He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 169

Jevon could no longer read Yorath at all.

"If we don't find her today, we head back," Yorath finally said.

Jevon let out a massive sigh of relief.

If Yorath neglected his dying mother for the sake of a woman, returning only after she passed away...

Forget the vicious societal backlash—Yorath wouldn't be able to live with himself.

"I'll contact the helicopter crew to prep for extraction," Jevon said.

"Make the arrangements," Yorath replied.

He pulled out a cigarette and strolled toward the back of the boulder.

Just as he looked down to light it, he froze.

A pair of legs extended from behind the rock.

He held his position for several agonizing seconds before slowly walking around the stone.

There she lay.

Barefoot, the soles of her feet lacerated with deep, bleeding cuts.

Her high-quality clothes were miraculously untorn.

Her face was covered in angry, red welts from whipping branches, looking as though she'd been lashed.

Leaves and dried grass tangled in her hair, her face completely drained of color and gaunt.

Her chest rose and fell with a faint, shallow rhythm. She was breathing.

Yorath tossed his unlit cigarette aside and strode over. "Ottilie."

She didn't respond.

He dropped to his knees, pressing two fingers against her wrist. Her pulse was weak, but steady.

He checked her forehead. No fever.

Scooping her into his arms, he barked over his shoulder, "Elian. Get over here."

Carrying his medical kit, Elian rounded the boulder and saw Ottilie cradled against Yorath's chest.

She was utterly limp, like a broken ragdoll.

Elian rushed over, mirroring Yorath by checking her pulse first.

He checked her temperature, peeled back her eyelids, and examined her tongue.

"She's not in critical danger. It looks like severe exhaustion from a lack of food and water. I'll give her a glucose injection."

In her hazy state, Ottilie caught the faint scent of something familiar.

She felt as though she were floating in the air, swaying gently.

Yorath helped her sit up. "Can you walk?"

She nodded, bracing herself against the boulder. After taking a few tentative steps, she realized her strength was returning.

"Thank you for saving me."

Jevon tossed her recovered shoes onto the dirt in front of her.

"You better start thinking about how you're going to explain running off with Lachlan into the mountains. If you don't have a damn good excuse, you're in for a world of pain."

Her mind sharpened as the gravity of her situation set in.

She glanced up at Yorath.

He looked exactly the same as always—refined, elegant, and entirely in control.

But she knew better. Yorath was never truly detached.

The calmer he seemed, the more furious he actually was.

He was just waiting for the perfect moment to explode.

On the trek back, the rescue team exhibited none of the usual joy of a successful mission.

Instead, a heavy, suffocating silence blanketed the group.

Everyone could smell the incoming storm.