Page 52 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ellie

W e trudge through the trees, Anghar’s pace slow because of his wound.

Or maybe because I couldn’t go any faster even if I tried.

I’m as tired as if I’ve returned home from a sixteen hour shift at the slaughterhouse during peak season.

I remember how it felt to collapse into my cot bed afterwards, the mattress thin, the sheets coarse, but still that bone deep ache would start to ease out of my muscles as sleep rushed up to take me.

I crave that release now. Even the thought of the sandy parachute lining the ground beneath me is enticing.

I look round at the trees as we walk, trying to spot something familiar.

I’m not sure how far into the forest I ran.

It’s like a whole other world under the canopy of leaves.

I know there’s a beach and an ocean out there somewhere, but it could be a few metres away or a hundred miles for all I can tell.

The trees muffle everything, enclosing around me, trapping me in the world that exists beneath them.

In the deeper shadows, my eyes catch glimpses of things and I’m not sure whether I’m seeing the movement of creatures and branches, or if my brain is just making shapes out of the play of light and shadow.

I look to Anghar, wishing I could ask him if he knows how long it will take to get back to the beach.

I feel like I couldn’t have run that far, and maybe we are just another hour or so of stumbling from the escape pod and the other girls.

I hope that’s the case. Anghar said his tribe had a healer, and I want to get him back to them.

The cut on his side looked bad, and I doubt my makeshift bandage is doing anything much to help him.

A pitiful offering of assistance to the guy who threw himself in front of a knife to protect me.

He threw himself in front of a knife to protect me. He’s injured because he fought to protect me. I think again of how safe I felt when he held me. Maybe my instincts weren’t wrong about that.

A bird calls out, a whooping cry. It sounds a lot less menacing than the cawing sounds of the bird on the beach, but Anghar stops dead, holding up a hand to halt me. My focus is so much on putting one foot in front of the other, I almost walk straight into him.

He holds himself tense, still, even as blood leaks through the makeshift bandage I’ve done for him. He must be in some pain, but the only sign of it is the beads of sweat on his brow. He still looks lithe, strong. Deadly. A hunter through and through.

I try to imitate him, try to keep my body from swaying, but I feel like someone’s picked me up and wrung me out, squeezing out the last drops of strength and energy I had.

It’s not just the flight through the forest. It’s the days of worry on the beach, the physical exertion of hunting for food.

It’s staying up too late to avoid my dreams. It’s the emotional processing of Anghar being real.

Of everything that happened in those dreams being real.

Another bird call sounds, closer. I think. It’s a little hard to tell. I scan the treetops, looking for any sign of the creature, afraid that we have another fight on our hands. My heart beats faster, a weak injection of adrenaline lending my muscles a tiny bit of strength. I hope it’s enough.

Anghar turns to me, his feet a whisper on the undergrowth.

I don’t know how he moves so silently, especially while bleeding and injured.

My own feet make more noise than his while I’m standing still.

He looks at me with serious eyes, then raises his hand to cover his mouth before reaching across and covering mine.

No talking. Got it.

I nod. Anghar lowers his hand from my mouth, reaching for my hand, clasping his fingers through mine. My hand is so little compared to his, but his hold is gentle, even as he pulls me after him, guiding me off the path we were taking, heading deeper into the trees.

He keeps himself bent low and I try to copy. The pack slides around my shoulders, rustling and noisy. I wince almost every time I take a step and crunch a stick or leaves beneath my clumsy feet.

A third bird call and Anghar starts to pick up the pace, moving with less concern for quiet, more interest in speed. He tugs on my arm, encouraging me to move faster. My legs burn, my muscles protesting, but I do it, sensing his urgency. The danger it must mean we are in.

I catch a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye as Anghar hurries us forwards. I glance round, see the hint of a big body in the shadows of the treetops. Another bird call sounds, but the shape didn’t look anything like a bird.

Another bird call, coming from an entirely different direction. Anghar veers away from our path, zig-zagging us through the trees. I struggle to keep up with him, his grip on my hand tightening as he drags me behind him.

Another bird cry, another change of direction, and I realise that they’re not bird calls at all.

We’re being hunted. Panic makes my throat tight as I look up into the branches of the trees and see large shapes moving quickly between them.

I hear a twanging sound the moment before something whistles past my head, close enough that I feel it.

Anghar’s grip on my hand grows painful, and he tugs me harder, ducking his head low.

I try to mimic him, but my whole body hurts.

He must be worse off, but there’s no sign of his injury now as he moves between the trees at a pace, his entire focus on the path ahead of us.

And then that path abruptly stops. We come out of the trees on a precipice above a fast-moving river.

Anghar turns to start moving along the edge, but another alien steps out of the trees, a spear in his hand, tattoos running up his arms, a leering grin on his face.

And he might be alien, but I know that look.

I press closer to Anghar, but I know it’s pointless.

He’s already wounded, exhausted. There’s no way he can save me from this guy.

When another three emerge, surrounding us in a neat semicircle, cutting off any path, I know we’re done.

Anghar says something, and I think he’s trying to keep his tone light, but I can hear the strain in his voice, notice his hand has gone back to clutching his side.

My own hand is gripping his arm, and I don’t even remember grabbing him.

He’s warm and firm and in any other circumstance he might have felt like a steadying presence.

An anchor. Instead, I feel like I’m spiralling, my breath coming quicker with every step the other aliens take towards us.

I know what they intend for me and I’m gripped by a certainty that I won’t endure. Not this time.

The biggest of the aliens steps forwards. He’s the one with a knife and he toys with it, his eyes fixed on Anghar. I wonder if he found the bodies of his two tribe members, or if he wants to gut Anghar for no reason other than because he can.

And between the terror for myself, for what is inevitably going to follow my capture, for the girls back on the beach who these guys might find next, a thought bubble up. Strong. Undeniable.

I don’t want anything to happen to Anghar.

Not just in a ‘he’s the only thing looking out for me’ sense. The thought of his body lifeless on the floor - it cuts into a deep part of me. I don’t want to never see that amused glint in his eyes, and the kindness always lurking behind it, again.

Kindness is always hard for a bottom tier girl to find. It makes a twisted sort of sense that I should find some here, only to have it snatched away from me.

I press myself closer to him. Anghar slips an arm round my waist, pulling me tight into his side. He turns his face so it’s angled down towards mine, his lips close to my ear. He murmurs some words, his tone soothing. I close my eyes, try to mentally brace myself for what’s about to happen.

And feel Anghar lift me a moment before he pushes us both backwards, leaping from the edge towards the river.

For a long moment, I scream as we fall, air rushing around us.

Then we hit the water, sinking deep into it.

Despite the heat of the forest, the water is cold, shocking all the air out of my lungs.

I’m tumbling, rolling, bumping along the bottom, and in the dark and cold, I can’t think.

I don’t know what to do, except my hand is still gripping Anghar’s clothing, so I just concentrate on that.

On not letting go. Even when my lungs start to burn and I think I might be forced to take a breath any moment, I pour every drop of will I have left into keeping my fingers closed tight around that fabric.

Then Anghar’s hands close around my arms and we’re moving against the current, not just being dragged along by it. The water around me gets lighter, then my head breaks the surface and I suck down a glorious lungful of air.

Only to submerge again, the surface of the water choppy and uneven, the current still impossibly strong.

Anghar’s arm wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him, his legs kicking in a steady, strong rhythm.

I’m out of the water again, coughing and spluttering.

This time, I stay up long enough to catch my breath, so next time we’re forced down, I just stay calm, still, let him bring us back to the surface.

When the water evens out a little, he turns me in his arms, guiding me to loop my arms around his neck, freeing his hands to steer us through the water.

Beneath the surface, I feel something brush against my leg and nearly shriek.

But then I recognise the familiar sensation of Anghar’s tail wrapping around my leg.

He locks it tight around me, keeping me pinned to his side even as he lets go of my body otherwise and starts pushing us further down the river, speeding us along with the current.

I wonder at first why he’s not trying to get us to the bank on the other side, which is not a sheer wall of rock, but a gentle slope.

Then I glimpse movement through the trees and realise the other aliens are chasing us, running down the bank.

The river has already carried us a distance from them, and with Anghar’s efforts, they’re soon far enough behind us that I struggle to see them anymore.

I hear the echoes of their voices a little while longer, then the noise of the river swallows those up as well.