Page 15 of Across the Crimson Sands

I knelt, acutely aware of precious seconds ticking away, and gulped down handfuls of foul liquid. I pushed away thoughts of what might have used this pond as a latrine.

Or worse.

As I reached for another palmful, a sound froze me in place.

Low and quiet, but unmistakable. Every hair on my body stood on end. The growl came from behind, far too large to belong to one of the scurrying rodents.

I turned slowly, careful not to make sudden moves. My gaze traveled upward, and there it was – a Steazel.

My body quaked at the sight. I knew these beasts all too well from Gorin’s hunting obsession. He’d proudly display their corpses as trophies, conveniently forgetting the guides who tranquilized and restrained the creatures for his ego.

Ruthless predators, always hungry.

With trembling hands, I retrieved my last ration bar. As desperately as I needed those calories, it was my only hope of survival.

I held out the bar, letting the Steazel catch its scent, then tossed it behind the beast. I prayed it would take the bait, giving me a chance to flee.

I was terribly, horribly wrong.

The Steazel’s hackles rose, viscous drool dripping from razor-sharp fangs. It advanced, menacing.

I ran.

I didn’t make it far. Of course not. The beast pounced, its weight slamming me into jagged sand and rock. Teeth latched onto my jacket. In desperation, I wriggled free of the garment and clawed forward.

I managed a few pitiful feet before it caught up, having abandoned my shredded coat.

For the first time since slicing through my tracking collar, my resolve shattered. The metallic scent of blood on its fangs and the rumble of its growl crushed what little strength I had left.

I couldn’t die like this. Not like this.

“Rokan!” I screamed, knowing he had to be out there somewhere. If anyone could save me now, it was him.

A man with a vested interest in finding me alive and intact was my only chance to avoid becoming a Steazel’s midnight snack. “Rokan, please!”

I curled into a tight ball as the beast’s jaws descended toward my exposed shoulder, only to hear the sharp yelp of a creature under attack.

I couldn’t bring myself to look. In my terror-stricken mind, the Steazel had just fallen prey to something far larger and more terrifying. A sand bear, perhaps. Or even a dreaded lyvern.

Whatever it was, it could surely smell my blood. And once it finished with the Steazel, I’d be next on the menu.

ROKAN

“Be still!” I commanded, seizing Arilee from behind. My fingers dug into the fabric of her clothes, its hot breath mere inches from her face.

“Help!” she screamed, her voice shrill with terror. “Please, Rokan!”

I had no intention of letting her die. This was about more than money now – it was a matter of pride. I’d never been bested, never lost a bounty, and I wasn’t about to start with her.

“Arilee, I said hold still,” I snarled again, feeling her writhe against my grip. One wrong move and I could lose my hold, and I refused to let my prize slip away. Finally, she froze long enough for me to secure my grasp. I wrenched her away from the Steazel just as its jaws snapped shut on empty air.

Arilee’s frail form was nothing to me as I hoisted her to safety. Below us, the enraged Steazel leapt and swiped, furious at losing its meal.

But the girl was my ticket to a payday, not its dinner.

Arilee gulped for air, her face pressed into the sand as she struggled to catch her breath. “Is it... gone?” she choked out, each word a monumental effort.

I could have lied, offered her the illusion of comfort. Instead, I unsheathed the knife from my belt, the blade glinting in the moonlight.

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