Chapter 11

I hike for hours while my Wrath burns in my blood, a low simmer just painful enough to make it difficult to think. I don't want to think. The memory that kiss invoked is like a barb in my skull.

I was in my cell. Mara was in my cell. Gray fog smeared across my vision. Hands touched me. My hands touched warm skin.

But the fog won't clear enough to show me the full scene.

When I kissed Mara by the river, when I succumbed to the promise of her pink lips and flushed cheeks, the memory hit like a freight ship entering a low atmosphere planet. Hands on my skin. My brain fritzing, my tongue numb in my mouth. The bars surrounding me. My sparking release, cold, and then an endless black.

But the longer I walk in the damp heat of the jungle, the more my memory splinters. Was Mara in the cell with me at all? I know I've touched her before. I know it. I've felt that soft, smooth skin. I've inhaled the source of her waterdyas scent at her nape.

A root trips me, knocking me to my knees. I take the moment to stare at the swaying canopy overhead. I don't know what's true and what's not.

I don't know that Mara deserves to be left in this jungle. Vulnerable.

When I tied her up, my heart full of rage, I intended to return for her once I found help and called the Feds. I want her to be in their custody, far from me. My Wrath is bubbling too close to the surface of my skin.

But it's been hours now, and all I can focus on is the fact that she's alone. She's tied to a tree, for fuck's sake. If that gnaar finds her, she's doomed.

And I'm miles away now. I put her in that position. I made her helpless. If I return in a day or so with the authorities and she's dead, it'll be my fault.

She may be a sorry excuse for a sentient being, complicit in my torture and imprisonment, but that doesn't mean she deserves death. Especially death by my hands.

My mind made up, I get to my feet and head east once more. As if the new resolution gives me strength, I travel swiftly through the warm jungle. My Wrath fades with every step I take back toward the female, but I refuse to think about what that means.

However, when I return to the tree by the river where I tied her, and see the blood-soaked vine tangled at its roots, I'm shocked at the guttural roar that bursts from my throat.

She's gone.

And there are gnaar tracks in the dirt, deep impressions of a coiled tail. The scent of its scales is thick and cloying in the air. Below it, I can smell Mara's fear, and it guts me.

I'm too late. Something like grief wells in my chest, a knot of pain surging upward until it chokes off my roar. I crouch, pressing my fingertips against the vine. Did she suffer? Or did the gnaar snap her neck with a blow from its strong tail?

Did she curse me as she died?

The gurgling river behind me laughs at my question. Of course she did.

Clenching my jaw, I force myself to focus on the scene. It's hard; my heart is burning uncomfortably in my chest.

I swallow thickly, forcing my brain to work. The vine isn't shredded. How did the predator pull her body away from the tree? There are no signs it devoured her here; the only blood is on the vine. It's a lot of blood, but not an arterial spray.

And I have experience with arterial sprays.

Rocking back on my heels, my Wrath bubbling faster and stronger in my veins, I look around me. Did the gnaar take her into the trees?

But there, by a far root, is a footprint, small and smooth.

I straighten, disbelief flooding past my grief and anger. That track is heading away from the tree. Cold relief drowns my Wrath.

She escaped the vine. I want to sag to my knees, but I force myself to continue scanning. I should have known she wouldn't let that stop her. Mara is a female who will never quit fighting to survive. I've seen that fire in her. Her body may be weak, but she's resourceful.

But now the gnaar is hunting her. I don't know how close it is at her heels. The scents in this clearing are several hours' old. And Mara is wounded. The blood on the vine came from somewhere.

Grinding my teeth, wishing for the reassuring weight of tusks against my jaw, I start to track Mara's prints. She's heading south and west. The gnaar prints disappear—likely it returned to the trees—but I know that's not a sign it stopped following her. Gnaar are ambush predators, and they prefer to attack from above.

Moving as quickly as I can through the trees, I parse the scents of the jungle, hunting for the trace of Mara's waterdyasscent. Or the gnaar's reptilian odor. The birds are loud in the canopy above, a sign no predators are near.

My claws click at my sides as I hike, and desperation moves through me. If the gnaar catches her now, her death will still be on my hands. I left her alone, despite the tracks I saw this morning at our sleeping spot. My lungs heave as I move over and around the roots in my path. I don't know what's happening to me. I don't understand the urgency pounding in my blood, in my chest, in my heart. It feels like more than just guilt.

I have to find Mara. I have to find her now. I have to find her before the gnaar does. Or, I swallow hard, I may never forgive myself.

Every second of my race through the jungle feels like an endless loop of useless time. My eyes scan the greenery, searching for Mara's gray scrubs; my nostrils flare, sifting the scents of the dirt, the trees, the birds . . .

I remember the press of her lips against mine by the river. The way her eyes widened in surprise and then closed as she threw herself into the kiss. The way her hands clutched at my skin. And the way her expression turned from heavy-lidded lust to shock when I knocked her down.

She drives me insane, this female. My instincts tell me one thing about her, and my brain tells me another. I don't know what to believe. What to trust.

But I know in my gut she doesn't deserve an ugly death in this jungle. So I start to run.

THEnight falls quickly, or maybe I'm just too distracted to notice. I do notice, however, when my vision switches over to black and white and it becomes harder to find Mara's path.

She should have stopped for the night when it started to get dark, but I remember the struggle she had last night to climb the vine, and I'm not sure she's strong enough to do it again, especially if she's injured.

Without bird calls, the jungle is silent around me. I try to keep my running footsteps quiet. I don't want Mara to know I'm chasing her. What I'll do when I find her, I haven't decided.

A high-pitched scream echoes through the still trees.

My heart stutters in my chest. Lyfia's Blood, I'm too late.

I run toward the sound, and my flaring nostrils suck down the scent of Mara's fear. An odd whirring noise throbs in the air, and then another choked scream cuts off abruptly.

After a few more racing seconds, I find Mara. She's on the ground, with blood on her face, her chest, her hands. Her eyes are shut, her chest unmoving. The gnaar looms over her, hissing at me, but all I can focus on is Mara's still body. And the blood.

It perfumes the air, drenching it with iron. My Wrath boils over, the transition so sudden, I sway on my feet. My muscles swell, my claws lengthening. My empty jaw aches.

I launch myself at the gnaar, aiming my claws at its unprotected throat. It jerks away, whipping its own claws out. We grapple for a few fast moments, me trying to stab through its scales, the gnaar trying to coil its tail around my legs. After a wild swing, I trip on a root and the tail encircles my lower legs and starts to squeeze.

Knocked off my feet, I try to roll away, but the heavy tail pins me in place. The creature bends its torso over me, reaching with its claws, and I slam my horns into its face. Blood fountains in the air.

The coils loosen as it rears back, and I kick them away. The gnaar tries to retreat into the jungle, but I launch myself at it again, impaling it on my horns and then shaking it loose before it can wrap its tail around me again.

It's hurt now, hissing at me as green blood drips down the scutes of its torso.

My instincts war between bloodlust and rationality. I should let it slither away. It's just an animal.

But it hurt Mara. And it might try to hurt her again.

I need to kill it. I need to kill it now. Now, before my Wrath wanes with my exhaustion. Grinding my jaw, I wish for my tusks. I would tear out its throat.

Instead, I slam into it again and again with my horns, Wrath dulling the pain of its claws tearing my skin. My horns break through its scales as my own claws fend off its tail. The beast hits the dirt hard, and I bury my claws in its thorax, ripping them downward. It writhes under me. I dig deeper. I don't know where the heart is. I burrow and slash, throwing wet, slimy things out of the way until its chest is hollow. And it's still.

My own chest heaving, I feel the cool wave of my Wrath leaving me. I vanquished my enemy. The toxin leaches from me in a knees-weakening rush. Muscles shaking, I stagger to my feet and crouch next to Mara.

Gently, I press a fingertip against her throat. Her pulse is thready, almost too faint to detect. I scrape hair away from the blood on her face. She has a nasty gash on her forehead, and a thick, solid lump below it. She needs medical attention. Now.

I gather her into my arms, and her eyes slit open as she groans in pain.

The shape of her torso is unnatural. I feel her ribs shifting as I clutch her to me.

"I have to carry you. I'm sorry, dshe mordren," I whisper. I don't know if I'm apologizing for leaving her, or for the pain I'm causing her by carrying her. It's probably both.

Her eyes close as her head lolls on her neck. I tell myself it's better she's unconscious, but my heart thunders in my chest as I start to head west again. I have to get her to the coast. I have to get help.

The thought that she's hurt, in pain, and it's my fault is unbearable.

I walk through the night, and she doesn't wake.

INthe morning light, the ghastly cut on her forehead is like a sneering mouth, mocking me for my failures. It's still seeping blood, and even I, with no medical training, know that's a bad sign.

Her breaths are shallow, almost nonexistent, as her lungs work behind the shattered bones of her ribcage.

Her waterdyas scent is so drenched with blood and pain, it's rancid. It burns in my throat, closing it.

I want to shake her awake, to see those hazel eyes flashing at me with stubbornness and determination, or maybe with rage now, after what I did. But she's a limp doll in my arms.

It takes most of the day before I reach the coast. I smell the saltwater long before I catch a glimpse of blue through the slowly thinning trees. While I stopped a handful of times to drink water, to dribble some over Mara's slack mouth, I'm swaying on my feet now, my reserves almost spent.

It's all worth it though, when I step out from under the trees and see a boat moored just offshore. It's a fishing vessel, its shallow, empty nets hanging out of the water on either side like tangled spider webs.

I place Mara on the sand as carefully as I can and then run for the water's edge, waving my arms in the air and shouting.

A figure appears on the deck, just a dark, thin shape from this distance, and a faint hail echoes back to me. The figure moves to the stern and lowers a smaller, slim craft into the water before climbing aboard. It zips easily across the water toward me and within a few moments, I can clearly see the Kral youth at the helm.

He easily beaches the skiff and, while wariness radiates from his posture, he walks to me.

"My companion is injured," I tell him when he's close enough. I gesture back to where I left Mara in the sand. "Gnaar attack. Do you have a med pod on your boat? How far are we from a hospital?"

The youth, his horns no longer than a couple of inches, and no tusks yet growing in his jaw, gives me a skeptical look. "Who are you? Why were you in the jungle? No one lives on this island."

"It's a long story. And I need to talk to the Federal police. But first, can you help us?"

He looks at Mara's crumpled form and nods. "I have a basic med pod. It can handle small injuries, like cuts and stuff, but that's it."

Mara's injuries are more grievous than that, but anything should help a little. I hurry back to her and lift her gently. She hasn't moaned in a while, and that terrifies me.

The youth's eyes widen when I return to the skiff. The blood covering Mara's clothes is now a dull brown, and the bruise around the cut on her forehead is lividly purple. I sit cautiously, and the skiff powers itself back to the boat with only a little rocking and rolling on the waves. Mara still doesn't make a sound, even when I know the motion must be paining her ribs.

I crack open an eyelid to check; her pupil is dilated.

"I think she has a concussion," I tell the youth. "And broken ribs. We need to get to a hospital."

"We're six hours from Landis. That's the closest island with an actual town. There's a hospital, and regular shuttles to Flex."

I grit my teeth at the delay, but there's no avoiding it. When we reach the fishing boat, the youth climbs aboard first. I carefully pass him Mara's body so I can climb up after, and the few moments when she's in his arms make my hands shake.

He gives me a suspicious look when I take her back from him. "Why is she so thin? Is she starving? How long were you on that island?"

I don't answer. I don't know the answer. I don't know how long Mara worked for Aezok before I arrived. I don't know why she's so thin. I don't know anything about her really, other than she smells nice, and she kisses like she would crawl inside of me if she could.

The air below deck is rich with the scents of fish and saltwater. The med pod is in a small room at the bottom of a short set of stairs. Hurrying, I tuck Mara inside and then step back. The mechanical arms whir into motion, scanning and beeping. The pod roof closes over her, cutting off my sight.

Feeling a little sick to my stomach, I back out of the room. The pod will take a while to scan and stabilize her. There's no reason for me to wait.

There's no reason for me to stand here uselessly.

Still, I linger at the doorway. Under my feet, the boat's engines engage with a rumble. I should talk to the youth, find out his name and charge my spare comm. I should see if he needs help getting us underway.

Instead, I lean against the door and stare at the pod, willing its occupant to heal, and hating the sensation of her absence from my arms.