Page 38 of The Garnet Daughter (The Viridian Priestess #3)
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
I wait until August disappears, holding his clothing in hand to change privately behind a group of dense trees.
I swim as close as I can to the boulder I left mine on and bolt out of the water.
With an ungraceful scoop, I collect all my items, using them as a ridiculous shield before finding a place to dress out of his view among the small forest.
I hang the slightly damp fabric on the twiggy branches of a bush and out of the way as I gently wring my hair, rolling the curls between my fingers, then plaiting it in a low braid.
August hasn’t said a word since he left me speechless in the watering hole, not just from the view as he walked away, but from the way he spoke in my ear, how deeply I felt it, stirring emotions I’m finding it almost impossible to smother.
The rustling of foliage pulls my attention toward the direction he headed to. I can faintly see his bare back through the crisscrossing branches. I tuck myself farther behind a large tree trunk and focus on dressing.
I pull my undergarments up my still wet legs, but then a sharp poke in my foot sends a zip of pain, eliciting a shocked gasp.
I lean against the tree to inspect it, expecting the worst, a stinger or some sort of venomous insect like we have on Frith.
A punishment for walking into the brush barefoot, but the thought of wet boots clouded my judgement.
With a sigh of relief, I see a skinny piece of dry wood sticking out of the heel.
I remove the splinter and flick it off to the side.
It’s minor, barely broke the skin, and nothing to worry about.
But for some reason, I can’t shake the uneasiness washing over me.
Eerie silence falls on the oasis, making my ears pop and confirming the shift in atmosphere.
The birds and small mammals in the area notice it too.
They are frozen and silent, as if a predator is approaching.
I straighten slowly and peek through the brush to where I saw August changing, but I can no longer spot him.
A single twig snaps before he is on me.
August covers my mouth, smothering my yelp of surprise and pushing me back against the rough bark of the tree.
My eyes meet his as I try to understand why he would be doing this. His are dilated with worry in a way that makes my stomach turn.
“Quiet,” he whispers, covering my body completely with his. “I heard something.”
I search his face and realize he is waiting for me to acknowledge what he said. When I nod, he removes the hand that gently ensured my silence.
We wait and listen, along with every living thing in this oasis that sensed something dangerous was coming.
His eyes roam down to my collarbone and almost instantly shoot up, his brow furrowing in an apologetic twist. Embarrassment spreads across his face, and it’s enough to wipe away my own.
He backs off a little so I can place my arm between us to cover my breasts. At least he has boots and pants on. The only pieces I was able to manage before this ambush were my now obviously thin undergarments.
“I promise I heard something.” He keeps his eyes past me, doing his best to focus on the unseen threat and away from the situation we find ourselves in.
It’s a far different tone than his whisper that vibrated through me in the water. I can’t help but laugh a little, but then I realize we are too close for such things and any movements, including breath, brushes my body up against his.
We wait for the danger that won’t present itself. It seems foolish to stay frozen and pressed to each other when nothing has shown itself.
I attempt to step to the side, to put some distance between us.
But he grips the bicep I am using to cover my chest and gives me such a serious look it fills me with fear. He shakes his head, slow and meaningful, the intensity warning me that I have chosen the worst time to move.
That’s when I hear it, something large approaching the plateau, dragging its feet and setting every hair on my body on edge. We are tucked behind the tree line, but even a snapping twig could alert it to our location.
August watches it, tracking it in the space over my shoulder.
His chest rises and falls in massive slow breaths.
I try to mimic him, but the fact that we may soon be prey to a very large birthlands predator becomes more obvious when it makes the same clicking noise as the animals that hunted us before.
It stalks closer to the watering hole, allowing me to see its nightmarish form.
Its body is long and catlike, the fur on its back resembling the sand of the birthlands, but its underside is dusky like eclipse light.
The face is like nothing I have seen before: fleshy, pleated folds adorn the bridge of its bare snout.
Opening and collapsing with each breath, its teeth are held together by an exposed skull from the thinly slit eyes down.
I swallow a gasp when it chirps again, sniffing the sandy shore where we first walked. I can only hope hurrying into the brush with wet feet hid our scent and it does not track us.
“We need to fold.” My voice is barely a whisper. I reach for him, squeezing his bare side.
Where I would take us to, I’m not sure. Back to the previous camp, the ridge where his pod landed?
If I fold us away, will we be able to fold back here again, or will the same ward prevent me from folding even to the oasis and force us to walk all the way back up this plateau, this time without my clothes or boots.
August moves slowly, pulling me in closer until I can no longer look at his stern expression. “Stay calm. Stay . . . with me.”
The animal rounds to the far side of the pond, stalks up the side of the cliff, gripping its claws into the incline and pouncing from rock to rock in its desired path.
“This must be the only oasis of its kind,” I whisper. “We should have been more careful. Every birthlands animal knows it’s here.”
“I hate this fucking planet,” August whispers.
“There are much worse things than that creature on Frith. Do you hate it there too?”
“No, it’s different.” He doesn’t explain further, even though some of the birds start singing again, as if the animal is gone from this area.
His arm flexes as he adjusts his grip on the gun I didn’t notice him aiming out toward the water, the muscle that connects his shoulder to his neck engaged as he lowers the weapon.
I follow the line of it, down to his forearm, watching him expertly attach it to his waistband.
“We shouldn’t go out yet.” I swallow hard, and when he looks down at me, confused, I continue. “It followed the same trail as that hoofed animal, up the incline.”
He makes a humming sound as if he agrees. “I don’t like that it’s above us.”
We stay in our fixed spot for so many waiting breaths, my feet beg me to move, in search of relief from whatever dry debris I am stepping on with my bare skin.
“I apologize for . . .” He begins to glance downward but turns away instead.
“It’s fine, August.” The tendons in my sockets strain from rolling my eyes involuntarily.
A heavy thud makes me jump, pushing up against him, seeking a protective shield. It’s the animal descending from the cliff with its kill, lifeless and bloody, in its jaws.
This time, it is too late for August to raise his gun without detection, so he leans in closer to me, wrapping his arms in tightly and keeping one near his waistband in case the animal scents us and keeping silent is no longer necessary.
“Is it leaving?” Without thinking, I place my hand on his forearm to ground myself, and as if I can’t stop, I stroke the corded muscle I always admire.
I wish it were a pacifying gesture, one used to calm myself from the deadly situation, but it’s clearly not.
My fingertips move across his skin as if they are programmed drones mapping along veins I have observed for months.
The adrenaline must be doing something crazy to my insides because having him this close, being able to smell his scent and feel his solid form against me awakens a part of me I thought I had more control over.
He takes a long time to answer me, perhaps just listening to the surroundings, but then he nods, avoiding my gaze, and for a moment I think he might be . . . stalling.
Knowing that turns my insides warm, my muscles languid. My shallow breaths of fear move from my stomach to deep, lung-filling ones in my chest.
“Are you . . . Are you certain?” I’m stalling now too.
When he finally looks at me, his normally bright green eyes are so dark and hooded, the intensity shoots all the way down to my core. The air changes between us, morphing with our mingling breaths and sending us down a path I can no longer pretend isn’t there.
Without much consideration other than touching him more, I remove the forearm covering my breasts and place my palm over his heartbeat. It punches upward against his chest, lurching forward the more I touch him.
“Should I let you get dressed?” His hand is on my arm now, his thumb caressing back and forth.
His eyes flick around my face, searching for any indication of what I am thinking, but I couldn’t tell him even if he asked.
I don’t want to think. I want to shut off the part of my brain that knows this is a bad idea and will convince me to push him away. Because right now, there is a primal part of me taking over, and that part knows exactly what I want from him regardless of complication.
I slide my hand upward to his shoulder, and in response, he steps closer, brushing against my nipples and setting the sensitive skin on fire. I suck in a breath that doesn’t go unnoticed. Heat floods between my thighs, and my cheeks feel flush at that sudden sensation.
He inhales deeply and tilts his head down, breathing against my neck, testing my boundaries carefully.
“I did kiss you back, on the ridge,” I admit breathlessly.