Page 15 of Tharn’s Hunt (Barbarians of the Dust #2)

I start walking toward him, my steps more confident than they’ve been in weeks.

I can almost feel the phantom ache in my chest ease with every meter I close between us, and the relief in his gaze is a palpable thing, a reward more satisfying than I could have imagined.

I'm not just a burden he has to carry. I'm a partner. I can help . I can save him, too.

I'm halfway there, my mind replaying the small victory, when I feel it.

A subtle vibration beneath my feet. A shifting of sand that doesn't match my footsteps.

I freeze, the triumphant smile wiped from my face. My heart, which had been swelling with pride, now fills with a familiar, sickening dread. Slowly, I turn to look behind me.

At first, I see nothing. Just endless sand, painted orange and gold by the setting sun. Then I notice it. Subtle as a breath, the sand shifts twenty paces behind me. A tiny ripple, barely visible, moving beneath the surface. Like something large swimming just under the sand.

It pauses where my blood dripped earlier.

The spot vanishes as if swallowed whole.

Oh shit.

I don't wait to see what it is. I run, clutching my bundle of plants in my skirt, blood dripping faster now as exertion forces it from the wounds on my hand.

The vibration increases, the rippling growing larger, faster, as whatever it is gives chase. I push myself harder, legs burning with the effort, lungs screaming for air I don't have time to gulp down.

Goldi comes into view, his body tense as he tracks something behind me. He's managed to push himself into a half-sitting position, but his face is contorted with pain.

"Run!" I scream, though I know he can't understand the word. "There's something?—"

The sand erupts behind me, a fountain of golden particles exploding upward as something massive breaks the surface. I risk a glance over my shoulder and immediately wish I hadn't.

It's like the manta ray thing from the cave, but larger. Much larger. Its flat, wing-like body ripples as it moves, and the massive spine running along its back quivers with what can only be anticipation.

Well, shit. I guess we ate the baby.

I'm not going to make it. The realization hits me with cold clarity. I'm still too far from Tharn, and even if I reach him, what then? He's too weak to fight, and I've got nothing but a handful of spiky plants and my own stubborn will to live.

But I keep running anyway, because what else can I do?

Twenty meters. Fifteen. Ten.

I can hear it now, a terrible whooshing sound as it glides through the sand behind me, gaining with each passing second.

Five meters.

Almost there.

And then I'm falling, my foot catching on something hidden beneath the sand. I hit the ground hard, the bundle of plants scattering as my grip loosens. Pain explodes in my knee, my palms, as I try to break my fall.

The creature is right behind me. I can feel its presence, a cold weight of dread pressing down on my spine. This is it. This is how I die. Not from fever or dehydration or even shadow creatures, but from a giant, spiny manta ray in an alien desert.

I roll onto my back, determined to at least face my death head-on. The creature looms above me, its body half-emerged from the sand, mouth opening to reveal rows of needle-like teeth.

Really, really , preferring it when it was dead with its mouth closed.

And then something moves, faster than I can track. A blur of gold and bronze as Goldi launches himself past me, claws extended, a snarl ripping from his throat that makes the hair on my neck stand on end.

He collides with the creature mid-air, claws sinking deep into its hide. They crash back into the sand, a tangle of thrashing wings and slashing claws. Then it hisses.

Not a shriek. Not even a sound, really. More like pressurized air escaping a rusted pipe. A thin, keening vibration that splits my skull. My hands fly to my ears, but it’s too late. The noise lodges in my molars, rattles my eye sockets, turns my vision white with pain.

By the time it fades, Goldi’s already torn its throat out.

Silence falls across the desert, broken only by his ragged breathing. He remains crouched over the creature's body, chest heaving, blood—both his and its—dripping from his claws.

"Goldi?" I whisper, barely daring to move.

His head snaps toward me, and for a terrifying moment, there's something wild in his eyes, something untamed and dangerous. Then recognition flashes, and he's scrambling toward me, moving with a desperate urgency that belies his injuries.

He reaches me in seconds, hands hovering over my body, searching for wounds, for damage. His touch is gentle despite the blood still staining his claws, his eyes wide with concern as they scan my face.

"I'm okay," I assure him, though I'm not entirely sure that's true. My knee throbs where I fell, and my hands sting from the firebloom thorns. But I'm alive, which is more than I expected a minute ago. "Thanks to you."

The pride I felt just a moment ago dims.

The alien makes a soft, distressed sound, his fingers tracing the blood on my hands. I follow his gaze to the scattered plants around us, understanding dawning.

"I got them," I say, reaching for the nearest clump of firebloom. "The plants you need. They're a bit spiky, but?—"

He catches my hands, stopping me before I can touch the thorns again. With a growl, he carefully gathers the plants himself, the thorny bits not seeming to bother him.

"Show-off," I mutter, but I feel only gratitude. And something else I'm certainly not going to mention. Not even to myself.

With the plants secured, Goldi turns his attention back to me. His hands cradle my face, those amber eyes searching mine with an intensity that steals my breath. Once more, the glow beneath his skin pulses where we touch, stronger now than it's been since his collapse.

"I'm really okay," I whisper, my voice catching slightly. "You saved me. Again."

He makes that soft rumbling sound in his chest, the one that's becoming strangely familiar. Comforting, even. Then, to my surprise, he drops to one knee before me, head bowed low.

The gesture is so... formal. So out of place, it completely knocks me off balance.

It's like something out of a fantasy novel—the knight pledging fealty to his queen.

It's the last thing I'd expect from a seven-foot alien who was, just moments ago, redecorating the sand with a monster's internal organs.

But the meaning is unmistakable, even across species. Gratitude. Respect. And maybe... something deeper.

I stare down at him, momentarily speechless.

His copper-red hair falls forward, and my eyes snag on the decorations woven into the strands.

They’re vertebrae from the spine of some desert creature, their rounded bases threaded through by locks of his shiny hair.

They suit him perfectly, these wild adornments.

Predator wearing the trophies of his hunts.

"Hey," I say softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "You have nothing to thank me for. I'm the one who keeps getting into trouble, remember?"

He lifts his head, those amber eyes locking with mine, and there's something in them that makes my breath catch. Something that transcends our language barrier and speaks directly to something primal inside me.

I help him to his feet. He’s heavy, a dead weight of exhausted muscle, and he leans on me for a moment to find his balance. When he's steady, I gesture to the medical pouch where he's stored the fresh blooms.

"You should use those," I tell him, pointing to his wounded shoulder. "That's why I went for them."

He hesitates, eyes flicking between the pouch and my injured hands. Before I can protest, he's taking my palms in his, turning them up to examine the countless tiny punctures from the firebloom thorns.

"I'm fine," I insist, trying to pull away. "They're just scratches. You're the one who?—"

He silences me with a single look. A flat, unblinking stare that couldn’t say “shut up and let me help you” any clearer. Opening the pouch, he selects one of the freshest blooms, carefully removing the thorns before crushing it between his fingers.

"Seriously," I begin, but he's already applying the medicine to my palms, his touch impossibly gentle for someone with claws that just tore through a sand creature's spine. "I didn't get these for me. I got them for you."

He ignores my protests, focused entirely on tending to my wounds. When he's satisfied with my hands, he produces another bloom, removing the thorns and crushing it into a different consistency before offering it to me.

"I don’t need it." I shake my head. "I made that trip for you , not me. I'm fine. You're the one who's been half-dead all day."

Another look, this one somehow both pleading and commanding at once. His fingers press the paste closer to my lips, insistent.

I sigh, defeated. "Fine. But you're taking some too. Right after me."

I accept the medicine, grimacing at the bitter taste as it spreads across my tongue.

Only when I've swallowed does Goldi finally prepare some for himself.

He applies a generous portion to his wounded shoulder, his face tightening briefly in pain before relaxing as the medicine takes effect.

Then he consumes a healthy dose, his eyes never leaving mine as if making sure I witness him fulfilling his end of the bargain.

The change is almost immediate. Color returns to his skin, the golden glow beneath it strengthening, pulsing more steadily. His breathing eases, the tension in his shoulders loosening.

“Now—oh!”

Without warning, he gathers me into his arms again, this time with renewed strength. The other arm grabs the narrow tail of the desert ray. Before I can protest, he's moving. Not the careful trudge of an injured male, but an explosive, powerful run, his legs eating up the sand.

I clutch at his chest, startled by the sudden speed.

He’s showing off. The big, golden idiot is showing off for me.

"Show-off," I mutter into his neck, thegrin I can't stop from spreading muffled against his skin.