Page 18 of Survivor (A Space Pearl’s Treat #2)
“At least I think I did,” I said, patting his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm. “I felt pretty sure I was dying and dragged myself onto the hospital roof so I could see the stars one last time. That’s where the Trogvyk grabbed me.”
Vraxxan’s face transformed into a storm of shock and rage.
His hands moved over me, seeking reassurance that I was indeed whole and well.
When he seemed satisfied that I suffered no ill, he drew me against his chest, holding me tightly as he rubbed his cheek over my hair like a big cat trying to offer comfort.
“You are, okay?” he whispered, his voice laced with an almost desperate plea.
“Please tell me you are no longer sick.”
“I’m fine.” This time, my chuckle held genuine humor. “Thanks to that nifty little contraption called the Garoot Healer. My cancer is gone.”
Vraxxan’s only response was to hold me tighter. I felt a tremor, like a subterranean earthquake, roll through his body, a silent testament to his emotions.
“I’m okay,” I reassured him softly. “I promise.”
“Why did you not tell me this before?” he asked after a few moments, his voice a mix of curiosity and concern as his fingers traveled soothingly up and down my spine.
“I didn’t want you to pity me,” I admitted, the words difficult to voice.
“Pity?” Vraxxan repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion as if the concept was foreign to him.
“Usually, whenever anybody finds out I had cancer, they give me the pity stare ,” I explained, mimicking the expression I encountered so many times—sad demeanor, furrowed brow, and downturned mouth—an expression I grew to despise.
“Why would I pity you?” Vraxxan frowned, his distaste for the idea mirroring my own. “You are the most remarkable female I have ever met. I feel many things for you, but pity is not one of them.”
“I feel many things for you, too,” I murmured softly, my voice barely audible over the hammering of my heart.
His lips crashed down on mine, and I wound my arms around his neck, letting myself get lost in the sensation. The scents of damp earth and vibrant foliage mingled with the distant calls of exotic creatures, seeming to enclose us in our own little bubble, allowing us to lose ourselves in each other.
When we finally broke apart, Vraxxan glanced back toward our favorite spot by the creek, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.
I laughed, though highly temped. “We’ve been gone almost all day. Vysar might get worried and come looking for us. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?” Vraxxan’s father was good at giving us space, but the jungle was a dangerous place, and protectiveness seemed to be a genetic trait.
Vraxxan raised his eyebrows, the concept of embarrassment something he needed to ponder. After a minute, he acquiesced with a heavy sigh, took my hand in his, and led me toward the treehouse.
The path we walked was a narrow trail that the Peecha had carved through the dense jungle.
It meandered from the babbling creek, winding its way through a lush area where fruit trees flourished, their branches heavy with ripe, colorful bounty.
The route would take us longer to return to the treehouse, but Vraxxan wanted to check the snares he had set nearby.
Not to mention a kipawa tree laden with delicious fruit beckoned.
With a gentle reminder not to wander and a playful swat on my rear, Vraxxan left me to gather the ripe kipawa fruit while he ventured a few steps further down the path to check his snares.
He was only a few feet away, and I could still catch glimpses of him through the lush foliage.
His presence, even at a distance, was reassuring.
The warmth of his recent confession lingered, and I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face as I started plucking fruit from the branches.
Kipawa fruit bore a resemblance to a peach, yet its skin was thicker and fuzzier, much like a kiwi’s.
When eaten fresh, it was a delightful treat, bursting with sweetness.
However, I had discovered a way to cook it, crafting a jam-like concoction that was nothing short of delicious when spread over dotvas leaves, a thick, spongy leaf that stood in for bread.
I hummed as I worked, my ears attuned to the sounds of Vraxxan moving through the underbrush, checking and resetting his snares, along with an uttered curse or two when he came up empty.
He was hunting for a small creature known as a hcikkna , which, strangely enough, tasted just like chicken.
He knew I loved it, and despite the small possum like creature being difficult to catch, Vraxxan persisted.
Anything to make me happy. How could I not fall for him?
I glanced over my shoulder at the nearby bushes.
Though he was no longer visible, I could hear Vraxxan grumbling about empty snares, a low, frustrated murmur mingling with the rustling leaves.
I smiled to myself, returning to the task of picking fruit, happily tucking piece after piece into the bag I wore slung over my shoulder.
I’d almost filled the bag completely when an unexpected chill crept over my skin like a ghostly whisper.
I paused, straining my ears, only to be met with an eerie silence.
Not even Vraxxan’s rustling was audible any longer—just total stillness that seemed to scream through the air.
I turned slowly, my eyes darting through the foliage in search of Vraxxan.
But instead, I found something else entirely.
Death. Well, if death could take on an animal form.
The creature blended with the shadows at the edge of the trees, towering at twice the height of Vraxxan and nearly twice his width.
Its skin, a rich and vibrant shade of green, might be almost beautiful if not for the grime and crusted streaks of dried blood marring the surface.
The head bore a striking resemblance to that of an alligator, perched atop an elongated neck that swayed back and forth with a predatory grace.
Its long, muscular arms ended in ten-inch black claws, while the lower half of its body reminded me of a T-Rex, though its tail was slenderer and whip-like, suggesting a fearsome agility.
Its wide, inky black eyes locked onto me with unsettling intensity, and a long, gray tongue darted out to moisten its lips in a disturbingly human gesture of anticipation.
Vysar said that predators only emerged at night.
This thing obviously didn’t own a watch.
I screamed.
The beast bellowed, the sound echoing like the thunderous rumble of an enraged freight train as it lunged for me.
Its massive bulk, a blessing in disguise, rendered it sluggish enough to give me time to dive out of its path.
With a ferocious roar, the creature collided headfirst into the sturdy trunk of the kipawa tree, utterly obliterating it in a shower of splintered wood and ripe fruit.
Fragments of wood, leaves and fruit rained down upon me as I scrambled to my feet, my mind racing.
Vraxxan? My gaze frantically darted the tree line but found nothing but shadows.
The thought that the beast might have reached him first sent a chilling wave of dread surging through my veins, my heart sinking like a stone into the pit of my stomach.
The creature turned slowly, its massive form shedding limbs and twigs from its head with a jerk.
Its dark eyes locked intently onto me once more.
Panic surged as I stumbled backward, the realization dawning that there was nowhere to run, no sanctuary in sight.
The treehouse was too far away to reach in time.
The jungle, with its dense underbrush and towering trees, promised no refuge, especially after witnessing what the beast had done to the kipawa tree.
“Vraxxan!” I screamed his name, my voice a raw blend of anguish and anger echoing through the trees. The only way he would leave me to face this creature alone was if he was dead.
The beast reared its massive head, scales glinting ominously in the sunlight, and unleashed a thunderous bellow that reverberated through the air. This time, however, something else answered the beast’s roar. A deeper, more furious growl that seemed to vibrate from the very ground beneath me.
Vraxxan erupted from the dense forest, his sudden appearance sending a wave of relief crashing over me with such force that I staggered and fell to my knees.
He gripped a long, sturdy branch, wielding it like a club as he swung at the creature.
He wore no weapon, except the short blade at his side that would be no help against this creature.
Yet he wielded the club like Hank Aaron stepping up to home plate.
The force of his strikes sent the beast retreating, even if only briefly, allowing a fleeting moment for his eyes to lock with mine.
In that instant, his expression was a tumultuous blend of affection, fury and fear, emotion contorting his features.
“Run!” he bellowed, his voice a desperate command.
I scrambled to my feet, heart pounding as I sought refuge beside a towering boulder at the forest’s edge. Despite Vraxxan’s yell echoing through my brain, I found myself rooted to the spot, unable to abandon him.
Vraxxan turned back to the beast, brandishing his makeshift weapon. His growls and bellows of rage filled the air as he and the creature circled one another, a dance of predator and prey, though it was impossible to discern which was which.