Page 94 of Tharn's Hunt
My chest aches.
I move quickly, finding a soft fur beside the basin and soaking it in the cool water. When I return to his side, I begin gently cleaning the sand and blood from his wounds, starting with the worst injuries on his legs where the serpent's barbs had entered his skin.
The punctures are deep, the edges ragged and still seeping his dark, almost metallic-looking blood. Sand is ground into the wounds, and I work carefully to clean each one, wincing in sympathy when his muscles tense beneath my touch.
"I'm sorry," I murmur, though I know the cleaning is necessary. "I'm trying to be gentle."
His hand finds mine, engulfing it completely. His touch is warm despite his injuries, his fingers curling around mine.
"Good.” The word drops like water in my mind, and my eyes widen.
Heat rises to my cheeks at the simple praise, and I duck my head, focusing on his wounds again to hide my reaction. In the alcove near his weapons, I spot a familiar blue and orange plant. Firebloom. I reach for it, crushing the petals between my fingers.
Some of the tension eases from his frame as I apply the poultice, and the fact makes my heart ease a little.
When I've treated the worst of his injuries, I reach for a waterskin hanging nearby, offering it to him. "You shoulddrink," I say, helping him lift his head slightly. "You've lost a lot of blood."
He takes a few sips, a single droplet escaping. I catch it with my finger without thinking, the casual intimacy of the gesture only registering when his eyes lock onto mine.
"Thank you," I say softly, lowering the waterskin. "For saving me.Again. You seem to make a habit of that."
His hand rises so slowly, as if I might vanish. Calloused fingers cradle my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin with a reverence that liquefies my bones.
No one has ever touched me like this. Like I’m the last drop of water in the desert.
I don't think. Don't hesitate. Don't second-guess. I just act on the feeling that's been building inside me since he first held me in the desert.
Leaning forward, I press my lips to his.
For a moment, Tharn goes completely still, his body rigid with surprise. Clearly, kissing isn't a thing Drakav do. But before I can pull back, before embarrassment can overtake me, his arms slide around me, and then?—
—fire.
A sound rips from his chest, something between a growl and a prayer, as his arms band around me. His kiss is clumsy at first, all sharp teeth and panting breaths, until I nip his lower lip in guidance.
Oh.
The moment he learns, heconquers.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, hot and wicked, stealing my gasp. The glow beneath his skin erupts, painting us in molten gold as his claws skate down my spine—careful, so careful—but the hunger in them?
Unhinged.
I’m drowning. Burning. Alive.
I'm kissing an alien. And it feels like coming home.
Just as the thought forms, Tharn stiffens suddenly, breaking the kiss with a sharp intake of breath. His gaze shoots to mine, filled not with desire but with alarm.
"Tharn?" I pull back slightly, confusion and concern replacing the haze of desire. "What's wrong?"
He doesn't answer, but his expression tells me something isverywrong. His body goes rigid, his back arching as a sound of pure agony tears from his throat. The glow beneath his skin flares blindingly bright, then pulses erratically like a malfunctioning light.
"Tharn!" I grab his shoulders, panic rising as his body begins to convulse. "What's happening? What's wrong?"
But even as I ask…I know. He’s changing.
The golden light beneath his skin surges one final time, so bright I have to shield my eyes, and then it abruptly shifts—no, explodes—into something unnatural. The glow fractures, splintering like shards of lightning under his skin, and then morphs into streaks of black that ripple across him like living ink.
