Page 34 of Tharn's Hunt
I curl against him, as much for his warmth as for my own comfort. If we're going to die, at least we won't die alone. That has to count for something, right?
As his eyes flutter closed and his breathing grows shallow, I press my face against his neck and let the tears fall freely. The silence of the desert settles around us, and the tears come harder.
Chapter 12
DON'T CALL IT HEROIC (I'M JUST KEEPING SCORE)
JACQUI
Pain is the first thing I register. A dull, aching throb that pulses through my entire body.
The second is movement. A slow, rhythmic, agonizingly determined lurching.
I blink, my vision swimming. Fucking sand. An endless, rolling sea of it. The sun is a merciless hammer in a bruised yellow sky. And beneath me… the solid, unyielding muscle of Goldi's shoulder.
He’s carrying me. Again.
But this is different. Every step he takes is a visible struggle. His breathing is a harsh, ragged sound in the silence of the desert. The golden glow that usually shimmers under his skin is basically gone. He’s not walking; he's forcing one foot in front of the other through sheer, stubborn will.
He's dying. And he's still carrying me.
"Goldi?" I whisper, my voice a dry crackle.
He doesn't turn his head. Doesn't react. Every ounce of his energy is focused on moving forward.
"Hey," I try again, pushing up with what little strength I have. I'm still weak, still aching. The fever’s left a hollowed-out exhaustion in its place. I manage to shift my position, sliding from his shoulder until I'm looking at his face instead of his ass.
He finally glances at me, and what I see in his eyes makes my own breath catch. Raw pain. Bone-deep weariness. And a fierce, terrifying determination that seems to be the only thing holding him together.
"Put me down," I say, my voice firmer now. I slap his back, the impact jarring but necessary. "I can walk."
He lets out a low growl, a sound of pure refusal, and his arm tightens around my thighs.
"No," I insist, pushing against his chest, trying to create some leverage. "You're going to kill yourself!" In my struggle, my hand slips, my knuckles brushing against the edge of the angry wound on his shoulder.
He flinches violently, a sharp hiss of pain escaping him, but his grip on me doesn't loosen.
"Oh god, I'm sorry," I say, instantly retracting my hand. "Damn it, Goldi, juststop!"
He doesn’t.
I sigh, frustration and a terrifying wave of concern warring within me. Fine. If he won't listen, I'll make him. I start to squirm, to wriggle, to make myself as difficult to carry as possible. It's a pathetic struggle, but it's enough.
With a final, frustrated growl, he reluctantly lowers me to the ground.
The moment my boots touch sand, the world sways violently. I stagger, stars exploding behind my eyes as blood rushes from my head. Goldi’s hand shoots out, steadying me before I can face-plant into the dunes.
"Okay," I admit, clutching his forearm. "Maybe walking was ambitious."
A dry, exhausted huff escapes him, and his gaze fixes on my mouth. It's a look of desperate focus, as if he's trying to read my lips to gauge if I'm about to collapse again.
"Hey, my eyes are up here," I say, the joke falling flat even to my own ears. "You don't have to watch my mouth for a weather report. I'll let you know if I'm going to pass out."
He doesn't respond, of course, just continues that unblinking stare. Then his gaze shifts, scanning the horizon, muscles tensing beneath my hand. Even with his shoulder still clearly bothering him, he's on high alert. The constant vigilance of someone who knows danger is always one heartbeat away.
I take the moment to really look at him. His skin has lost some of its luster, the golden glow dimmed to a faint shimmer that pulses irregularly. The wound on his shoulder looks better than it did in the cave, but not by much. Dark streaks still radiate outward, though they've faded from black to a dull, bruised purple. His breathing is a shallow, controlled rhythm, but it's the tightness around his eyes that tells the real story. He's in agony.
He's not well. Not at all.
