Page 67 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Ellie

I sit for maybe five minutes, my fingers wrapped so tight around Anghar’s weapon, my hands start to shake.

I’m trying hard to breathe slowly, to remain calm, but I know what Anghar is heading towards.

He thinks those tattooed assholes are up ahead of us.

We’re so close to his home territory here, there’s a chance that his tribe brothers are in danger.

And that means there’s a chance the other girls are in danger too.

He’s told me in the dreamspace that there are other tribes - tribes that travel around, tribes that live in other settlements nearby, that are friendly.

Who haven’t lost their way. But knowing the luck I’ve had so far in life, it won’t be one of those.

Nothing ever goes well for me for long, and now I’m terrified that this latest bit of good luck - finding Anghar, falling for him - is going to turn sour the way everything else always had.

Chosen for the slaughterhouse. Abused by the supervisors.

Win the lottery for Alpha Colony. Crash land on a primitive planet.

Find a wonderful mate…

My mind is quick to imagine Anghar with his throat cut, bleeding on the forest floor like the tattooed male I killed.

No matter how hard I try to convince myself that Anghar is an excellent fighter, that he’s got the skills he needs to survive, that he wouldn’t put himself in the kind of danger that would mean he couldn’t come back to me, my heart just can’t quite believe it.

He’s going to die. Killed by those savage males with tattooed arms. He’s going to die, and then they’re going to take my friends and abuse and probably kill them too.

And there’s nothing I can do about it.

My fingers tighten on the now familiar weapon.

No. Not nothing.

I push myself to my feet, using one hand to brace myself against the trunk of the tree.

My legs feel unsteady beneath me, and I know it has more to do with the view - the drop I can see to the forest floor beneath me - than it does with the sturdiness of the branch beneath my feet.

Anghar left me at a spot that’s as solid as the floor, wide and safe.

I remain still a moment, take a few deep breaths.

I know which way he went. Watched him through the branches until he disappeared out of sight.

I can follow his path. I’m smaller, lighter.

There’s no way the branches he used will break beneath me.

I just have to trust in my body, my balance.

Which is easier said than done. I think of how unsteady I was walking on the shifting sand of the beach - can I trust myself to not fall?

If I fall, I’m dead. Or as good as. But if I don’t follow after Anghar, I won’t have done everything in my power to keep him from ending up dead.

The thought of having to spend my future on this planet without him is enough to rally my courage, and I take a step forward.

I wobble a little. Pause. Take another breath.

Stop looking down. Pretend I’m just walking on the pavement back home.

Or the corridors in the slaughterhouse - walked so many times I could do it with my eyes closed, stepping over every uneven tile, ducking round every corner without conscious thought.

I step again. Find my feet a little steadier.

With great care, I start moving across the branches after Anghar.

Ahead of me, I hear voices. Raskarran voices.

Male and speaking a language I don’t understand.

But I think I understand the tone - the anger being spat back and forth, with one voice trying to stay calm and friendly, but failing a little.

Whoever is talking, they aren’t friends.

I move quicker, growing in confidence with every step I take that doesn’t end with me on the floor.

I crouch as I walk, keeping my centre of gravity as low as I can, just as Anghar did when he ran through the branches.

Ran. While carrying me. Terrifying, but impressive.

I hope one day I’ll be as confident navigating his world.

I hope he’s still going to be around to teach me.

Then I hear the unmistakable sound of fighting. Shouts and cries and bodies and weapons clashing. I rush forwards in time to see Anghar drop from his place in the trees and take out a raskarran beneath him.

And ahead, surrounded by four of Anghar’s tribe brothers, the other girls.

Khadija has her spear and jabs it at any enemy that gets too close.

She actually slices into the elbow of one, while one of Anghar’s brothers tangles with him.

The momentary distraction is enough for Anghar’s tribe brother to jam his knife into the enemy raskarran’s heart.

My own heart races, thrilled that two of the enemy are already down.

Then I notice how many there are. Two, no, three, of the tattooed assholes are dead, but I count nine more approaching, some slinking out from hiding places further into the trees. There are six of Anghar’s tribe, plus Khadija.

And me, but with the raskarrans all tangled together, I don’t trust myself to be a good enough shot to hit the ones I want to.

The biggest of Anghar’s friends is taking on three of the tattooed guys at once, and I raise my weapon, drawing the string back tight, aiming at one of his attackers.

But they move so quickly, none of them separating enough that I can get a safe shot off.

Not that the big guy needs my help. He fights with a terrifying ferocity, crippling first one, then another of his assailants, gutting the third with a decisive killing blow. He turns back to the other two, knife gripped in his hand, ready to finish them off.

When suddenly he staggers backwards, a projectile like the one I’m holding buried deep in his chest. At first, I wonder if I let go of my string by accident, but it still pinches against my fingers, my arms still quivering with the effort of holding it back to my face.

Then the big guy is hit again and again, shot at from the trees on the opposite side.

I watch another one of the projectiles fly from the trees, and see with it the raskarran hiding there, drawing his weapon again.

I shift, turning my focus to him. Sweat beads on my brow. I have only one chance, one shot. As soon as I fire, my position will be given away. The raskarran will have a chance to fire back. I hold my breath, get my arms as steady as I can. Imagine Anghar’s arms around me, guiding my hands.

I snap my fingers open, the projectile firing across the clearing and sinking into the enemy raskarran’s neck. His hand goes to his throat, then he collapses.

Suddenly, the forest is all noise as more raskarrans pour from the trees, launching into the battle.

I panic for a moment, the sounds of my friends screaming echoing in my ears.

But the newcomers are not tattooed, and they go after the cliff tribe, coming to the aid of Anghar’s brothers.

In moments, it’s all over - every last one of the cliff tribe dead on the ground.

There’s a long pause as the dust settles, every one of the raskarrans breathing heavily.

A high-pitched cry breaks the moment - everyone turning to look as the big guy collapses to the floor, helped by Khadija and Rachel.

One of the other raskarrans sprints to his side, and I wonder if this is Shemza, the tribe healer Anghar told me about.

I’d pictured him old and wise, but he looks younger even than Anghar, who can’t be much older than me.

At least by human standards. Maybe these guys live a really long time.

There’s so much I don’t know about this place, but I do know I don’t want the big guy to die.

Don’t want Anghar’s tribe to suffer a loss because of us.

One of the raskarrans calls out. I look over, terrified I’m going to see Anghar equally wounded.

But the raskarran is just indicating the enemy I shot down, pointing to the projectile in his neck.

There’s a moment of confusion, a lot of nervous looking around, scanning the branches.

Then Anghar appears, looking ruffled but otherwise unhurt.

I breathe a sigh of relief as he says something to his tribe brothers.

Then he turns and looks directly at me, grinning.

He runs across the clearing, his claws growing out of his fingers a moment before he digs them into the bark and climbs up to me.

“ Nhi Ellie,” he says, touching his forehead to mine before sweeping me into his arms and carrying me down to the ground.