Page 12 of Tharn's Hunt
Maybe his people sip.
Maybe the undignified burp that escapes my throat gives him the ick. All I know is he's looking at me like I've just performed a magic trick by doing the most basic mammalian function.
I thrust the waterskin back at him, and this time, our fingers lock for a solid second.
Light doesn't just spark. It explodes.
A brilliant golden fire erupts between us. It races up his arm, mapping veins and patterns under his skin that I shouldn't be able to see. He jerks away with a sharp hiss, stumbling back a step and cradling his hand to his chest as if I've physically burned him. Theviolent pulse of light subsides, but it doesn't disappear.It settles, leaving a soft, steady glow beneath his skin.
For a moment, we just stare at each other. His nostrils flare wide as he inhales deeply, his golden eyes wide with pure, animal shock. My skin does a strange prickling thing that I’m not sure is actually from fear.
I swallow hard, gesturing to my calf. “You did this?”
His gaze snaps to the plant matter stuck to my wound. Something unreadable passes across his face. Then he looks at me again, like he’s trying to tunnel through my skull and into my brain.
I break eye contact, pushing myself up straighter. “I’m going to take that as a yes. You’re the only thing I’ve encountered in this wilderness apart from those shadow creatures that wanted me for dinner.” I pause, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”
My wrist aches where his claw had pricked me earlier, but the pain feels distant. Unimportant.
All that matters is the earring between us, and what it means.
“And if you’ve helped me…that means maybe you helped my sister, too.”
When I meet his gaze again, he’s looking at me in that same way. Still clutching his chest as the glow pulses beneath his skin, even as he stares at me so hard I actually feel a dull sensation behind my eyes.
I don’t wait for whatever silent conversation he wants to have. My legs tremble as I force myself upright, swaying slightly with the effort. Weakness and hunger pull at me, but determination pushes back. I wipe the blood from my wrist onto my already filthy clothes without a second glance.
Steadying myself against the cave wall, I point at the earring, then toward the desert beyond the entrance. My voice comes out hoarse but determined: "Take me to her."
He doesn’t move.
His expression shifts in subtle, alien ways that are hard to describe. The tightening around his eyes. The slight flaring of his nostrils. I can’t interpret it, but it clearly means something.
I take a shaky step forward, then another. My body betrays me with a stumble, but I catch myself.
“Come on,” I say, each word pulled from somewhere deep. “Show me where you found her.”
The alien’s expression shifts. The muscles in his jaw tighten.A low, sharp grunt escapes him. A sound of pure negation.
My gaze snaps to his. "What do you mean,no?" I take another shaky step forward."If my sister is alive," I say, each word pulled from somewhere deep. "I need to go to her. Now."
The moment I stagger toward the exit, he moves faster than I can track, blocking the cave entrance with his massive body.
I freeze as his glowing skin illuminates the space between us.
Who the hell is he? How did he meet Justine? And where did he come from?
I freeze, glaring up at him. "Move."
He doesn’t. Instead, he simply points one long, clawed finger at my leg. At the wound. Then he gestures to me, his hand making a slow, falling motion, mimicking my earlier collapse. His meaning is brutally clear.
You are too weak. You will fall.
"I don't care," I lie, my voice trembling with a mixture of fury and frustration. "I'll crawl if I have to. I'm excellent at crawling. I did it for a whole year when I was a baby."
He meets my glare, his golden eyes unwavering. Then he points to himself, taps his own broad chest, and points to meagain. The gesture is so simple, so primal, it bypasses language entirely.I will care for you. I will decide when you are ready.
Oh, hell no.'I will decide when you are ready'?Excuse me? Has he met me? I've been successfully ignoring unsolicited advice from men my entire life; I'm not about to start taking it from a seven-foot-tallnakedone who thinks a grunt is a complete sentence.
