Page 39 of Tharn's Hunt
Twenty meters. Fifteen. Ten.
I can hear it now, a terrible whooshing sound as it glides through the sand behind me, gaining with each passing second.
Five meters.
Almost there.
And then I'm falling, my foot catching on something hidden beneath the sand. I hit the ground hard, the bundle of plants scattering as my grip loosens. Pain explodes in my knee, my palms, as I try to break my fall.
The creature is right behind me. I can feel its presence, a cold weight of dread pressing down on my spine. This is it. This is how I die. Not from fever or dehydration or even shadow creatures, but from a giant, spiny manta ray in an alien desert.
I roll onto my back, determined to at least face my death head-on. The creature looms above me, its body half-emerged from the sand, mouth opening to reveal rows of needle-like teeth.
Really,really, preferring it when it was dead with its mouth closed.
And then something moves, faster than I can track. A blur of gold and bronze as Goldi launches himself past me, claws extended, a snarl ripping from his throat that makes the hair on my neck stand on end.
He collides with the creature mid-air, claws sinking deep into its hide. They crash back into the sand, a tangle of thrashing wings and slashing claws. Then it hisses.
Not a shriek. Not even a sound, really. More like pressurized air escaping a rusted pipe. A thin, keening vibration that splits my skull. My hands fly to my ears, but it’s too late. The noise lodges in my molars, rattles my eye sockets, turns my vision white with pain.
By the time it fades, Goldi’s already torn its throat out.
Silence falls across the desert, broken only by his ragged breathing. He remains crouched over the creature's body, chest heaving, blood—both his and its—dripping from his claws.
"Goldi?" I whisper, barely daring to move.
His head snaps toward me, and for a terrifying moment, there's something wild in his eyes, something untamed and dangerous. Then recognition flashes, and he's scrambling toward me, moving with a desperate urgency that belies his injuries.
He reaches me in seconds, hands hovering over my body, searching for wounds, for damage. His touch is gentle despite the blood still staining his claws, his eyes wide with concern as they scan my face.
"I'm okay," I assure him, though I'm not entirely sure that's true. My knee throbs where I fell, and my hands sting from the firebloom thorns. But I'm alive, which is more than I expected a minute ago. "Thanks to you."
The pride I felt just a moment ago dims.
The alien makes a soft, distressed sound, his fingers tracing the blood on my hands. I follow his gaze to the scattered plants around us, understanding dawning.
"I got them," I say, reaching for the nearest clump of firebloom. "The plants you need. They're a bit spiky, but?—"
He catches my hands, stopping me before I can touch the thorns again. With a growl, he carefully gathers the plants himself, the thorny bits not seeming to bother him.
"Show-off," I mutter, but I feel only gratitude. And something else I'm certainly not going to mention. Not even to myself.
With the plants secured, Goldi turns his attention back to me. His hands cradle my face, those amber eyes searching mine with an intensity that steals my breath. Once more, the glow beneath his skin pulses where we touch, stronger now than it's been since his collapse.
"I'm really okay," I whisper, my voice catching slightly. "You saved me. Again."
He makes that soft rumbling sound in his chest, the one that's becoming strangely familiar. Comforting, even. Then, to my surprise, he drops to one knee before me, head bowed low.
The gesture is so... formal. So out of place, it completely knocks me off balance.It's like something out of a fantasy novel—the knight pledging fealty to his queen.It's the last thing I'd expect from a seven-foot alien who was, just moments ago, redecorating the sand with a monster's internal organs.
But the meaning is unmistakable, even across species. Gratitude. Respect. And maybe... something deeper.
I stare down at him, momentarily speechless. His copper-red hair falls forward, and my eyes snag on the decorations woven into the strands. They’re vertebrae from the spine of some desert creature, their rounded bases threaded through by locks of his shiny hair. They suit him perfectly, these wild adornments. Predator wearing the trophies of his hunts.
"Hey," I say softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "You have nothing to thank me for. I'm the one who keeps getting into trouble, remember?"
He lifts his head, those amber eyes locking with mine, and there's something in them that makes my breath catch. Something that transcends our language barrier and speaks directly to something primal inside me.
