Page 12 of Tharn’s Hunt (Barbarians of the Dust #2)

WHEN YOUR ALIEN KNIGHT IN SHINING GLOW STARTS TO DIM

JACQUI

I wake up smothered in golden warmth.

For a blissful moment, I'm floating in that perfect space between dreams and reality.

My body feels heavy, worn out, but the raging fire that had been consuming me from the inside has subsided to a dull warmth.

My head is pillowed against something firm but comfortable, and there's a steady rhythm beneath my ear that lulls me back toward sleep.

Then memory crashes through the haze.

The shadow creature. The fight. Goldilocks bleeding as he defended me. The fever taking hold. Being carried across endless dunes. The light beneath his skin when he touched me. The conversations we had.

My eyes fly open.

I'm curled against his chest, my body tucked between his arm and torso like a child's stuffed animal. His copper-red hair falls across his face, his breathing shallow but steady. The wound on his shoulder looks angry and swollen, dark streaks extending from it like tendrils reaching for his heart.

That doesn't look good .

I try to move, but my limbs feel like they're filled with sand. But the fever has broken. I can tell by the way my skin no longer feels like it's trying to crawl off my body.

"Goldi?" I whisper, my voice a ragged scrape.

He doesn't stir.

I manage to push myself up slightly, wincing at the protest from my muscles. "Hey. Alien guy. Wake up."

Nothing.

Panic flutters in my chest. I press a hand to his face, feeling the cool, smooth texture of his skin. Too cool.

"Oh God," I mutter. "Don't you dare die on me, you big, golden idiot." Because I need you, my brain supplies. To get to Justine, I add quickly, as if that's the only reason my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.

I check for a pulse, my fingers fumbling at his neck. It takes me a moment to find it. Thank God his anatomy is similar to a human’s. When I finally locate the steady thrum of his heartbeat, relief washes through me so intensely that I slump against him.

Not dead. Just unconscious.

But not good. Definitely not good.

I need to help him. He's saved my life multiple times now; the least I can do is return the favor. But how? I don't know the first thing about alien medicine. The paste he used on my wounds seemed to work, but I don't know what plants he used or how to prepare them.

Water. Water is a good start.

I spot the waterskin nearby and reach for it, my arm feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds. The effort leaves me dizzy, but I manage to grasp it and bring it to Goldi’s lips.

"Drink," I murmur, tipping a small amount into his mouth.

Most of it spills down his chin, but his throat works slightly, swallowing some. I take it as a good sign.

The irony isn't lost on me. Not long ago, he was doing this for me, and now our roles are reversed. I guess we're taking turns saving each other.

"Okay, big guy," I say, setting the waterskin aside. "What next?"

The wound. I need to clean the wound.

I shift closer, examining the angry gash on his shoulder. The shadow creature's teeth had torn deep, and though the bleeding has stopped, the wound looks infected. Dark streaks radiate outward, and the skin around it is hot to the touch.

"This doesn't look good," I mutter. "Like, at all."

I scan the small cave, looking for his medicinal pouch. There it is; attached to his hip with what looks like dried sinew. I crawl toward it, every movement an effort, but determination pushes me forward. When I reach it, I fumble with the ties, my fingers clumsy from weakness.

Come on, Jacqui. Focus .

Inside the pouch, I find a few remaining leaves, and by a few, I mean two.

Surely, this won’t be enough. They're crumpled and dry, too, but they'll have to do.

I crush one between my palms like I'd seen him do.

It takes a lot of work; my weak fingers barely manage to create a paste. I add a few drops of water to help.

As the scent rises, it reminds me of lemon just mixed with something spicier, like pepper. I hope I'm doing this right.

I return to Goldi’s side, carefully applying the paste to his wound. My hands shake with the effort, but I work slowly, covering every inch of the angry flesh.

"There," I whisper when I've finished. "That should help. I hope."

I sit back, exhaustion washing over me in waves. Even that small effort has drained what little energy I had. I take a small sip from the waterskin, savoring the cool liquid as it soothes my parched throat.

The cave is dim, lit only by the faint glow emanating from him. Outside, I can hear the distant sounds of the desert night. Strange calls and clicks that make my skin crawl. We're safe in here, for now. But for how long?

I look at Goldi again, at his still form and the wound I've done my best to treat. He risked everything to keep me alive, to bring me to safety. And now he might die because of it.

The thought sends a surprising pang through my chest.

"Don't you dare die on me," I mutter, crawling back to his side. "We had a deal, remember? You were taking me to my sister."

He doesn't respond, but I wasn't really expecting him to. I settle beside him, drawing his arm around me partly for warmth and partly because... well, it feels right somehow. Safe.

And…I’m being a bit selfish right now, aren’t I?

"Thank you," I whisper against his chest. "For saving me. For carrying me. For not leaving me to die out there."

I close my eyes, exhaustion pulling me under once more. The last thing I remember is the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear, a rhythm that promises he's still fighting.

Still with me.

I wake to the sensation of movement.

Goldi’s chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, his breathing stronger than before. I blink awake, lifting my head to find golden eyes watching me.

"Hey," I croak. "You're alive."

His gaze flickers with what might be relief, though it's hard to tell with his alien features. He shifts slightly, wincing as the movement pulls at his wounded shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" I ask, pushing myself up to a sitting position. The world tilts briefly before stabilizing.

He doesn't answer, just watches me with those intense amber eyes. The disconnect is jarring after what felt like such clear communication during my fever. The memory of his deep and commanding voice is so vivid.

My heart starts to pound with a nervous uncertainty. "Goldi?" I try, keeping my voice soft, the way his felt in my mind. "Can you... understand me? The way you did before?"

His brow tightens, his head tilting in that curious, animal-like way. He's studying me, but he doesn’t respond.

A cold knot of dread forms in my stomach. I try to push past it. "Remember?" I search his gaze. "We talked. You called me 'precious one' and told me I wouldn't die. It was all very dramatic."

I search his face for any sign of understanding, but his expression only grows more strained.

The muscles in his jaw clench, and a low growl of frustration rumbles deep in his chest. He looks.

.. annoyed. Like I'm a buzzing insect he can't swat.

The line between us, which felt so clear and open, is now a wall of silent, angry confusion.

Oh God.

It wasn't real.

Great. So I hallucinated the whole thing. The connection, the comfort, the raw desperation in his voice... all of it. Just a side effect of my brain getting cooked, served up with a side of wishful thinking.

Fuck.

I slump back against the stone, the disappointment a cold, heavy weight in my gut. "Never mind," I sigh, the word feeling hollow. "Let's just focus on getting you better."

I pass him the waterskin, and he accepts it with that slight head tilt that’s becoming familiar.

Too familiar.

I shouldn’t be noticing how his throat moves as he drinks, the way his jaw flexes with each swallow.

Shouldn’t be cataloging the exact shade of gold that tints his skin where it stretches over muscle.

Our fingers brush as he returns the pouch, and suddenly his entire arm ignites with golden light, veins lighting up like molten rivers under his skin.

The glow pulses once, twice, searingly bright, before settling into a steady hum.

I can’t decide if I’m staring because the phenomenon is so strange…or if I’m just that desperate for something beautiful to look at in this hellscape.

When he reaches for me, I automatically stiffen, eyes wide, my heart suddenly beating a little too hard.

He pauses, amber-gold eyes flicking to me, watching my reaction.

When I remain still, throat bobbing with a swallow, his arm completes the movement.

His hand comes up to my forehead, checking my temperature.

His touch is still cool, almost too cool.

A niggling thought in my mind tells me something's wrong.

"How much longer until we reach Justine?" I ask, my voice echoing softly against the rock around us.

He doesn't answer, just continues his gentle assessment. Those impossibly gentle fingers trail from my forehead to my cheek, then lower, pressing against the frantic flutter of my pulse.

And damn him, because I notice everything. The corded strength in his arms, muscles shifting like steel wrapped in velvet. The way his touch lingers just shy of possessive. The traitorous shiver that skates down my spine—one I barely suppress.

I should pull away.

I don’t.

"Hey," I try again, speaking a little louder. "How long?"

Still no answer. His eyes meet mine, narrowing on a slight wince, but he doesn’t reply. Is my voice that croaky? Or is he just too exhausted to respond?

Panic flutters in my chest. I reach for his satchel, fumbling with the ties. "You need to take some of that paste. For your wound."

He catches my hand, pushing the satchel back toward me.

"Don't be stubborn," I say, frustration sharpening my tone. "You're hurt. You need medicine too."

He makes a soft, rumbling sound—not words, just a noise that might be meant to reassure. It doesn't work. If anything, it makes me more afraid, because it means he either can't or won't speak to me anymore.

"Goldi, please." I try to sit up, but the world spins violently, and I collapse back against the cave wall. "Say something. Anything."

He blinks slowly, watching me with those amber eyes. Then he shifts, positioning himself beside me, his larger body curled protectively around mine. One arm wraps around my waist, drawing me against his chest where I can feel the too-rapid beat of his heart.

Oh God.

Had I really imagined it all? Our conversations? The connection I'd felt? Was it just fever dreams and delirium?

"We're not going to die here," I whisper, though I'm no longer sure if he can hear me. "I won't let us."

His only response is to tighten his hold slightly, his breath warm against my hair. His glow flickers, dimming further until it's barely visible in the darkness of the cave. Like a battery dying.

Fear grips me then. I press my hand to his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat. Still there, still fighting, but weaker now. How much blood has he lost? How far has he pushed himself beyond his limits?

"Please," I whisper into the darkness. "Please don't leave me."

He makes that soft rumbling sound again, and I feel the lightest pressure of his arms around me as if he's willing to protect me from the rock and the cold even while dying.

I curl against him, as much for his warmth as for my own comfort. If we're going to die, at least we won't die alone. That has to count for something, right?

As his eyes flutter closed and his breathing grows shallow, I press my face against his neck and let the tears fall freely. The silence of the desert settles around us, and the tears come harder.