Page 38 of Tharn’s Hunt (Barbarians of the Dust #2)

MY MATE’S IN A COMA AND ALL I GET IS THIS LOUSY LANGUAGE LESSON (VRAL = KNIFE. COOL. COOLCOOLCOOL.)

JACQUI

I t’s been three days since Tharn collapsed.

Three days of pacing the tunnels, staring at the darkened alcove where he lies unconscious, and pretending I’m not losing my mind with worry.

Three days of trying to adjust to life in the clan caves. A life so strange and different that it should feel like stepping into another world. And it does , but I can’t enjoy it. My thoughts are always elsewhere, circling back to him.

Every time I pass his alcove or catch a glimpse of Rok or the other hunters, I want to ask if there’s any change. But I don’t. The answer is always the same. No.

The clan caves are... fascinating, I’ll give them that.

There are even more chambers than I first realized, with ceilings so high they disappear into the shadows, the walls lined with alcoves and tunnels leading to who-knows-where.

The Drakav move through the space with silent grace, their eyes tracking everything, their presence so alien yet oddly comforting.

The human women’s section of the cave is now filled with furs and strange cushions made from some kind of woven plant fiber. It’s almost cozy. Almost.

The Drakav have been nothing but accommodating, though their fascination with us can sometimes feel... intense. They watch us constantly, studying our movements, our speech, even the way we eat. It’s like we’re some new, exotic species they’re trying to understand.

Every day, Justine gathers the women and a handful of Drakav for what she calls "language classes." It’s slow going. The translators are doing their best, but the process is painstaking.

"Okay," Justine says, holding up a small, carved tool. "This is... uh..." She glances at Rok, who projects the word into her mind. "‘Vral.’ It’s a knife. Vral."

"Vral," Pam repeats, her voice lilting with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Rok nods, his expression stoic as always.

Mikaela snorts from the back of the group. "Great. Now I know how to say ‘knife.’ That’s useful when I’m trying to ask where the bathroom is."

"You’re not wrong," I mutter, earning a laugh from a few of the women.

The lessons are slow, frustrating, and occasionally hilarious. Some of the women, like Pam and Tina, throw themselves into it with gusto, while others, like Mikaela, are more skeptical.

"It’s like magic," Erika says one afternoon, shaking her head as she tries to wrap her mind around the concept of the mindspace. "You’re telling me they can just... project thoughts into our brains? How is that even possible?"

"It’s not magic," Justine replies patiently, though I can see the strain in her expression. "It’s just... different. They evolved this way."

"Uh-huh," Mikaela mutters. "Magic."

The caves have their perks. One of them is the bathing area—a natural pool fed by an underground spring. The water is cool and clear, the surface reflecting the bioluminescent fungi that grow along the walls. It’s the first real bath I’ve had in... I don’t even know how long.

I sink into the pool with a sigh, the tension in my muscles easing as the water laps at my skin.

A few other women are doing the same, scattered around the pool.

Any sense of modesty we might have had back on Earth had been scrubbed away by sand and desperation weeks ago.

Beside me, Tina is scrubbing her hair with something that looks like a flattened scale.

"These things are amazing," she says, holding up the scale. "They get all foamy when you rub them with water."

"Smell good too," Pam adds, sniffing her armpit.

I grab one of the scales and start working it through my hair. Sure enough, it lathers into a rich foam, leaving my hair feeling cleaner than it’s been in weeks.

For a moment, I close my eyes, letting myself enjoy the sensation. The sound of water splashing, the faint hum of the caves—it’s almost peaceful.

Almost.

Because no matter how hard I try to relax, my mind keeps drifting back to Tharn.

And my body? Oh, it's not drifting. It's marching.

There's this... persistent warmth between my thighs, like a second heartbeat. At first, I thought it was just stress. Then dehydration. Then I realized—with no small amount of horror—that my traitorous anatomy has apparently decided to sync up with whatever cosmic nonsense our bond is doing while Tharn’s unconscious.

I desperately need a distraction.

Fortunately, the Drakav excel at those. They've got systems for everything, including the less glamorous aspects of life.

"Okay," Justine says, leading a small group of us to one of the side tunnels. "This is... uh... the bathroom."

The "bathroom" is a small, enclosed space filled with what looks like gourd-like plants. Justine explains that for, uh, number one, you basically pee into the plant, which absorbs it.

"For number two," she continues, gesturing to a primitive toilet dug into the ground, "there’s this." She picks up a handful of what looks like broad, velvety leaves, their surfaces covered in a soft, downy fuzz. "And you use these to, uh, clean up."

"They smell nice," Pam says, sniffing the leaves.

"No toilet paper?" Alex deadpans.

"Just some sand in your hand, baby," Mikaela quips, earning a chorus of groans.

"Mikaela," Tina mutters. Mikaela grins and shrugs.

"It’s not that bad," I say, though I’m not entirely convinced myself.

Still, it’s better than nothing. And the Drakav seem genuinely proud of their system, so who am I to judge?

This is our life now. Life in the caves is busy, strange, and surprisingly comfortable. The Drakav are endlessly curious about us, and we’re slowly learning to adapt to their way of life.

But I can’t focus on any of it.

Not when Tharn is still unconscious.

Every time I go to his alcove, I have the unrelenting urge to stay there.

So I limit myself to short visits, or not going to the alcove at all.

But whenever I look that way, my gaze lingers.

I keep expecting to see him emerge, striding into the main chamber with that quiet confidence that’s so uniquely him.

But he doesn’t.

I try to distract myself. Help Justine with the language lessons. Take long baths in the pool. Chat with the other women about anything and everything.

But my thoughts always circle back to him.

What if he doesn’t wake up? What if the transformation took too much out of him? What if?—

"Jacqui!"

Pam’s voice snaps me out of my spiral. I blink, realizing I’ve been standing in the middle of the main chamber, staring at nothing.

"What?" I ask, shaking my head.

"You’ve been standing there for, like, five minutes," she says, her brows furrowed. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I lie, forcing a smile. "Just tired."

Pam doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it go.

I glance toward the tunnel again, my chest tightening.

I’m in the middle of one of Justine’s lessons when it happens.

A gasp echoes through the chamber, followed by a flurry of whispers.

I turn, my heart leaping into my throat.

Tharn is standing at the tunnel entrance, his gaze sweeping the room until it locks onto me.

His eyes burn with intensity, his expression unreadable.

But it’s the way he moves that sends my heart racing.

He strides toward me with single-minded purpose, his gaze never wavering.

The room falls silent, all eyes on him.

"Tharn," I whisper.

He doesn’t speak. Just stops in front of me, his eyes searching mine.

For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us.

Tharn moves closer, his massive frame lowering until he’s crouched in front of me.

One large hand rises, his palm cupping my face with a gentleness that makes my breath hitch. His touch is warm, grounding, and so achingly familiar that I feel the tension in my chest begin to unravel.

Around us, the women gasp, their murmurs barely audible over the pounding of my heart. But I don’t look away from him. I can’t.

His eyes burn into mine, their amber-gold brighter than ever, and then his lips part.

"Mine," he growls in English, the word so clear, so final, it leaves no room for doubt.

The word hits me like a lightning strike.

Before I can even process it, he bends forward and captures my lips in a kiss that steals the air from my lungs.

It’s not tentative or soft. It’s consuming. Heat and desperation and relief all rolled into one. His claws graze the edge of my jaw before they close around my throat.

I’m vaguely aware of the stunned silence around us, of the Drakav shifting, their gazes darting between us and the other women. But none of it matters.

All I can feel is Tharn.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead pressing lightly against mine, I’m left breathless, my hands clutching at his arms for stability.

“ Mine, Jacqui. For this sol and the next .” I hear his thoughts as clear as day.

"Tharn," I manage, my voice trembling.

But he doesn’t give me a chance to say more. In one swift motion, he scoops me into his arms, cradling me against his chest as if I weigh nothing.

Tharn strides toward the tunnel leading to his alcove, his steps sure and steady. He doesn't look at anyone but me.

And in the stunned, watching faces of my friends and his entire clan, I realize what he's just done.

He didn't just kiss me.

He claimed me .