Chapter 13

MARGARET

Islam my heels against the guster and it leaps forward, throwing me back with the sudden force. I don't care. Mohlad dropped right after he emerged. I must get to him.

The terrain blurs as I race forward. As the distance between us closes another figure emerges from the tear in the ship. I narrow my eyes and grit my teeth. Whoever or whatever that is, if they're responsible for hurting Mohlad, I will kill them.

In a move that would make him proud, I slip my feet free of the stirrups and leap to the ground. I hit harder than I expect and drop into a crouch as my poor knees try to absorb the impact.

I rush to his side slipping in the sand and sliding to a stop. He collapsed onto his face. I grab on and try to roll him over but damn he's heavy. A small pool of blood forms on the opposite side. Seeing that my heart races faster and I suppress a sob.

"Roll over damn it," I yell, straining with all I've got.

"He's hurt," a voice says in Common, startling me.

I quickly look up, raising my hands into something akin to a defensive position. It's the other figure that emerged from the tear. It's human sized and as it comes into the light I see it is, indeed a human, albeit one who is clearly malnourished.

I think it's a girl. Her hair is a matted, tangled mess. Her face is gaunt and haggard with haunted eyes. She holds onto the edge of the tear with a white-knuckled grip that makes me suspect it may be the only thing keeping her on her feet.

"Yes," I say, mind racing. Who the fuck is this? How did she get here? Did she have something to do with this? No, no way. She is clearly too weak to have hurt Mohlad. "Help?"

She slowly nods then takes a slow step forward. I resume trying to roll him over. She finally joins me and her strength, meager though it may be, gives me the push I need to get him rolled over.

The source of the blood is obvious. There's a deep, ragged looking cut on his side. The blood is red, not black, which is good. I only know that again from the old westerns I watched with my dad. Blackness in the blood of a gut wound means something vital was pierced. Mohlad groans and I frown.

I have to stop the bleeding, obviously, then it's a matter of getting him back to the others. I go to the guster which are standing not far off watching with their hungry gazes. The alpha is snorting and bobbing his head as if the scent of blood is making him a little crazy.

I dig into the packs and find my bag. I pull out my filthy shirt as my best option and go back to Mohlad. It takes some work but the girl helps and soon enough we have a passable bandage on the wound that at least slows the blood.

Mohlad groans and his eyes flutter open. He sees me and a wide smile forms on his face.

"Treasure," he murmurs, weakly raising his hand and running it across my cheek.

I take his hand in mine and kiss it.

"Yes," I agree. The other human watches this exchange with wide eyes but doesn't say anything. "Can you ride?"

"Of course," he says, groaning as he works his way to a seated position.

His color looks pale but I can't be sure. What is pale on a Zmaj? I help all I can, which I know isn't much, and he makes it to his feet. He gets to the alpha but it keeps dancing away. I growl in frustration, slip out from under his arm, and grab the reins, pulling them tight. The creature turns its baleful glare on me and I meet it with my own.

"Stand still you son of a bitch," I order.

I don't know if it's my words, my tone, or what but the thing lowers its head and quits trying to move. I return to Mohlad and assist him in getting his foot into the stirrup. He lets out a moan of pain as he pulls himself up onto the guster. He's on the saddle and seated, wavers a moment, then he takes the reins and nods.

"Back must get," he says.

"We didn't get the part," I say.

"Brothers force come in," he replies his eyes half-closed and his mouth a tight grimace.

I don't argue further and go to my guster. The other human stands by the opening to the ship silently watching us.

"Come on," I say, swinging myself up onto the saddle.

She frowns, shakes her head, then takes a tentative step towards me. Her mouth works and I see her swallow twice before she speaks.

"Where?"

"Other survivors," I say. "Safety."

"Safety?" she queries, her voice cracking.

"Yes," I say, my heart aching for her.

I don't know her story, but it's clear she's had a rough go. All I can do for her right now is take her with us. Once we're home and Mohlad is stitched up, then I'll have more attention to give to her.

I reach out my hand and she takes hold of it. I pull her up and she scrambles onto the saddle behind me. It's not comfortable for either of us since the saddle was not designed for two, but we don't have a choice.

Mohlad makes tsk tsk sound and pulls his guster around. Mine falls in at his side and we head for home.