Page 34 of Dare

I felt around my chest for the vial, which rested near my pulse. Thanks to the stamina of Winter glass, the pendant and its contents had withstood the shipwreck. Back in Autumn’s dungeon, that little beast had done the object more damage than Summer’s tempest.

Reassured, I eased my grip on the pendant. If I didn’t know better, I would conclude I’d walked into a mirage. Except mirages receded upon one’s approach, whereas this environment became more tangible with each step.

Bloody hell. The infernal symptoms of a shipwreck assaulted me, not least of which included a depleted stomach—I’d vomited a gallon of seawater upon regaining consciousness—and a physical constitution that left me sweaty on the outside and dry on the inside.

The forest’s canopy blotted out the sun. Though the darkness failed to reduce the heat, it did soothe my flesh. If I had languished unconscious on that beach for another hour, I would have roasted.

After leaning against a tree trunk and relieving my bladder of what little fluid remained inside it, I kept walking. My cranium pounded, a laceration stretched along my jaw, and welts had formed across my thighs, courtesy of the beast who’d flung that steering lever against me.

Technically, I should be worse off. A puncture wound. A severed extremity. A crushed skull. Yet improbably, I’d gotten rather fucking lucky.

My boots brushed a cluster of wet leaves, the contact cutting off my analysis. The slick underbrush glistened from a downpour that must have occurred while I’d lain comatose. Because of that fugitive, I had washed ashore on some cursed land mass.

Leaves swished in my periphery, as if something had dashed through. Awareness crawled across my shoulder blades. Without turning my head, I diced my eyes toward the commotion, to where a silhouette flashed in and out of sight.

Ah. Not a mammal or reptile. This source was human, female, and about to pay dearly for the past twenty-four hours.

Fury pulsed through my veins. Stalking sideways, I set my fingers on the scalpel knife’s hilt and edged through the bushes. Pacing. Caution. Otherwise, she would hear me coming.

But when I broke into motion and lunged in the direction she’d raced, a hedge stalled my progress. My lips twitched. So the beast meant to slip around me, to initiate another cat and mouse chase. Hunting her through this forsaken climate should not trigger my pulse, yet the illicit rush of it propelled me forward like an unhealthy impulse.

Phosphorescent undergrowth shone in the dark. I tracked every shiver of leaves, each sprinting noise. Around tree trunks. Abreast of unidentified nests. My head twisted, trailing glimpses of feminine limbs and the swish of her chemise.

A mile into the hunt, I grimaced. The wall of hedges standing before me made it clear. She’d led me in a circle, to confuse my sense of direction.

The fool was toying with me. Already, she knew this terrain better than I did.

I choked the knife. My thumb traced the hilt, where multiple silts embedded into its facade. Armed with this cache of blades, I could pick which one I’d use on her.

Another tremor of vegetation resounded like a taunt. With renewed anger, I prowled ahead. Swerving into what should have been her direct path, I hissed at the empty route. After another half hour, I lost all trace of the beast.

Perhaps she had gone astray as well. Perhaps now she would take her predicament seriously.

As should I. This landscape was scarcely a playground. Developing a fetish for this chase was hardly wise while trapped in a sweltering forest teeming with fauna.

I lacked nourishment and energy. Therefore, I lacked sense.

A critical solution existed for this. The presence of greenery meant fresh drink had to be nearby, after which I’d recover the stamina to snatch that little beast once and for all.

Maintaining a hold on my weapon, I pursued an adjacent route while auditing the wild. The canopy towered one hundred feet in the air and exhibited a variety of unrecorded tree species. Or so it appeared from this vantage point, with limited visibility and nausea compromising my senses. Yet nothing about this wilderness seemed recognizable, from the leaf shapes, to the circumference of every exposed root, to the texture of each tree trunk.

An unrecognizable avian—a bird of prey?—with a long shag of plumage perched on a branch. Ants hauled a chunk of feces past my feet. Trees glinted with shades reminiscent of malachite, among countless others.

Come to think of it, color should not be this visible here. Yet its vibrancy pushed through the limited light.

Comprehension dawned. I knew what tropic environment this was—which type of fresh hell we’d landed in.

The climate. The flora and fauna. The evidence of rain.

This indicated one landscape. Over history, Summer had preserved a legend originating from some asinine song about a rainforest. Be that as it may, no one had ever set foot upon its shore. And why? Because Summer did not have rainforests.

Or rather, it was not supposed to. But how else to justify this unpopulated expanse and its sudden appearance in the ocean? Ludicrous. This may be an uncharted rainforest, but it wasn’t that rainforest. A legendary realm that had gone uncharted for centuries wouldn’t have been this easy to access—a feasibly short distance from the wharf.

There had to be an explanation. Possibly, Summer kept this wild a secret for other reasons.

In any event, Winter and Summer’s fleets would find us. Giselle and Rhys’s armada was more equipped than any other naval force.

The tear in my jaw throbbed. Although I’d cleaned it with saltwater earlier, it continued to ooze blood. Without a needle and thread, stitches were impossible. Moreover in this stifling climate, the likelihood of infection would increase.

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