Fugitive in the Desert

“Stay where you are!” The taller of the two men barked, his voice sharp as they strode over with hardened expressions. Intimidating was an understatement.

Caelia gave up her struggle against the shifting sands, halting as the men closed in. Dressed in attire resembling that of the stranger she’d encountered earlier, she noticed intricate details woven into their clothing—embroidered patterns of teeth and scales, each stitch adding an air of fierce symbolism. Both men bore muscular arms and a certain rugged strength, but unlike the stranger, there was no warmth in their eyes. Her pale lashes fluttered as they stopped before her, assessing her as if she were a threat.

“Where did you come from?” the slightly shorter man demanded, his tone dripping with suspicion. Caelia met his gaze, swallowing her nerves as she tried to respond.

“I—I don’t want that man to touch me.” The words came out in a whisper. The men exchanged a look, some of their initial tension easing as they took in her disheveled state. Their features held a resemblance to the man she’d met before, though without his intense allure. She relaxed, if only slightly, as they communicated silently between glances.

The taller one took a step forward, causing her to tense again. “You evaded him entirely?” His eyes studied her attire, and Caelia gave a slight nod. She still wasn’t sure of these men, but the desert’s chill had begun to seep through her bones, and she shivered.

After a brief pause, the shorter man reached out, gripping her upper arm with a firm but not painful hold. “You’ll come with us,” he decided. “We won’t hurt you.” His hand was warm against her skin—warmer than she expected, though not as searing as the hand that had caressed her face a moment ago. They led her into the open desert, growing frustrated with her faltering steps in the sand. Finally, the other man took her opposite arm, steadying her as they moved, and though exhausted, Caelia felt a quiet relief. At least she was getting farther from the nightmare she’d left behind.

They trudged through the sands, wind whipping against them, until finally, she couldn’t hold back any longer. “Where are we going?” she asked, watching their stern faces as the last light disappeared from the horizon. “Are you looking for your tribe? Are we—are we lost?”

Her question fell away as they crested a low dune and she saw it: a wagon, nestled in the dusky shadows below, cleverly concealed until they were nearly upon it.

“Get in,” one of them ordered, urging her down the slope. She blinked, still surprised by the strange, half-threatening situation she found herself in. “Woman, get in,” the taller one insisted, impatience flaring in his eyes.

“Where are you taking me?” Caelia asked, her tone almost a plea. Though reassured by what the stranger had told her, she still harbored a lingering sliver of doubt.

“We want to show you to someone,” the other man said with a sigh, though his words were a touch softer. “After, we’ll let you go, give you a couple of coins for behaving, nothing terrible.” He gestured to the cart with a slight nod. “Now get in.”

Taking his response as her final assurance, Caelia clambered into the cart, her legs barely strong enough to lift her, and sank down, gazing up at the vibrant stars overhead. Out here, the desert felt strangely peaceful; the stars seemed close enough to touch. Perhaps that was why Dunsmore had chosen to build his mansion on these lands, despite the danger. Maybe the tribal unrest was due to the beauty he had stolen. In any case, this strange journey seemed her best shot at escape, and even the impatient commands of these men were preferable to the grotesque intentions of her father.

The men lifted the cart handles, and with surprising ease, they took off, moving much faster than Caelia could have managed on her own. She clutched the sides of the cart as it bounced over dunes and uneven ground, trying to steady herself. Gradually, the men seemed less agitated, even easing into occasional conversation between themselves.

“How much will he pay? Ten?” a low voice murmured from behind her back.

“Atleast, twenty.”

She listened intently, hanging onto every word, her pulse quickening as she realized they were likely talking about her. Whatever information she could glean might be the key to understanding her situation—and her best chance of escape.

“He’ll pay us to take her back, too.”

Her breath caught. Take her back? To whom? More questions rose like a storm in her mind.

“A fortune if he’d take her,” the taller man continued, his tone edged with frustration. “But he deliberately rejects them all.”

He’ll reject me? Caelia’s mind whirled. And they’d take me back? Back to where? Dunsmore? A town along the border? Maybe this mysterious man was merely stringing her along for some reason, but if he truly had no intention of keeping her, then she might yet be able to escape! A warm flicker of hope bloomed within her, and she felt a strange, hint of unexpected disappointment. He must have mentioned ‘mating’ to test her loyalty to Dunsmore, or perhaps he was aware of the effect he had on women.

“This one should tempt him,” the taller man’s voice drifted over her shoulder, and she felt their eyes studying her. “I doubt anyone’s brought a better offer. Still, he won’t accept, but maybe he’ll pay more.”

Their conversation quieted, slipping back into a sparse exchange, their voices even and unstrained despite the strenuous pace. The last glow of sunlight vanished as the moon rose, casting its cool light across the dunes. The chill seeped into Caelia’s bones, her cloak doing little to keep her warm. She tried to tuck herself into a compact ball, pulling her arms and legs tight within the thin fabric, but the desert night bit through.

Shivering, Caelia paused, ears pricked as a faint melody drifted on the wind. She whipped her head around, her eyes scanning the darkness, trying to find the source of the sound. In the distance, lights glowed, illuminating a settlement brimming with life.