Spoilers for A Touch Of Darkness, since this is set after the end of the book. However, I did try to keep it fairly vague and not reference exact events. It's just our daily dose of Nathan angst. And trash.

Happy Valentine's Day :D

~

Quiet rules the day's closing with a delicate grace. Only the wind fractures it, the barest whistle of a breeze coaxing a rustle from the trees that surround us and then sweeping away into the open sky beyond. Rolling hills stretch on ahead, soft and rounded, a pleasant change from the jagged peaks of the mountains at our backs. Faded light dances with shadow across them, gradually darkening with every second that slips by.

A glorious scene, made perfect by the touch of another at my side.

The whispered chill the coming dusk brings does little to temper Sarielle's warmth. She's still, but naturally so, the way a tree in a storm remains flawlessly rigid. It's so easy to rest my head on her shoulder, to let my thoughts drift from our troubles and rest solely on the world's beauty.

I can't recall ever feeling such peace. The faintest tug of exhaustion compels me to close my eyes, but I don't give in. She brought me here to watch the sunset. I'm determined to wait.

Her shoulder drops a little with her long sigh. Hesitation hitching my breath, I lift my head, jerking to face her with the beginnings of concern, but I'm worrying needlessly. Her eyes are fixed on the scene before us. They sparkle in mirror of the sky, a crystal blue deepened by the descending shadows. Her lips curl in a faint smile. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

The last rays of sunlight accent her waves of hair in brilliant gold. I can't help but smile in return. "Very beautiful."

"Just wait until the sun gets a little lower." She tilts her head back, the breeze toying with her wispy curls. "With any luck, the sky will turn a wonderful crimson red."

Crimson. As if suddenly weighed on by a force I can't lift, my gaze drops, landing on the hem of my tunic. I rub the loose material between my fingers, its snow-pale white a sharp contrast to the black leather of my gloves. I swallow. "I'm not sure I need to see any more red."

"Nathan."

Her voice is impossible to resist. I lift my head to find her eyes meet mine, soft in their stare. "Red is the shade of many beautiful things, too." Her smile waves, but it doesn't fall. "You've seen so much of the ugly side of the world, but I promise you, there's more to life than this war. As hard as it is to remember sometimes." She turns back to the hilltops, fixing them with her steeled gaze as if she can command this moment to remain for all time. "We have to appreciate the world's beauty, or we'll never be happy."

Letting my focus flick back to the slanted shadows over the hills, the sun's weakening flood of yellow as it nestles between them, I nod. "I know." A flood of gratitude rushes warmly up my throat. My simple, "Thank you," falls flat, my voice too quiet.

Her fingers lace with mine. I inhale sharply, suddenly stiff, forcing myself not to glance down. She gives my hand a faint squeeze, and my heart flutters. Heat floods my cheeks. I keep my eyes fixed on the setting sun, hoping she's doing the same rather than looking my way.

Her grip twitches, and I jump, snapping her way, paranoia taking hold again before I can help it. Yet this time, she proves me right. Her stillness is unnatural now, tense. Her hand slides fully from mine to rest on the hilt of the sword sheathed at her side.

"Are you okay?" I ask, my voice dropping on instinct.

She nods despite the tight line of her lips. "Just wait here."

The breeze sweeps in cold as she stands, filling the hollow left in her absence. She steps back, drawing her curved blade, her gaze wandering down the hillside in the direction of something I can't sense. Before I can scramble to say anything more, she's marching after it, and I'm alone with the quiet.

Straining, I listen out for any sound, yet catch nothing but the wind. I grit my teeth. Helpless. Still, I push to my feet, nerves bouncing my heels. My fists clench at my sides. Not even in a peaceful moment like this can we truly be free from all that chases us.

No, all that chases me. Yet she's the one protecting me, always. I wrap my arms around my chest, wishing my nails were long enough to dig into skin through my gloves.

A scream splits the air. Any fragment of peace is shattered. Icy panic squirms in my veins, fierce and cold, freezing me in place.

Sarielle.

Even now, there's no resisting the call of her voice. I push myself into a run, boots skidding over the rain-slicked grass as it slopes downwards. My heart thunders out of rhythm with my footsteps, harsh and jarring, sick fear surging in bitter currents. The ground might as well sway beneath me. I fumble at my side, hand passing through the space where a sword sheath might have been, finding only the leather hilt of my dagger wedged into my belt. I cling to it.

It doesn't take long before I see her. Her sword has fled her hand. It lies discarded on the ground a number of paces away, too far for her to reach, impossible to dream of diving for when a blade pins her in place. A blade already coated in thick, dark crimson.

There is no beauty in this shade of red. Not when the same colour rapidly pools under Sarielle's tunic, staining the former white, leaking through her fingers where she clutches her middle.

Shock shoves a blunt blade in amongst my ribs. I can't breathe. I can't run fast enough. Helpless. I can do nothing but watch her fall to her knees, then to all fours, one arm still struggling to stem the flow of blood.

The crimson blade lowers. All I care to see of the figure is the navy fabric that wraps him, dark as the coming twilight, the silver of stars stitching the sharp lines of a ship to his chest. The symbol of the enemy. I touch my left hand to the golden bird etched over my own white tunic, fisting the material, my heart's panicked pound beating against my knuckles.

The man's eyes catch mine, and he whirls, lifting the blade. I skid to a stop before him, panting. His lips curl in the barest of smiles. The sword drops to his side.

"I thought she might draw you out." His voice is the playful splash of river waters, the scrape of stones dragged along by the current. It grates at my nerves. Sweat slickens my hold on my dagger as I thrust it forward, clutched with both hands, shaking point jabbed in his direction.

"Nathan." Sarielle's voice, weak, strained. She struggles to push herself up onto her side, hand slipping over the grass. It leaves a red trail in its wake. "Nathan, go."

Claws rake through my insides. This is my fault. She got hurt protecting me. She might die simply because I'm too weak to defend myself. My feet meld to the ground, useful as pillars of rock.

"Well?" The man moves a step forward, jolting my gaze back to him. His sword hilt swings loosely in his hand. He's completely at ease. "Are you going to do as she says?"

I grip the dagger tighter. Somewhere deep in my core, a familiar ache burrows deeper, splintering my clouded thoughts. His face appears shapeless. All I can see is Sarielle on the ground, her blood staining the edges of my vision.

Another step. This time, I mirror it, stumbling backward, dagger still outstretched. My heel knocks against something solid.

"Go on," he says, his eyes narrowing. "Run. You don't want to disobey your girlfriend's dying words, do you?"

Heat flares in my chest. It's foreign, brief, seeping into the hollow carved in my chest, but its buzz lingers in my veins. I shift my foot. A sharp curve of metal rests against its side.

"She's not dying," I grind out. The words slice at my tongue.

His head tilts. Another step. He's less than a pace away, easily close enough to touch. "Are you sure? She is bleeding rather a lot."

The fire twisting my heart isn't real. It's false, scrambled from ashes, flickering in the wind. Yet in that moment, I cling to it. I've nothing else to hold onto. "I don't think you understand," I manage, clenching my teeth to shove out my voice without its former tremble. "She's not dying."

Right hand dropping from the dagger, I make a grab at the ground, fingers skimming grass until they lock around a curved hilt. I wrench it up, slashing blindly, staggering as it meets his blade with a dull clash. Surprise flashes through his eyes. He opens his mouth, but I don't give him time to say anything. His parry is clumsy. There's a clear path for the dagger in my left hand to cut deep into his forearm.

He gasps, his hilt slipping through his fingers. I shove the blade away with Sarielle's sword and then strike again, my hand slipping free of the dagger, leaving it embedded there as I drag a scarlet line across his chest. I see his face now. It's pale with fear.

He slips on the wet grass. His eyes flick to his sword, but he won't reach it. Let him be the one helpless on the ground. Let him bleed instead.

"Yours is the only death I'll see tonight," I hiss.

His chest heaves. With every breath, the wound I tore oozes a darker red. I lift Sarielle's sword, its tip a hair's breadth from his heart. I'm shaking again, but I don't care.

He's afraid of me. The ache digs deeper, itching with a distant, forgotten delight.

His throat bobs. "Please." The river has drained, and now he chokes on air, no longer able to drown his nerves in mockery. "I--I'll go. I'll leave you alone. I'm sorry I hurt her."

That heat rises again. Anger, I realise. Rage, bubbling up my throat, scalding my insides. I swallow hard, staring down at his trembling figure. Reality leaks into the back of my mind. Several memories twist along one thread, all throbbing with this same sensation.

I can't do this again.

"I'm sorry." He's begging. His voice cracks.

I can't do this again. And yet the rage flares higher, my fingers tightening around the sword hilt in my hand. He has no right to plead. He showed Sarielle no mercy.

Crimson red was supposed to be beautiful tonight. Perhaps it will be when he bleeds.

I drive the sword into his flesh, piercing his heart.

The blood comes as I rip it out. Great pooling rivulets, trailing across the grass as he falls limp, the life fading from his eyes. The sword is suddenly heavy in my hands. It slips easily from them, landing with a muffled clatter at his side. I fall to my knees, hand thoughtlessly landing on his chest to support me. I snatch it away too late. Red streaks my glove.

Curling it into a fist, I lift my head, wrenching my gaze from the lifeless form before me, and a gasp slips free. Sarielle is no longer on the ground. Dalton stands in her place, cradling her carefully in his arms. He's looking my way. He saw.

Shame crawls frost on the underside of my skin, chasing away the last embers of anger. All that remains is that hollow ache, scraped bare by guilt. I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have killed again.

I didn't even know this one's name.

I scramble to my feet, failing to hide how unsteady the action makes me. There are more important things. "Will she be okay?"

Dalton nods, his lips pressed in a thin line. "I'm sure Carlin can fix it," he says, but the surety of the words doesn't match his hesitant gaze. "Come on. Let's get out of here. There might be more."

He meets my eyes for a brief moment, attempting a reassuring smile, before he pulls away and takes off in the direction of our camp. He's gone before I can find the words to reply, running with Sarielle clutched tight in his arms. I could never dream of carrying her with such ease.

I have to follow, yet my attention snares on the snatches of sky visible between the trees. The sunset has truly begun now. It doesn't bring crimson streaks as Sarielle hoped, matching as that might be to the colour staining my hands. All that paints the day's last light are pastel hues of yellow and pink. Beautiful. I don't deserve it.

Biting my tongue, I drag myself after Dalton, fear quickening my pace. Sarielle was right, but I can't do as she says. The only red I'll ever see is fury and blood.