Page 8 of Tharn's Hunt
I flinch, nearly dropping the paste. My dra-kir hammers against my chest, and for a moment, I freeze. My first thought is that she has attacked me, but… no. Her grip is weak, trembling against my skin.
I stare at her hand, then at her face. Her eyes remain closed, her breathing faint. She has not woken.
“What are you doing?” I project, glancing at her face as if she might answer. “I am not… something to catch.”
I try to pull my wrist free, but her fingers tighten slightly, as if even in her unconscious state, she refuses to let go.
And where our skin touches…
More light.
But where before it was merely bright and pulsing, now it swirls.
I stare at our joined hands, at the patterns of light dancing beneath my skin. The sensation of a bone lodging in my throat makes me swallow hard.
I am a hunter. I am controlled.I do not crave strange sensations.
And yet, I do not remove her hand. I am ever aware of the sensation of her touch. There is warmth there, as if her small grasp is burning an imprint into my flesh. I finish treating her wound, gaze shifting to her hold on me even as I wrap the wound with fresh leaves to keep the poultice in place.
Through gentle movements, almost as if I don’t want to disturb her hold on me (which is ludicrous), I settle back on my haunches, considering my options.
I cannot leave her alone here while I venture far for assistance. Worse, I cannot take her with me. In her condition, she might not survive the trip. Better to stay, to help her recover enough strength for travel.
And perhaps, whispers a thought, to discover more about this light between us. About why my dra-kir beats differently in her presence. About why I'm drawn to study the lines of her face when I should be focused only on her survival.
“Jah-kee,” I project again. “Rest. Tharn will protect you.”
But rest does not come. I sit guard, a sentinel between her and the dangers of the dark, her touch a burning imprint on my skin. When Ain’s first light begins to touch the horizon, I check her condition. The fire has not quelled, but it has not worsened. She needs meat. I must hunt.
Prying her fingers from my wrist feels like tearing away a part of my own hide. The absence of her touch is immediate and unnerving. Growling at my own foolishness, I descend from the cave.
The hunt is fast, efficient. A sand runner, its meat tender enough for a weakened body. Laden with fresh meat and afull waterskin, I make my way back, my mind focused on the strange, vulnerable female.
But as I approach the base of the rock face, I pause. There’s something in the sand. Crouching, I peer down at the tracks. Shadowmaw. They must have arrived after I departed. I’m studying their passage when something prickles at the back of my neck.
I’m being watched.
My head snaps up…and there she is.
Jah-kee.
Ain. She is there. Looking at me.
My dra-kir, always so reliable and steady, does an unreasonable flip in my chest.
She’s awake.
Perched at the cave’s entrance, the dying light of Ain catches in her wild, tangled hair, haloing her in gold. But it’s her eyes that stop me dead. Wide, unblinking, the whites showing all around that strange blue.
She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just stares down at me, wide-eyed and trembling, like I’ve already torn her limb from limb. Her strange blue eyes burn with a mix of fear and fury that tightens my chest in a knot.
And I realize with a jolt that shakes me to my core: she does not see a rescuer.
She sees a monster.
Chapter 4
HALLUCINATIONS 101: PLEASE TAKE A SEAT
