Page 20 of Survivor (A Space Pearl’s Treat #2)

Vraxxan

Death.

It felt cold and slimy, creeping over my skin. Blood poured from the wound across my chest, and my arm throbbed, but the killing blow had been the shattering of my bones and bursting of my internal organs when the quasat threw me against the tree.

I’d sensed the creature’s approach, searching like a madman for a branch or rock large enough to aid my attack. I knew fighting the creature was a death sentence. Yet I took on the task with relish, knowing that the moments my battle took gave Lucy enough time to reach the treehouse and safety.

Lucy was safe. I counted my life well lost, knowing that I’d given my last breath to protect her.

Then she screamed my name.

Not a scream of grief at finding my body, but one of pain and terror.

The faint thud of her footsteps didn’t take her away from the carnage but drew her closer.

I forced my eyelids open, ignoring the white-hot flash of pain that encompassed my entire being as I turned my head just in time to see the quasat lay its claws against Lucy’s flesh.

The sight of her blood broke something inside me.

A break far greater than the cracking of my bones as the quasat threw me against the tree. This break was hot, itching, like pure fire pumping through my veins, making my battered muscles twitch, impossible to ignore.

I pushed to my feet; the pain forgotten—everything forgotten, save for the undeniable need to protect Lucy. The rage inside me escaped in a roar of challenge, capturing the quasat’s attention just before it would have claimed her death as well.

Lucy’s shimmering gaze met mine and held for a second of eternity. Why didn’t she run? Deep down, I knew the answer. It was the same answer burning in my soul, and I stumbled toward her.

“Vraxxan, run!” Her scream cut through the air, silent, save for the frightened squawks from the fowl overhead.

I took another step, this one harder than the last, and collapsed to my knees, the strangest sensation coursing through my body. My eyes sought her again, holding on to the sight of her face. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she mouthed something to me I couldn’t quite make out.

Lucy, my heart, my mate.

I would not let the beast claim her.

It felt like my heart burst open, blazing and frothing, setting flame to my blood and scorching over my scales.

In the fire's wake, there was strength like I had never felt before.

Moving to my feet was no longer a struggle.

My bones cracked as they reshaped, and the arm that hung useless at my side straightened without the slightest twinge of pain.

The gash across my chest tingled for a moment, and then the pain evaporated. I felt stronger. I felt... invincible.

A sound of rage and challenge erupted from my lips as I lunged for the quasat. My hands easily encircled the circumference of its tail, yanking it away from Lucy and sending it careening.

The quasat’s black eyes widened in surprise, and it bellowed in rage, the sound shaking the leaves from the trees.

According to my father, the creature had no natural predator, and the Peecha avoided the beast at all costs.

I cursed myself from entering the jungle armed with such a puny blade, but predators usually only came at night.

I glanced back to where Lucy lay sprawled on the ground, a gash running the length of her lower left leg. The wound appeared nasty but, thankfully, bled little.

The quasat had dared hurt my mate.

I launched myself at the creature, surprised at how easy it was to handle now. The swipes of its massive claws seemed slower and easier to deflect. The quasat’s strength appeared to have waned as well, causing the creature to jerk and stumble when my blows found purchase.

Perhaps it was the rage I felt, but my claws and fangs seemed longer. Soon, deep green blood plopped from the quasat’s many wounds onto the forest floor. My hearing sharpened, ferreting out the faintest tone of pain in the creature’s breathing.

Lucy’s too.

In fact, all my senses focused on her, even as I fought the quasat. The metallic scent of her blood, the sound of her breathing, which grew raspier with each inhale, and the faint moans of pain that escaped her lips.

My mate needed me.

I glanced at the quasat, reeling from my last blow to its thigh, a gash that showed bone.

A wound similar to what he had given Lucy.

Only I would not allow the creature to live as Lucy would live.

I roared and lunged, swiping wide with my left hand.

When the beast dodged, I came upward with my right hand, letting my claws sink deep into its flesh and tear a gash from its chest to its chin.

Deep green blood poured hot over my hand as the quasat sank to its knees, an expression of surprise that might have been humorous in any other situation crossing its mug.

I didn’t wait to see the beast tip over, spilling the last of its blood on the forest floor. Instead, I ran for my mate.

“Lucy?” I sank onto my knees in the loam earth beside her.

She was barely conscious, her breathing ranging from long, raspy inhales to hurried panting.

Her skin was pale and clammy as I let my fingertips probe at the gash along her shin.

Not deep, thank the goddess, but the wound was already black and gurgling.

The sound of running footsteps hit my ears a moment before my father broke through the trees, his hands gripping curved swords, the favorite of his weapons.

His blue eyes met mine before going wide as they skimmed over me, his mouth falling open.

“Lucy is hurt.” I didn’t care about my injuries.

“What?” My father shook his head as if shaking himself out of a trance. “What happened?”

“A quasat,” I jerked my chin toward where the beast lay, now fodder for creatures it had previously preyed upon.

Vysar sank to his knees on the other side of Lucy, pulling a waterskin from the hook on his belt and pouring the liquid over Lucy’s wound. She moaned, her face scrunching in pain, although the water did little to clean the wound.

“The quasat did this,” Vysar asked, his voice holding a worried tone I did not like.

“Yes.”

“Fuck.” My father, like me, had grown fond of Lucy’s human curses.

“It happened only a moment ago. Why does it look like this?” I swallowed back the worry I’d felt since noticing the black bubbling edges of Lucy’s wound.

I’d seen many wounds from my time in warrior training, but none that looked like this until it was already too late.

I sucked in a deep breath and voiced my greatest fear. “Was she poisoned?”

“Not poison,” Vysar assured me, but the concern in his expression didn’t waiver. “But the quasat’s claws and fangs hold bacteria that is exceptionally fast moving. We need to get Lucy back to the treehouse and treat her wound.”

I grunted, to overcome with a mix of emotions—relief in tandem with debilitating worry—to speak.

I scooped Lucy up into my arms and set off for the treehouse.

It wasn’t the first time I’d carried her, but she seemed so much smaller in my arms. I ran, leaving my father to follow.

Behind me, chittering tones erupted through the air as my father called to the Peecha for aid.

In the few minutes it took me to reach the treehouse, Lucy went from clammy to sweating profusely, her skin feverish and hot.

I took her straight to our bed—our bed—only leaving her side for the few moments it took me to grab a clean cloth and a water basin.

Dipping the cloth in cool, fresh water, I held it to her lips, hoping a few precious drops made it down her throat as I prayed to the goddess to heal her.

I washed the sweat from her face, noticing how her scent had changed, subtly shifting from her normal sweet fragrance to something faintly sour.

“The Peecha have come to help,” Vysar announced, striding into the room and flinging his weapons at a nearby table. He was followed by a male and female Peecha that I recognized as Terk and Ceeka, the chief and healer of their tribe.

“Can you help her, please?” I begged, waiting for my father to translate. While I’d tried to learn the Peecha language in the last few weeks, my progress remained woefully limited to mundane words like meat, food , and water.

Ceeka bent over Lucy, her gnarled, wizened fingers probing at the edges of the wound, her furred face and bright green eyes scrunched in concentration.

She swiped a glob of the bubbling black goo onto her fingertip, bringing it to her wide, flat nose and inhaling deeply.

From her expression, it wasn’t good. She slung the glob onto the floor, her hands erupting in a flurry of motion while she chittered directions to Terk, who listened closely, then, with a solemn nod, turned and left the treehouse.

When Ceeka’s attention moved to my father, her voice and movements became much more somber.

Vysar sucked in a deep breath, his shoulders slumping.

“What is it?” I demanded.

“Ceeka fears Lucy is too fragile and delicate to survive the fever.”

“No,” I would not hear it. “Lucy is small, but she is the strongest female I have ever known.”

“I am sorry, my son.” Vysar’s hand landed on my shoulder with a gentle squeeze.

“No,” I snapped, slapping his hand away. “I will not hear this.” I could not hear this. I could not lose her. My gaze sought Ceeka, and I felt it grow hot. “Please, there has to be some treatment, something you can do.”

I could not stand the thought of her dying. That she would leave me. The very idea hollowed me out from the inside, leaving nothing but a shell of who I was. Considering a universe without her smile, without her joyous outlook on life, made me physically ill.

The healer’s eyes met mine and held for a moment before she let out a long breath. Her chittering voice floated through the air as she spoke to my father before she turned on her heel and left.