Page 36 of Tharn’s Hunt (Barbarians of the Dust #2)

Around the edges of the space, Drakav males linger, watching the human commotion with expressions ranging from curiosity to confusion to something that looks uncomfortably like hunger.

None of them is glowing like Tharn and Rok, but there's a tension in their postures, an anticipation that makes my skin prickle with awareness.

They remind me of a group of shy teenagers at their first high school dance—hovering near the edges, watching the girls with wide eyes, but too nervous to actually approach.

One Drakav steps forward, his chest puffed out and his muscles flexed in an obvious display.

He's as tall as Tharn, with a cocky look on his face that somehow translates across species.

A low rumble beside me, and I realize Tharn is snarling at the showman.

"That's Haroth," one of the women whispers beside me, her cheeks flushing deeper. "He's always showing off."

Mikaela rolls her eyes, mumbling something about "too much testosterone."

I raise an eyebrow at the woman. "You can understand them?"

She shakes her head quickly. "No, no. Not really. We've just been... observing. Learning patterns."

Tina adjusts her glasses. "Justine was the only one who could actually communicate with them. Before you arrived, I mean."

My gaze shifts back to my sister where Rok is tending to her. She winces as he examines the wound, but her face is composed as the other women cluster around her, peppering her with questions.

"What happened to your leg?"

"How did you find Jacqui?"

"Can you really talk to them with your mind?"

Tharn remains rooted with me in his arms, his massive frame radiating tension.

My gaze shifts to find him glaring at the one Tina called Haroth.

Sarven is the one to grab Haroth and lead him away, but not before I see how he, too, looks at the other women, his gaze snagging on Mikaela particularly, who scowls.

“Tharn?” His snarl disappears the moment I say his name. Those amber eyes shift to me immediately. I expect him to take me somewhere quieter—somewhere he can finally rest—but he seems to be waiting for something, his gaze shifting to the far side of the cave.

Suddenly, the noise in the cave dims, a hush falling over the human women as they notice the change in the Drakav. Every golden alien has gone still, their attention shifting to the far entrance where a new figure has appeared.

He's enormous, even by Drakav standards, his golden skin etched with patterns. His deep amber eyes burn with intelligence and authority as he scans the cave, his gaze lingering on me and Justine before settling on Tharn.

"That's Kol," Justine whispers toward me. "Their dra-dam…that means ‘clan leader’."

Tharn straightens beside me, his posture shifting subtly despite his injuries. When Kol approaches, Tharn inclines his head in a gesture that's clearly respectful.

The two exchange what I assume is a silent conversation, their expressions shifting minutely as they communicate in the mindspace. After a moment, Kol turns to address the entire cave, his gaze sweeping over the assembled humans and Drakav.

Justine's voice rises, translating for the benefit of us human women.

"Kol welcomes us all and says he's pleased with Tharn's success in bringing Jacqui safely to the clan caves.

" She pauses, listening to something none of us can hear.

"He's declaring a feast tonight to celebrate our arrival and.

.. um, the victory over the dust serpent.

Apparently, its meat is considered a delicacy. "

Sand serpent meat. Delightful. The thing that almost killed Tharn is now going to be dinner. I guess there's a certain poetic justice to that, but the thought of eating the creature that nearly dragged him to his death makes my stomach turn.

No, thank you. I'd rather eat sand.

After a few more exchanges that Justine doesn't bother to translate, Kol steps back, gesturing for Tharn to proceed. I feel Tharn's chest expand with a deep breath before he finally turns toward one of the smaller passages leading from the main cave.

"Where are we going?" I ask quietly as he carries me away from the reunion.

He makes a low sound in his throat as he continues moving.

The passage is darker than the main cave, but Tharn’s flickering glow lights the way.

After several turns, the passage widens into a small chamber that Tharn steps into.

It's simple, with a large stone platform covered in what looks like furs or hides, a small alcove containing various weapons and tools, and a natural basin filled with clear water.

Tharn gently sets me down on the edge of the stone platform. The tenderness in his touch makes my heart ache, especially with the fact he must be in so much pain.

The moment I'm safely settled, his legs finally give out. He collapses onto the bedding beside me, his massive body making the stone platform seem suddenly small. He doesn't lose consciousness, but his breathing is ragged, his eyes half-closed with exhaustion.

"Tharn," I whisper, my hand hovering over his shoulder. "What can I do? How can I help?"

His eyes open fully, finding mine with visible effort. He doesn’t demand, doesn’t beg. Just looks at me like I’m the moon, the stars, the world itself.

My chest aches.

I move quickly, finding a soft fur beside the basin and soaking it in the cool water. When I return to his side, I begin gently cleaning the sand and blood from his wounds, starting with the worst injuries on his legs where the serpent's barbs had entered his skin.

The punctures are deep, the edges ragged and still seeping his dark, almost metallic-looking blood. Sand is ground into the wounds, and I work carefully to clean each one, wincing in sympathy when his muscles tense beneath my touch.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, though I know the cleaning is necessary. "I'm trying to be gentle."

His hand finds mine, engulfing it completely. His touch is warm despite his injuries, his fingers curling around mine.

" Good .” The word drops like water in my mind, and my eyes widen.

Heat rises to my cheeks at the simple praise, and I duck my head, focusing on his wounds again to hide my reaction. In the alcove near his weapons, I spot a familiar blue and orange plant. Firebloom. I reach for it, crushing the petals between my fingers.

Some of the tension eases from his frame as I apply the poultice, and the fact makes my heart ease a little.

When I've treated the worst of his injuries, I reach for a waterskin hanging nearby, offering it to him. "You should drink," I say, helping him lift his head slightly. "You've lost a lot of blood."

He takes a few sips, a single droplet escaping. I catch it with my finger without thinking, the casual intimacy of the gesture only registering when his eyes lock onto mine.

"Thank you," I say softly, lowering the waterskin. "For saving me. Again . You seem to make a habit of that."

His hand rises so slowly, as if I might vanish. Calloused fingers cradle my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin with a reverence that liquefies my bones.

No one has ever touched me like this. Like I’m the last drop of water in the desert.

I don't think. Don't hesitate. Don't second-guess. I just act on the feeling that's been building inside me since he first held me in the desert.

Leaning forward, I press my lips to his.

For a moment, Tharn goes completely still, his body rigid with surprise. Clearly, kissing isn't a thing Drakav do. But before I can pull back, before embarrassment can overtake me, his arms slide around me, and then?—

—fire.

A sound rips from his chest, something between a growl and a prayer, as his arms band around me. His kiss is clumsy at first, all sharp teeth and panting breaths, until I nip his lower lip in guidance.

Oh .

The moment he learns, he conquers .

His tongue sweeps into my mouth, hot and wicked, stealing my gasp. The glow beneath his skin erupts, painting us in molten gold as his claws skate down my spine— careful, so careful —but the hunger in them?

Unhinged .

I’m drowning. Burning. Alive.

I'm kissing an alien. And it feels like coming home.

Just as the thought forms, Tharn stiffens suddenly, breaking the kiss with a sharp intake of breath. His gaze shoots to mine, filled not with desire but with alarm.

"Tharn?" I pull back slightly, confusion and concern replacing the haze of desire. "What's wrong?"

He doesn't answer, but his expression tells me something is very wrong. His body goes rigid, his back arching as a sound of pure agony tears from his throat. The glow beneath his skin flares blindingly bright, then pulses erratically like a malfunctioning light.

"Tharn!" I grab his shoulders, panic rising as his body begins to convulse. "What's happening? What's wrong?"

But even as I ask…I know. He’s changing.

The golden light beneath his skin surges one final time, so bright I have to shield my eyes, and then it abruptly shifts—no, explodes—into something unnatural.

The glow fractures, splintering like shards of lightning under his skin, and then morphs into streaks of black that ripple across him like living ink.

"Tharn?" I whisper, my voice trembling.

He jerks suddenly, his entire body twisting as if something inside him is breaking and remaking itself all at once. His claws rake against the stone floor, carving deep gouges as a guttural snarl tears from his throat.

I stumble back, my heart hammering as I watch his body convulse.

His golden skin darkens, the glow fading into an eerie, star-speckled black, shifting like constellations in motion.

His eyes snap open, and they’re no longer the warm amber-gold I’ve grown used to.

They burn with a violent, molten light, glowing so brightly they seem untamed.

"Tharn!" I cry, reaching out, but he rears back, his movements jerky and unnatural, like he’s fighting something unseen. His head snaps toward me, his lips curling back to reveal sharp teeth, a sound somewhere between a growl and a roar erupting from deep in his chest.

The air around him feels charged, heavy, like a storm is building inside the room. His claws curl and uncurl, his body writhing in agony as he snarls, his gaze flickering between me and something I can’t see.

"Help!" I scream, my voice cracking. "Somebody help!"

He lunges forward suddenly, but not at me—at the wall, his claws tearing into the stone like it’s nothing. His entire body is trembling, his muscles straining as if they’re trying to contain something too big for him to handle.

"Tharn, stop!" I shout, but it’s like he can’t hear me.

He turns again, his glowing eyes locking onto me, and for one terrifying moment, I think he’s going to attack. But then his expression changes—just for a second. His snarl falters, replaced by something raw and desperate.

" Jah-kee ," he rasps, his voice distorted and broken, like it’s being pulled from the depths of his soul.

His body twists again, a strangled sound escaping him as he staggers back, his hand clawing at his chest. The black patterns on his skin pulse violently, the pinpricks of light shifting and swirling like a living galaxy.

Then he collapses to his knees, his head thrown back as a roar of pain tears from his throat.