Page 33 of Tharn's Hunt
It wasn't real.
Great. So I hallucinated the whole thing. The connection, the comfort, the raw desperation in his voice... all of it. Just a side effect of my brain getting cooked, served up with a side of wishful thinking.
Fuck.
I slump back against the stone, the disappointment a cold, heavy weight in my gut. "Never mind," I sigh, the word feeling hollow. "Let's just focus on getting you better."
I pass him the waterskin, and he accepts it with that slight head tilt that’s becoming familiar.
Too familiar.
I shouldn’t be noticing how his throat moves as he drinks, the way his jaw flexes with each swallow. Shouldn’t be cataloging the exact shade of gold that tints his skin where it stretches over muscle. Our fingers brush as he returns the pouch, and suddenly his entire arm ignites with golden light, veins lighting up like molten rivers under his skin.
The glow pulses once, twice, searingly bright, before settling into a steady hum.
I can’t decide if I’m staring because the phenomenon is so strange…or if I’m just that desperate for something beautiful to look at in this hellscape.
When he reaches for me, I automatically stiffen, eyes wide, my heart suddenly beating a little too hard. He pauses, amber-gold eyes flicking to me, watching my reaction. When I remain still, throat bobbing with a swallow, his arm completes the movement. His hand comes up to my forehead, checking my temperature. His touch is still cool, almost too cool. A niggling thought in my mind tells me something's wrong.
"How much longer until we reach Justine?" I ask, my voice echoing softly against the rock around us.
He doesn't answer, just continues his gentle assessment. Those impossibly gentle fingers trail from my forehead to my cheek, then lower, pressing against the frantic flutter of my pulse.
And damn him, because I notice everything. The corded strength in his arms, muscles shifting like steel wrapped in velvet. The way his touch lingers just shy of possessive. Thetraitorous shiver that skates down my spine—one I barely suppress.
I should pull away.
I don’t.
"Hey," I try again, speaking a little louder. "How long?"
Still no answer. His eyes meet mine, narrowing on a slight wince, but he doesn’t reply. Is my voice that croaky? Or is he just too exhausted to respond?
Panic flutters in my chest. I reach for his satchel, fumbling with the ties. "You need to take some of that paste. For your wound."
He catches my hand, pushing the satchel back toward me.
"Don't be stubborn," I say, frustration sharpening my tone. "You're hurt. You need medicine too."
He makes a soft, rumbling sound—not words, just a noise that might be meant to reassure. It doesn't work. If anything, it makes me more afraid, because it means he either can't or won't speak to me anymore.
"Goldi, please." I try to sit up, but the world spins violently, and I collapse back against the cave wall. "Say something. Anything."
He blinks slowly, watching me with those amber eyes. Then he shifts, positioning himself beside me, his larger body curled protectively around mine. One arm wraps around my waist, drawing me against his chest where I can feel the too-rapid beat of his heart.
Oh God.
Had Ireallyimagined it all? Our conversations? The connection I'd felt? Was it just fever dreams and delirium?
"We're not going to die here," I whisper, though I'm no longer sure if he can hear me. "I won't let us."
His only response is to tighten his hold slightly, his breath warm against my hair. His glow flickers, dimming further untilit's barely visible in the darkness of the cave. Like a battery dying.
Fear grips me then. I press my hand to his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat. Still there, still fighting, but weaker now. How much blood has he lost? How far has he pushed himself beyond his limits?
"Please," I whisper into the darkness. "Please don't leave me."
He makes that soft rumbling sound again, and I feel the lightest pressure of his arms around me as if he's willing to protect me from the rock and the cold even while dying.
