Page 26 of Tharn's Hunt
He's not just walking; he's running. His movements a desperate, jarring rhythm. His face is a mask of grim exhaustion. Dark streaks of blood mar his golden skin. And he's glowing, a frantic, flickering light pulsing beneath his skin with every panicked beat of his heart.
He looks… terrified.
And it’s because of me.
My gaze meets his, and his frantic steps falter for a single heartbeat. The desperation in his golden eyes hits me like a punch to the gut. He looks at me like I’m a precious water source evaporating before his very eyes.
"Why…?"The thought is a weak, broken thing, but it’s all I can manage."Why are you looking at me like that?"
Relief crashes over his features. "You are awake," his voice sounds ragged, breathless. "You came back."
"Barely." I manage a weak smile. "You didn't answer my question."
His jaw tightens. "You are..." He searches for the word, the effort visible on his strained face."...wondrous."
I blink at him, certain I misheard. "Wondrous? Me? What, because I'm really good at almost dying?"
His chest rumbles faintly beneath my cheek. Not quite a laugh. It’s too raw with relief.
"No. Because you exist."
That sobers me. "Uh, thanks? I hate to break it to you, but I'm not that special. I'm just a girl. One of billions."
"Not on Xiraxis." His voice is quieter now, almost reverent, but laced with an undercurrent of panic. "There were no females here…until now."
That gets my attention. "Wait, what? None? Like... zero?"
"None." The word carries such weight, such longing, that it makes my chest tighten.
I try to imagine it. Earth without men. For a moment, the thought sparks something giddy in me. No catcalling, no "not all men" lectures, no unwashed gym socks fermenting in bachelor apartments.Marvelous.
But then...
My fever-muddled brain conjures an inconvenient truth:I’d miss the cocks.
Not the men. Definitely not the men. But the glorious, thick-as-my-wrist, functional parts of them? The ones that could turn me into a boneless puddle with the right angle and rhythm?
Hypothetically.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“There is nothing wrong with you, precious one.”
His words make my eyelids flutter open. With all my strength, I angle my head to see him better, wincing at how heavy it feels. He’s watching me with an intensity that sends that same strange shiver through me.
“Your thoughts are… strong,”he says, his voice tinged with a new, deep curiosity.
“Oh God, did I say all that out loud?”
I blame the fever. Or the desert.
“The imagery was…” He pauses, and something flickers across his face. His jaw tightens, and when he speaks again, his voicefeelsquieter. “Vivid. A…marvelous design.”
Heat rises in my cheeks, rivalling the burning in my veins. “Uh, thanks?”
“And yet…” His voice lowers even further, and I sense something sharp and raw that vanishes almost as quickly as it appears. “It is not at all like what I possess.”
I blink up at him, confused. It takes my fever-addled brain a moment to process what he’s just said. And the way his tone shifted, like he was mourning some deep, personal failing. Before I can puzzle it out, another realization hits me.
