Page 43 of Tharn’s Hunt (Barbarians of the Dust #2)

IT’S THE THOUGHT (AND THE STABBING YOURSELF REPEATEDLY) THAT COUNTS

JACQUI

T he answer starts to come together a few days later, when I notice something strange during one of Justine's language lessons.

Tharn's fingers are covered in tiny puncture marks, like he's been repeatedly stabbed with something small and sharp. When I reach for his hand, concerned, he pulls away with uncharacteristic shyness.

" I am fine, my dear Jah-kee ," he projects, his mental voice dismissive. " Just... hunting ."

Yeah, right. Last I checked, hunting didn't involve getting stabbed in the fingers repeatedly. Unless the local wildlife has developed a taste for Drakav digits.

That night, when Tharn slips away again, I decide to follow him. It's not that I don't trust him—I do, implicitly. But the mystery is killing me, and if he won't tell me what he's up to, I'll just have to find out for myself.

I wait until he's disappeared down one of the lesser-used tunnels, then slip after him, keeping to the shadows. The tunnels are dark but somehow, my eyes adjust much easier than they would have months ago. I can see better.

The tunnel winds deeper into the cliff, branching off in several directions. I pause at a junction, unsure which way Tharn went, when I hear a soft annoyed click echo from the left passage.

I follow the sound, creeping along the wall until I reach a small chamber lit by a soft golden glow.

Tharn’s glow.

And there, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back to me, is Tharn.

But it's what he's doing that stops me in my tracks.

He's hunched over something on the floor. One of the smaller underscales from the dust serpent, its surface gleaming in the dim light. A bone needle is clutched awkwardly in his massive hand as he painstakingly pushes it through a tough, cord-like strap.

He's sewing the straps onto the scale, threading them through holes he must have painstakingly drilled near the edges.

The straps themselves are woven from the same fibrous vines the women use for their sleeping mats.

The "thread" he’s using looks suspiciously like a thin, dried piece of serpent gut.

My brain struggles to process the image. The fearsome alien hunter is sitting in a cave, trying to attach woven vine straps to a piece of monster armor using a needle made of bone and thread made of guts. And by the looks of it, he's not very good at it.

The stitching is thick and uneven. Beside him on the floor are several frayed, discarded straps, clear evidence of his repeated, frustrated attempts. What he's making is... well, I have no idea. Some kind of bizarre shield with handles?

Then it clicks.

Tharn isn’t making a weird shield. He’s trying to fashion a dress for me. One set of scales for the front and one for the back, held together by the woven straps he's fighting with. A crude, alien-style dress. Impractical, probably uncomfortable, but unmistakably made for me.

My heart melts at the sight. He's making clothes . His version of clothes, from the only materials he knows. For me.

I must make some small sound, because Tharn's head snaps up, his amber eyes finding mine in the dim light. For a moment, he looks startled, almost embarrassed, before his expression shifts to one of resignation.

" Jah-kee ," he projects, setting the half-finished garment aside. " You followed me ."

" You were being mysterious ," I counter, stepping into the chamber. " You've been sneaking off to... sew ?"

For the first time, I see Tharn’s ears flatten to the sides of his head.

I step closer, kneeling beside him, my fingers reaching out to trace the stitching. A dark smudge on one scale matches the pigment staining his fingertips.

" You bled making this ." I catch his hand, turning his palm up to reveal the needle-pricked pads.

He rumbles, defensive. " Bone needle was... small ."

" You hate clothes ," my thought whispers.

" Females need coverings ." He says it like a simple fact, but the mindspace betrays him. It floods with memories of me adjusting the hide over myself and even his memory of that night out in the desert. The one when I’d peed and he watched. How I’d tried to hide myself.

He gestures to the pile of scales, his mental voice grumpy but endearingly so. " It is... difficult ," he admits, holding up the lopsided garment. " Your people cover. So... I cover you ."

The simple statement, delivered with such matter-of-fact sincerity, hits me right in the heart.

I throw my arms around his neck, kissing him with all the emotion welling up inside me. He responds immediately, his arms wrapping around my waist as he pulls me onto his lap.

When we finally break apart, I'm breathless and smiling so wide my cheeks hurt. " It's perfect ," I tell him, touching the surprisingly soft scales with reverent fingers.

Tharn stills. His claws hover near the garment, as if seeing it anew through my eyes. I can feel his emotions swirling faintly in the mindspace. Uncertainty and hope, layered beneath the quiet pride he’s trying to keep hidden.

"I’ve never had anything like this," I add softly, running my hand over the smooth scales.

They feel durable, and Tharn has clearly made the entire thing with care.

The seams are tight, the edges reinforced, and even the faint, jagged patterns etched into the scales by his claws give it a strange, artistic beauty.

His claws drop slightly, his posture almost hesitant. " It is… useful ," he projects.

" Useful ?" I repeat, arching a brow, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of my lips. " Tharn, you made this for me. It’s more than useful—it’s beautiful ."

He watches me for a long moment, unmoving, his glowing eyes tracing every line of my face. I feel the faintest pull in the mindspace, his awe cresting like a soft wave and washing over me.

" You honor my claws’ work ," he projects at last.

I can’t stop my smile from widening. On impulse, I reach out, brushing my fingers against his hand. His claws twitch, and I feel a tremor run through him at my touch.

Tharn exhales slowly. The awe in his expression shifts, the warmth in his eyes sharpening into something hotter, more mischievous. His gaze drops from my face to the scale-and-vine creation lying between us. Then his eyes meet mine again, and a slow, predatory grin spreads across his face.

My heart stutters. I know that look.

Before I can react, he moves. He doesn't reach for the new garment. He reaches for the ties of the hide dress I'm already wearing.

"Thar—?" I gasp as he yanks the knot loose with one sharp tug.

I catch his hands, a breathless laugh escaping me. " Wait, wait! I want to try it on first! "

A low rumble vibrates in his chest—a sound of pure, smug satisfaction. He releases my dress, his hands settling on my hips as he watches me with undisguised interest.

I slip out of my current garment, my skin prickling under his intense gaze.

I pick up his creation. The scales are cool and soft against my skin, the woven straps surprisingly soft.

It's awkward to put on, but it covers me—more or less.

The fact that his hands made this, that he bled for it, makes it feel more precious than the finest silk.

" Well ?" I ask, rising and turning in a slow circle for his inspection. " What do you think ?"

His eyes darken, that now-familiar hunger blazing in their amber depths.

" Beautiful ," he projects. " But still unnecessary ."

I step closer, settling back onto his lap with my arms draped over his shoulders. " Thank you ," I murmur, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. " It's the nicest thing anyone's ever made for me ."

He makes a sound that's half growl, half purr, his hands settling on my hips once more. " I will make more ," he promises. " Better ones ."

" I'd like that ," I say, smiling against his skin. " But right now.. ."

His grip tightens, breaths ceasing as I trail kisses down his neck. " Right now ?" he prompts.

I pull back just enough to meet his gaze, my fingers toying with the edge of my new tunic. " Right now, I think you should help me take this off ."

Tharn's hands still beneath mine. Then his fingers tighten on the scales.

The ripping sound echoes off the stone as the tunic splits clean down the middle.

My gasp morphs into laughter. " Was that really necessary ?"

" Yes ." He palms my bare waist, his other hand spearing into my hair. "Y ou honored my gift. Now I honor your skin ."

The first kiss brands. The second conquers. By the third, Tharn spins me effortlessly, my back pressed flush to his chest, before lowering us onto the scattered scales. His arm bands across my ribs, holding me upright while his other hand splays possessively over my abdomen.

" You…are so beautiful ," he projects into the mindspace.

My gaze slides down myself, and I gasp as the thick ridge of his shaft notches at my entrance.

One slow thrust and he's halfway in, the stretch delicious. Then there’s that unfamiliar pressure against my behind.

The new, swollen part of him, nestles perfectly between my cheeks, pulsing with heat as he finally sheathes himself completely.

"Tharn—!" My cry is breathless as my body struggles to accommodate both sensations.

Then he moves.

The dual sensation is ruinous. His length strokes deep while that wicked protrusion rubs relentless circles where I'm oh so sensitive. The mindspace fractures into blinding light as my body arches like a drawn bowstring.

" Jah-kee ." His teeth graze my shoulder, the warning vibrating through my bones.

Every nerve sings as he adjusts the angle, that clever ridge finding new ways to wring pleasure from me. His breath comes ragged against my neck, his hips moving in slow, deliberate rolls that make my thighs tremble.

" You make me ache ," he projects. The mindspace floods with his restraint, the effort it costs him not to lose control. The sensation is intoxicating.

I rock back against him, reveling in his choked growl. The movement sends sparks through my veins, that perfect pressure building until my vision whites at the edges.

I know the moment Tharn senses I’m close. He leans in, breaths brushing my skin. I feel his claws, sharp against my hips for a barest second before he sheathes them. His hands splay wide across my hips, his palms pressing hard against me, holding me flush against his power.

" Let me see you shin e."

The command undoes me. My climax crashes through me, wave after wave of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. The mindspace sings with our shared rapture as Tharn follows me over, his roar shaking dust from the cavern walls.

When awareness returns, I'm cradled against his chest, his heartbeat a steady drum beneath my ear. His claws trace idle patterns along my spine, the touch sending fresh delicious shivers through me.

" This ," he projects, his thought a low growl as he presses his body fully against mine, " is the only covering you will ever need ."

Later, when our breathing has steadied, he gathers the shredded remains of the tunic.

" The next one ," he vows against my shoulder, " will be stronge r." His hand skims my bare hip in clear contradiction. " It will have to be ."