The Crimson Legacy (In Progress)

Chapter 9: The Face of an Assassin

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The morning sun filtered through the entrance of the cave, casting long beams of light across the stone floor. Zephyr stirred from his sleep, groggily blinking the world into focus. The fire between him and Clara had burned down to glowing embers, and the chill of the morning air clung to the walls of the cave. He stretched, his body stiff from the night on the hard ground, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

He glanced over at Clara, still deep asleep on the other side of the cave. 

Her cloak had slipped to the side, revealing the bandages that covered her arms and abdomen. Her breathing was steady, her face peaceful despite the pain she had endured. Zephyr found his gaze lingering on her. He had never seen her like this—vulnerable, resting.

His eyes traced her form, starting from her boots, then moving up to her thighs, wrapped tightly in bandages stained with dried blood. Her cloak barely covered her bandaged abdomen, which was visibly bruised from her fight with Frostheart.

Despite her injuries, there was no denying her striking features. Clara was both dangerous and alluring, her body a reflection of the life she led—one of battle, survival, and untold secrets.

Zephyr shifted, curiosity overtaking him. He moved closer, wanting to inspect her wounds, particularly the one on her shoulder where Frostheart had landed a vicious blow. He leaned in, his breath shallow as he marveled at how, despite the brutal damage she had taken, her body still carried an undeniable grace and strength. He had always known Clara was different, but up close, she seemed almost otherworldly.

Just as he was about to pull back, Clara's hand shot out faster than he could react.

In an instant, her fingers wrapped tightly around his throat, her grip strong and unyielding. Zephyr's eyes widened in shock, his breath caught in his throat as Clara's grip tightened, her scarlet eyes snapping open, glowing with cold intensity.

For a split second, her gaze was deadly—wild, as if she were still caught in the heat of battle. Then, slowly, the fog of sleep lifted from her eyes, and the realization of what she was doing hit her.

"Zephyr!" Clara gasped, her grip loosening immediately.

She pulled her hand back, her chest rising and falling heavily as she took a deep breath. "I... I'm sorry. It was instinct."

Zephyr stumbled back, coughing as he massaged his throat, his heart still racing.

"Instinct?" he managed, his voice hoarse but laced with amazement. "I guess... I shouldn't sneak up on you."

Clara's eyes softened, a rare flicker of embarrassment crossing her face as she sat up, pulling her cloak back around her. "Years of surviving like this... I don't wake up gently."

Zephyr nodded, still catching his breath. "No kidding. Your reflexes are insane."

Clara gave a small, apologetic bow though the intensity of the moment still hung in the air. "I don't mean to hurt people—unless I have to."

Zephyr exhaled deeply, nodding in understanding. It wasn't just her survival instincts—Clara was always on edge, always ready for an attack. It was who she had become, forged by the dangers of her past.

"Well," Zephyr said, managing a small smile, "next time, I'll wake you with a stick."

"Or maybe don't stare at a sleeping woman." Zephyr's face flushed red as he was devoured in embarrassment.