Page 61 of Venomous Lust
“You.” She blinked in a stupor. “You’re the prisoner from Gerkin’s jail, the one I gave the keys to.”
“I am Yalko, chieftain of the Kerlu tribe. I stand free now, thanks to you.” The creature slowly nodded. “Now, come with me, human female, or the Mother Forest will take what she wants, blood owed or not.”
Hazel had a hard time breathing but she forced herself to speak anyway. “Will you take us outside the forest?”
His yellow eyes turned to the sea of green, then back to Hazel. He shook his head slowly. “The Medina is everywhere on Muhar. There is no getting away from the Mother.”
* * *
Khal
There was no way out of this situation. Still, he didn’t trust the Muharee, blood debt or not. Hazel did not understand that they were not like humans, not like Eoks or even the Arvak. Muharee were a strange and aloof people, refusing any trade with the Ring—refusing to trade with any other civilization, as far as he knew. They were a warrior species, protecting their homeland from invaders as well as waging war with each other in their tribe-like society. Blood was a cult on Muhar, death a God. Hazel might have saved this one’s life, but that didn’t mean the Muharee would spare hers.
I should have never brought her here. I should have turned back as soon as I found her aboard the Myrador.
But he hadn’t. He had failed her at every turn.
The Muharee reached inside his cloak and pulled out two identical cloaks made of the same green fabric they all wore. With surprising speed and agility, the Muharee threw the cloaks at Khal, who caught them deftly.
“What is this?” Khal asked as he rubbed the fabric between his fingers. It was cool and soft, nothing like anything he had ever felt.
“This is the skin of the Medina trunks.” The creature pulled his hood over his head again, hiding his reptilian features. “It will make you both invisible to the Mother as we walk, but if you both value your lives, don’t let the blood drip down.”
Without another word, the Muharee turned his back on them. Hazel looked at Khal, her big green eyes full of gut-wrenching trust. Khal knelt in front of her, pulling his belt from his pants, then tying it tightly around her injured thigh. She winced at the pain when he pulled harder on the belt, but didn’t complain.
“This will slow the bleeding.” Khal spoke in a low voice despite knowing the Muharee had probably heard him. “But it won’t stop it. The ionic detonations are built that way. Only careful stitching will stop it.”
“We have no other choice.” Her voice was musical and sweet in the horror of the hissing forest. She sounded so afraid, yet so strong. How could one so fragile be so brave? “What could be worse than being devoured by a carnivorous forest?”
A lot. A lot can be worse than that.
But Khal didn’t say it. He didn’t tell her about all the rumors of the Muharee and their cruel God, of the things they did to those unlucky enough to land in their hands. Regardless of his mistrust of the Muharee, Hazel was right. They had no other choice.
Already, he could hear the chirping returning, anxious and excited. Hungry.
“We have to trust them.”
Khal looked at her, at the perfection of Hazel’s soft, oval face. From the pale color of her skin, he knew she had lost too much blood already. She would need medical care, but he had no idea what he would find in the home of the Muharee.
Her only hope is that their medicine is not as primitive as I’ve heard.
The very thought of losing Hazel opened an abyss inside his mind, a dark pit where fear and grief churned together in a mixture that was so evil, he knew it would destroy him. He couldn’t lose her without losing his soul. Khal quickly wrapped Hazel in the blanket, leaving only her face uncovered, then picked her up.
As soon as Hazel was safely wrapped in the blanket and in his arms, the Muharee walked away. Khal hesitated only a moment before following them across the black, foul-smelling forest floor. Then, they went on. As they walked, the white roots shot up, covered in their glistening juice, poised to strike, but they hovered in the air, blind, unable to locate their prey.
For an impossibly long time, Khal followed the four Muharee. Somewhere along the way, Hazel fell asleep, her body becoming limp in his arms, her breathing regular, but shallow. She had lost a lot of blood. Many times, he had to adjust the folds of the cloak under her body to prevent the blood from seeping out.
Finally, they arrived at the entrance of what appeared to be a large cave. The stalks grew all around the cave, right up to the rocks covering the entrance like guardians. The Muharee entered without looking back, then disappeared inside. As he reached the opening of the cave, Khal paused.
This could be a trap. I could be leading Hazel right to her death.
He could turn back, walk out of the Medina wrapped in the green cloak, and try his luck with the medical equipment left in the Myrador. But there was no power left in the Myrador and the walk was too long. Hazel would be dead before he could reach the relative safety of the ship. And Knut was likely to have destroyed or looted whatever inside still held value.
A movement in the liquid darkness of the cave attracted his attention and Khal lifted his gaze to see the same Muharee as before—the leader of the group and the one Hazel had freed back on Garana. His yellow eyes went from Khal to Hazel, then back to Khal.
“The Medina can sense her weakness.” The Muharee’s voice was flat and toneless. “If the human is not healed, the Medina will wait for her, hunt her down. The Great Mother is a life-giver, but also a devourer.”
Khal glanced at the ground of the forest to see roots waiting like snakes high in the air, rocking to the sound of their furious chirping.
