Page 17

My dress clings to me like a second skin, and my hair sticks to my face in limp strands.

I push it out of my eyes and squint into the rain as Dania weaves expertly through the trees.

Vrok shifts behind me, tightening his grip on the reins, and I glance back at him.

He’s stone-faced, and his eyes are locked straight ahead.

A jagged streak of lightning splits the sky above, lighting the jungle up in a silver-blue flash. Seconds later, a deafening clap of thunder crashes overhead, loud enough to rattle my bones. Dania huffs out a snort, but she keeps going.

“Are you alright?” Vrok asks. He’s close enough I can feel the warm puff of his breath against my ear.

“I’m fine,” I reply automatically, even though my fingers dig into the saddle tighter as Dania slows and her steps grow more careful on the slick ground.

He doesn’t comment, but I can feel the weight of his gaze on me.

We ride for what feels like miles, with Dania’s hooves squelching in the mud, her steady gait the only constant in the chaos of the storm.

Rain lashes down in sheets now, soaking me to the bone and blurring the world into smears of green and gray.

My arms are numb, my hands ache from clinging to the saddle, and my teeth are starting to chatter.

I can’t tell if it’s from cold or nerves. Maybe both.

My thoughts are beginning to spiral when Vrok suddenly leans forward.

“Up ahead. We’ll take shelter there.”

I follow his gaze and feel a breath of relief flutter through me.

A sheer wall of stone rises from the jungle floor.

Moss creeps along its base, and vines hang down in thick curtains.

There’s a narrow ledge that juts outward about halfway up, forming an overhang that looks just wide enough to keep the rain off if we press close to the rock.

It’s not much, but it’s something.

But as Dania picks her way closer, something shifts.

It’s not the jungle that changes, it’s Vrok.

One moment, his body is relaxed behind me. The next, he goes completely still. No, not just still, but rigid. Every muscle tightens like a taut wire ready to snap. I feel it through my back and thighs, and through the arms that loop around me and handle the reins.

“Wait,” he says sharply, pulling Dania to a sudden halt.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice nearly drowned by the steady downpour. I twist to look back at him, but I already know the answer won’t be good.

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t blink. Just lifts his head and inhales deeply. His nostrils flare wide, and I see the shift in his eyes as they narrow. He smells something.

Whatever he’s picked up on, it’s enough to make every part of him coil like a spring.

Then, in one fluid motion, he dismounts and lands silently on the sodden ground. One hand is resting on Dania’s neck, and the other goes to the hilt of his blade.

“Stay here,” he murmurs. The command is quiet but firm.

“Vrok—” I start to protest, but he cuts me off with a look.

I bite my lip and nod, my fingers digging into the wet leather of the saddle.

I watch him as he moves steadily across the ground toward the cliff face that rises out of the jungle.

It’s jagged face glistens with rain. The rocky overhang I noticed looms above, still promising shelter.

But now, it looks less like a refuge and more like a trap.

A few hours ago, I would’ve welcomed it without hesitation. Now, dread coils in my gut.

Dania shifts beneath me, her ears flicking back. Even she senses something now. My breath grows shallow, and the pounding of rain fades beneath the pounding of my pulse in my ears.

Vrok halts at the rock face, crouching low just under the overhang where the ground is drier. His fingers trace over something in the thick soil. I can’t see what he’s looking at, but I can see the way his shoulders stiffen.

Shit, this isn’t good.

Then, he rises and soundlessly pulls out his sword, holding it steady by his side. He turns in a circle as he slowly scans the tree line, every sense on high alert. Then, with one last look beneath the ledge, he turns away and strides back to me, moving over the wet ground at a fast clip.

My stomach tightens. “What is it?” I ask when he nears.

He doesn’t answer until he’s mounted behind me again, one hand holding the reins steady as Dania shifts uneasily beneath us.

“Tracks,” he says at last. “From the Pugj. And others.”

I twist to look at him. “Others?”

“There are boot prints among the tracks. Most likely from Tussoll warriors.”

My eyes widen in alarm. “Do you think they’re still here?” I ask before glancing around nervously.

He shakes his head. “They aren’t, but they were here recently. They probably took shelter from the storm, then decided to move on.”

“How can you be sure?”

He takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring wide again. His lip curls up in disgust. “Because the stench of the Pugj hasn’t faded completely, but it’s not fresh.”

Ah, that’s right. The Pugj emit a noxious odor the Laediriians compare to a bitter, rotting odor that disgusts them. I’ve never personally smelled it, and I’m not sure if humans even can.

“They can’t have gone far,” he mutters. His gaze sweeps over the jungle one last time. “It’s not safe here. We need to keep moving. Hold on.” Vrok urges Dania forward, veering off the path we’d been following as we plunge deeper into the jungle.

The rain continues to fall in a steady curtain, soaking everything and turning the air hazy.

I have to squint through the droplets just to see ahead.

We ride in silence for a time. The world narrows down to the pounding of Dania’s hooves, the beating of rain falling to the ground, and the frantic hammering of my heart.

My mind races, replaying his words over and over.

When I first heard the stories about the tribe’s enemies, the Pugj, I dismissed it as just talk.

Stories to make the enemy sound more monstrous.

It’s a common tactic on Earth. But I’ve seen the scars on the warriors.

I’ve heard the trembling in the elders’ voices as they’ve recounted stories of males who vanished and never returned.

And even more terrifying, males who escaped and did return to the tribe, only to be further tortured by their memories.

“Do you think they’re following us?” I finally ask.

“They could be,” Vrok admits, his voice grim. “But if they are, they’re not going to catch us.”

I nod, although his words do little to ease the gnawing anxiety that has settled in the pit of my stomach.

As we ride through the jungle, the terrain begins to shift, becoming rockier beneath Dania’s hooves, and I can tell we’re ascending a long, winding slope. Rain pools in every dip and crevice, turning the ground into a slick mess of mud and rotting leaves.

Vrok slows our pace as he scans the area around us like a predator sniffing out a threat.

“There,” he says, pointing to a narrow ledge half-hidden by a tangle of vines. “That should give us a better vantage point so we can see if they’re tracking us.”

He dismounts before helping me down. The climb to the edge is steep and slippery, and the rain turns the moss-covered rocks slick and treacherous. Vrok moves with the sure-footedness of someone who’s done this a thousand times before.

I’m not so lucky. My boots slide more than once on the already treacherous path.

“Careful,” he murmurs as he catches me when I stumble.

His large hand engulfs mine. The warmth of his grip is a stark contrast to the chill of the rain falling down around us. When I think he’ll release me, he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps my hand tucked securely in his grip as we slowly move to the edge of the rocky outcropping.

We finally reach the edge, and my breath catches in my throat at the sheer beauty of the jungle sprawled out below us in a sea of greens and blues, shrouded in mist and driving rain. It’s beautiful, wild, and untouched. And I feel smaller than ever, like prey on the run.

For one blessed moment, I think we’re safe, and I almost let out a sigh of relief, but then Vrok’s muscles tense up and his eyes narrow as he stares into the distance.

“What is it?” I ask, my heart leaping into my throat.

He raises an arm and points. “There.”

I follow the direction of his gaze, squinting against the rain.

At first, I don’t see anything other than endless green, but then my eyes catch a glimpse of movement.

Through a break in the canopy, I can just make out the shapes of figures moving below.

They’re large with shaggy gray hair covering their bodies.

Pugj.

Fuck. There are five of them, and they’re not alone. With them are two rangy Laediriians that I realize are from the Tussoll tribe.

“They’re tracking us,” Vrok says. His voice is tight with tension.

My breath freezes in my lungs at his words, but I don’t have time to wait around.

We quickly scramble back to Dania. She senses the urgency, and she bolts forward as soon as we’re both in the saddle. We try to put as much distance between us and our pursuers as possible, but the rain and terrain work against us.

Everything is a blur as we climb higher along the narrow slope. Rain stings my skin like tiny needles, and water trickles down the back of my neck, slipping under the fabric of my dress and dripping down my spine.

After what seems like hours, Vrok glances over his shoulder.

Whatever he sees makes him curse under his breath.

Without hesitation, he urges Dania faster.

She surges forward, her hooves splashing through puddles and skidding over patches of slick mud.

The jungle rushes past in a gray and green blur as we ascend.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot movement in the trees alongside the path, and panic rises in my chest.

“They’re closing in on us!” I shout to Vrok, my voice barely audible over the pounding roar of the storm.

“Hold on!” The reins are gripped so tightly in his hands, his knuckles are pale.