was acceptable.

The tiger crouched low.

Ready to spring again.

No.

My trance shattered instantly.

“Move!” I shouted.

The man’s head snapped toward me just as I grabbed the hanging vine beside me and swung forward.

The tiger leapt toward him—

And I slammed directly into its side with both feet. The impact knocked the beast off course midair. Not enough to stop it.

Enough to ruin the attack.

The man reacted immediately.

As the tiger crashed sideways, he drove his shoulder beneath its neck and shoved with all his strength, redirecting its momentum away from both of us.

We scattered in opposite directions. The tiger roared furiously.

I landed badly, knees sinking into mud, while the man slid several feet before regaining balance.

For one brief moment, our eyes met.  Understanding. No words, just instinct.

The tiger charged again. This time toward me.

I ducked low beneath its paw while the man came from the side, slashing his sword toward its flank. The tiger twisted away from the blade instantly and turned toward him instead—

Exactly what I needed.

I grabbed a broken branch from the ground and jammed it sideways into the tiger’s jaws before it could fully bite down on him.

Its teeth snapped around wood instead.

The man drove his elbow hard against its neck and shoved backward.

“Down!” he barked.

I dropped instantly.

His sword swung over my head.

The blade sliced across the tiger’s shoulder. Blood sprayed across wet leaves.

The beast roared violently and reared upward. The man grabbed my arm and yanked me sideways just before the tiger’s claws struck downward where I had been kneeling.

We both crashed together behind a fallen tree trunk.

His hand was still around my wrist. For half a second neither of us moved.

Then the tiger circled the log with another growl.

The man released me immediately and rose first, sword lifted despite the way blood soaked his sleeve.

I pushed myself up beside him, knife clenched tightly in my hand. Our breathing came rough and uneven now.

The tiger prowled before us, tail lashing violently. Waiting for weakness. The man shifted slightly.

Not away from me.

Closer.

Creating a shared angle between us.

And suddenly I understood the rhythm forming between us. He forced its attention. I disrupted its attacks. He created openings. I used speed. The tiger sprang. He met it head-on.

I grabbed the hanging vine above me and swung upward while the man drove his sword toward the ground directly beneath the tiger’s front paw.

The blade buried into mud.

Not the tiger.

But the sudden obstruction forced the beast to twist awkwardly to avoid snapping its own leg.

It roared in frustration. I landed behind it instantly. The man pulled the sword free.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Everything began flowing together.

The tiger attacked high — I disrupted low.

The man forced it sideways — I created distance.

When I stumbled, he was already there, blocking its path.

When his footing slipped in mud, I distracted the beast before it could capitalize.

No words. Only instinct. Only survival.

Then, without warning, it turned toward me.

Not him.

Me.

I realized it too late. My injured leg slipped slightly in the mud as I tried to move, and the tiger caught the hesitation immediately. Its entire body twisted with terrifying speed, muscles bunching beneath its coat before it launched straight toward me.

There was barely enough time to breathe.

I raised my knife instinctively, but the man moved first.

He threw himself between us, striking the tiger from the side with a roar as his sword drove toward its shoulder. The force of the attack knocked the beast off its path, but the tiger twisted in midair with a furious snarl, turning its rage on the man who had dared to intercept it.

Its claws came down across his chest.

A horrible sound tore through the silence.

My breath caught as the man staggered violently from the impact, yet somehow he remained standing. Blood began to spill across the front of his kurta (tunic) almost immediately, dark streams running down his chest as he tightened his grip around his sword.

The tiger roared directly into his face.

For one terrible moment, neither of them moved.

Then the beast backed away.

Slowly.

Its eyes remained fixed on him as though it were trying to decide whether he was still a threat. The man stood his ground, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths, his sword still clenched in his hand despite the blood pouring from his chest.

The tiger watched him for another long moment before finally turning away.

With a final flick of its tail, it disappeared between the trees and into the deeper shadows of the jungle.

Silence descended in its wake.

The man did not move.

I stared at him for a moment, afraid that if I looked away, even for a heartbeat, something worse would happen. Then I forced myself forward, taking one careful step through the mud, followed by another.

“Hey…”

He gave me no response.

His sword slipped from his fingers and struck the ground with a dull sound.

That was when his knees finally gave way.

I moved before I could think.

I caught him just as he collapsed, throwing one arm around his back while trying to keep his weight from dragging both of us into the mud. He was heavier than I expected, and the sudden force nearly sent me sprawling beneath him.

A sharp breath escaped him as his body folded against mine.

Then I felt the blood.

It was warm, spreading rapidly across my hands as I pressed them against the deep claw marks that tore across his chest.

Too much.

Gods, there was too much blood.

“Hey.”

My voice came out sharper than I intended.

I tightened my grip around him when his weight sagged further against me.

“No. No, don’t do that.”

I dropped fully to my knees, pulling him closer and pressing harder against the wounds, even though I knew the pressure could not possibly be enough.

He flinched weakly.

Good.

Pain meant consciousness.

“Stay awake,” I muttered quickly. “You do not get to fight a tiger and die afterward like an idiot.”

His eyes opened halfway at that.

Strands of dark hair had fallen across his forehead, and his face had lost the controlled, unshakable expression I had grown so accustomed to seeing since the moment I first heard the loud metallic ring of his sword.

His breathing had changed.

It was no longer the steady, controlled breathing of the man who had just stood between a tiger and me. Each breath came shallow and uneven, as though even drawing air into his lungs had become an effort.

For a moment he looked like he was trying to remember where he was.

Then his gaze shifted toward me, unfocused.

“You…” he breathed roughly.

“Yes, me,” I snapped immediately, more relieved than angry. “Can you stand?”

He tried.

Gods, he actually tried.

One hand pushed weakly against the ground while he forced himself upward, jaw tightening from pain. His body barely lifted an inch before his strength gave out again.

His full weight dropped heavily against me.

I nearly cursed aloud.

He was enormous.

Not fat.

Solid.

Him, muscle, soaked clothing — all of it felt like trying to hold up an entire tree trunk.

My knees sank deeper into mud beneath the sudden weight.

“Wonderful,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “Absolutely wonderful.”

His head tilted slightly against my shoulder, eyes barely open.

And suddenly the same man who had stood against a tiger moments ago felt frighteningly human in my arms.

I had never seen him before in this jungle. He seemed to be from the nearby kingdom. What kind of half-headed man would throw himself at a tiger for no reason? And that stupid, stupid tiger. I was already running late, and now the sky had started turning black. It would be dark soon, and we could not stay here. The smell of blood alone would drag every predator in the forest toward us before night had fully settled.

I looked toward the deeper trees and then at him. I couldn't carry the beast-sized human all the way to my tribal habitat. He was too heavy to carry that far, and movement would make him lose more blood.

Just then, I realized the weight on my shoulder was increasing.

Shit.

He was sleeping.

“Do not sleep,” I warned instantly, grabbing his jaw roughly enough to force his face upward. “Look at me.”

His eyes opened slightly again.

There was blood at the corner of his mouth now.

My stomach twisted hard.

I needed to take him somewhere nearby. There was a cave nearby, a naturally carved shelter into the rocks near the river cliffs. If I could get him there—

Yes.

Perfect.

I shook him a little. “Can you walk?”

A pause.

Then, at last, the smallest nod.

Liar.

Still, I hooked his arm over my shoulder carefully and planted my feet beneath us.

“Get up,” I grunted.

Every muscle in my body protested immediately.

Gods.

Heavier than he looked.

The man tried to help at first. I felt it in the way he pushed weakly against the ground with his boots, trying to carry part of his own weight.

But his legs kept faltering beneath him.

We staggered upright anyway.

His chest collided against my shoulder hard enough to nearly knock me backward again. One of my arms wrapped tightly around his waist to keep him steady while his arm hung heavily across my shoulders.

His body radiated heat. Maybe a little too much heat.

I shrugged the thought away.

“Walk,” I ordered.

We stumbled forward slowly. Pain shot through my injured thigh immediately, and he breathed harshly beside me once, twice, before his knees buckled again. I barely caught him before both of us went down.

I cursed. “Idiot,” I hissed, straining beneath his weight. “Are you trying to crush me to death now?”

A weak sound escaped him.

“Good. Still conscious.”

I adjusted my grip around him again. One of his hands had instinctively gripped my shoulder now, rough and heavy, though whether for balance or survival, I could not tell anymore.

“Stay with me,” I said more quietly this time.

The jungle felt darker now. Every sound around us made my skin tighten instinctively. Branches cracked overhead. Water rushed somewhere nearby. It was late autumn; winter had not yet begun, but I could not afford to stay here after nightfall.

Our uneven footsteps dragged through the jungle. The man stumbled constantly now. Sometimes he managed half a step on his own, and sometimes I was dragging him entirely.

He was not much taller than me, almost my height, but far broader. His body was dense with battle-earned muscle beneath the soaked, torn fabric. Every time his weight fully leaned onto me, my spine screamed in protest, yet somehow we kept moving.

His breath brushed my neck.

Then he spoke, half-conscious.

“You are bleeding too,” he muttered.

I almost laughed.

“Really? Thank you. Otherwise, I would not have noticed.”

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

Then his footing slipped again.

This time, we both crashed against a tree trunk hard enough to shake the branches above us. I gasped sharply as pain tore through my injured leg.

The man immediately tried to push himself away from me despite barely being able to stand.

“Sorry,” he breathed.

The apology startled me more than the tiger had.

I stared at him for half a second through the water dripping down my face.

Then I tightened my grip around his waist again.

“Just keep breathing,” I grunted.

The cave finally appeared through the trees moments later. Dark stone, half-hidden behind thick vines and hanging moss.

Relief hit me so hard that my knees almost gave out.

“There,” I breathed.

The man lifted his head weakly toward it, but his eyes were barely staying open now.

“No,” I warned immediately. “You do not get to collapse yet.”

Somehow, we managed to cross the remaining distance.

The moment we entered the cave, the sounds of the jungle dulled behind us. Cool darkness wrapped around the stone walls, and I could smell the familiar scent of cool stone and damp earth, carrying the faint mineral scent of the river beyond its walls.

The man took one more step.

Then his body completely gave out.

I lost my balance instantly under the force of him, and he hit the floor hard. The impact punched the air from my lungs.

For one terrible second, I thought he had stopped breathing.

Then his chest moved weakly.

Still alive.

“Hey…” I whispered.

I shifted him onto his back with considerable effort, then hissed as I finally managed to get him into position.

“Heavens, you are heavy.”

I caught my breath and looked down at him.

“And I did not throw you down intentionally, you know that, right?”

No response.

But I could hear his breathing, uneven and shallow, and one of his eyelids twitched faintly.

He looked like an injured beast, just as he had moments ago when we were fighting the tiger.

And then I realized something that made my chest tighten.

It was because of him that I was still breathing too.

He had been wearing a pale yellow kurta. Now it was nothing more than pale yellow fabric stuck to his torso with sweat and blood.

I needed to do something. Blood was still flowing.

I looked around the cave. No tribal member entered this cave carelessly. No outsider entered at all. The sacred cave belonged to the Forest Mother, the spirit protector of our people, the one the elders said watched through beasts and storms and the roots beneath the earth itself.

Offerings lined the stone walls in carefully carved shelves: dried herbs bound with red thread, bowls of sacred oil, tiger teeth wrapped in cloth, carved stone idols blackened by years of smoke.

And now a foreign man bled across the sacred floor beneath them.

I stared at the blood for one terrible heartbeat.

Then I looked at his chest again.

The claw mark was deep.

If I wasted more time thinking about the cave, the offerings, or my tribe, he would die before dawn.

I hesitated before finally touching the fabric near his injured chest.

He hissed softly.

“I need to remove this before cleaning the wound,” I said.

His head rolled weakly toward me. His breathing was rough and uneven. He looked at me with confusion and questioning eyes.

“I know,” I muttered. “But we can't fix it over the fabric.”

I gripped the cloth as gently as I could, but I knew it would hurt. The fabric had stuck to the wound.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled it away from the injury.

Once it was done, he hissed occasionally, but not as much as anyone else would have.

I pushed the torn fabric aside carefully.

Then I froze.

The tiger’s claws had shredded through fabric and flesh together across the left side of his chest. Blood still welled slowly from the deepest cut near his ribs.

Gods.

No wonder he collapsed.

I took a steady breath and tore away the remaining fabric in two quick motions.

His broad chest was revealed.

He had to be a soldier.

The strength he had shown a while ago, and the way he still kept control of his body despite the pain—even when I knew I had not been particularly gentle while doing this—made that obvious.

I looked toward the offerings lining the shelves and spotted cloth, sacred water, healing herbs, dried roots, and oils. Everything was there for the Forest Mother to protect us in hard times.

My tribe believed those hard times would never truly come if I believed in Mother Forest enough.

I took the cloth and water.

Then I stopped for a moment. These were not meant for strangers.

Forgive me.

But this is a hard time. We save them for a reason. My stomach twisted hard.

I did it anyway.

I soaked the cloth and carefully cleaned some of the blood from his wound.

When the wet cloth touched his skin, he noticed what I was doing.

His breathing worsened slightly.

For a second, he looked confused by the cave around him. Then he noticed the carved symbols and offerings.

His voice cracked.

“You brought me here...?”

“Yes,” I cut in.

He tried to push himself up.

“You should not have.”

I immediately pressed a hand against his shoulder and forced him back down.

That was when I noticed how hot his skin was. And I realized it was not just adrenaline.

It was fever.

A bad one.

As if the injury was not enough.

“Finally,” I muttered, “someone intelligent between the two of us.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Your tribe will kill me.”

I wiped more blood from his chest. He hissed, but I continued. “Then stay alive for them to kill you.”

I reached for the sacred water again.

It was meant for ceremonies.

Another rule broken.

Gods, I should stop counting.

I had already broken so many that there was no point in keeping a record.

I handed him a folded cloth.

“Press this on the wound.”

He obeyed.

I began crushing herbs—not the ones he truly needed, but the ones available that would have to do for now.

“Don't waste...” His breathing faltered. “...sacred things on me.”

I looked at him.

His eyes were half-lidded now, exhaustion dragging heavily at him, yet somehow he still understood enough to realize what this place was.

And worse—

What this meant for me.

My throat tightened unexpectedly.

“Be quiet.”

Every time he said something like that, I remembered another rule I had broken today.

I had entered this cave with a stranger.

A stranger who had bled across the sacred floor beneath the Forest Mother.

Now I was using sacred offerings to save him.

If the elders learned what I had done—

No.

My father.

When he learned. The punishment would be unavoidable. Not for him.

For me.

He would die anyway if I left him here untreated.

Outsider blood inside the sacred cave alone was enough to bring fury upon me.

Using offerings meant for the Forest Mother to save him...

I pressed the crushed herbs carefully into the claw marks. The commander inhaled sharply through his teeth.

His hand suddenly caught my wrist.

Strong despite the weakness.

I immediately realized I had pressed harder than I intended while lost in my thoughts.

He looked at me expressionlessly.

“I'll do it carefully now,” I said.

Still holding my wrist, he replied quietly,

“I would die anyway. You should go.”

I pulled my hand free.

“Be quiet unless you wish me to knock you unconscious myself.”

That earned the weakest huff of laughter from him.

And something seemed to settle inside him after that.

He stopped arguing and let me do whatever I needed to do. I wrapped clean cloth tightly around his chest, pulling hard enough to slow the bleeding.

He groaned quietly from the pressure.

“Sorry,” I murmured automatically while tying the knot.

The word startled both of us.

I frowned instantly. Since when was I apologizing to strange men bleeding in sacred caves?

I had said sorry to him twice in such a short span of time. That somehow made me even angrier.

He laughed softly.

He might have noticed my discomfort.

Shit.

Did that show on my face?

He relaxed a little after that. I glanced toward the cave entrance. It was completely dark outside now.

I could only see him because he was so close—or perhaps because my eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness.

When I looked away and then back again, I almost couldn't make him out.

For one terrible second, panic seized me.

Had I used the wrong herb?

In the darkness, I bent closer to smell the mixture on his skin.

Thank the gods, my nose did not fail me in the dark. The proximity only made me notice his fever again.

“Are you cold?” I asked.

He did not answer. He was trying to rest.

No.

He could not sleep. Not now. Not when I was not sure he would wake up again.

I tapped his cheek lightly.

The slight roughness of his beard brushed against my fingers.

He shifted a little.

I tapped him again.

“You can't sleep.”

“Your tribe is going to kill me,” he muttered. “At least let me sleep before that.”

Probably.

I tapped his cheek a little harder this time.

“They'll kill me first. So if I'm not sleeping, you won't be either.”

That actually pulled a faint sound from him that resembled a laugh before it dissolved into a painful cough.

I focused in the darkness, searching for anything that could be used to start a fire. The woven baskets that held the offerings were of no use now; I only needed stones. Then I realized this was a cave—it had plenty of those.

My hands moved in almost mechanical motions as I worked. Soon, a small fire flickered to life, placed neither too close nor too far from him so that he could feel the warmth without suffering from it.

I heard movement behind me.

He was finally letting his body rest.

After adjusting the fire carefully, I looked back at him. Bare-chested now, dressed only in the lower half of his clothing, with bandages wrapped tightly across his chest, he seemed even more battered than before. There were wounds scattered across his body, some old and faded, others fresh and angry.

Before I could stop myself, the question slipped out.

“What do you do?”

He did not answer immediately. He lay there with his eyes closed, and yet I knew he was not asleep. He was trying to rest, but he also knew that if he truly fell asleep now, neither of us would know what would happen.

Then, very slowly, he answered.

“I am a commander.”

That explained the scars, the wounds, and the strength he had shown.

A moment later, he coughed, and the movement pulled painfully at the injury across his chest.

I moved closer immediately, reaching to support him upright enough to ease his breathing, but before I could do much, the coughing stopped. His body slumped back against the stone, exhaustion stealing what little strength he had left.

In the soft glow of the fire, I could see the weariness etched across his face, and the reality of what I had done finally settled over me.

I had brought an outsider into holy ground, broken sacred law, and used offerings meant for the gods themselves.

And if the tribe discovered him here before he could stand, neither of us would leave this cave safely.