Page 26 of Survivor
My mate needed me.
I glanced at the quasat, reeling from my last blow to its thigh, a gash that showed bone. A wound similar to what he had given Lucy. Only I would not allow the creature to live as Lucy would live. I roared and lunged, swiping wide with my left hand. When the beast dodged, I came upward with my right hand, letting my claws sink deep into its flesh and tear a gash from its chest to its chin. Deep green blood poured hot over my hand asthe quasat sank to its knees, an expression of surprise that might have been humorous in any other situation crossing its mug.
I didn’t wait to see the beast tip over, spilling the last of its blood on the forest floor. Instead, I ran for my mate.
“Lucy?” I sank onto my knees in the loam earth beside her. She was barely conscious, her breathing ranging from long, raspy inhales to hurried panting. Her skin was pale and clammy as I let my fingertips probe at the gash along her shin. Not deep, thank the goddess, but the wound was already black and gurgling.
The sound of running footsteps hit my ears a moment before my father broke through the trees, his hands gripping curved swords, the favorite of his weapons.
His blue eyes met mine before going wide as they skimmed over me, his mouth falling open.
“Lucy is hurt.” I didn’t care about my injuries.
“What?” My father shook his head as if shaking himself out of a trance. “What happened?”
“A quasat,” I jerked my chin toward where the beast lay, now fodder for creatures it had previously preyed upon.
Vysar sank to his knees on the other side of Lucy, pulling a waterskin from the hook on his belt and pouring the liquid over Lucy’s wound. She moaned, her face scrunching in pain, although the water did little to clean the wound.
“The quasat did this,” Vysar asked, his voice holding a worried tone I did not like.
“Yes.”
“Fuck.” My father, like me, had grown fond of Lucy’s human curses.
“It happened only a moment ago. Why does it look like this?” I swallowed back the worry I’d felt since noticing the black bubbling edges of Lucy’s wound. I’d seen many wounds from my time in warrior training, but none that looked like this until itwas already too late. I sucked in a deep breath and voiced my greatest fear. “Was she poisoned?”
“Not poison,” Vysar assured me, but the concern in his expression didn’t waiver. “But the quasat’s claws and fangs hold bacteria that is exceptionally fast moving. We need to get Lucy back to the treehouse and treat her wound.”
I grunted, to overcome with a mix of emotions—relief in tandem with debilitating worry—to speak. I scooped Lucy up into my arms and set off for the treehouse. It wasn’t the first time I’d carried her, but she seemed so much smaller in my arms. I ran, leaving my father to follow. Behind me, chittering tones erupted through the air as my father called to the Peecha for aid.
In the few minutes it took me to reach the treehouse, Lucy went from clammy to sweating profusely, her skin feverish and hot. I took her straight to our bed—our bed—only leaving her side for the few moments it took me to grab a clean cloth and a water basin. Dipping the cloth in cool, fresh water, I held it to her lips, hoping a few precious drops made it down her throat as I prayed to the goddess to heal her. I washed the sweat from her face, noticing how her scent had changed, subtly shifting from her normal sweet fragrance to something faintly sour.
“The Peecha have come to help,” Vysar announced, striding into the room and flinging his weapons at a nearby table. He was followed by a male and female Peecha that I recognized as Terk and Ceeka, the chief and healer of their tribe.
“Can you help her, please?” I begged, waiting for my father to translate. While I’d tried to learn the Peecha language in the last few weeks, my progress remained woefully limited to mundane words likemeat, food, andwater.
Ceeka bent over Lucy, her gnarled, wizened fingers probing at the edges of the wound, her furred face and bright green eyes scrunched in concentration. She swiped a glob of the bubbling black goo onto her fingertip, bringing it to her wide,flat nose and inhaling deeply. From her expression, it wasn’t good. She slung the glob onto the floor, her hands erupting in a flurry of motion while she chittered directions to Terk, who listened closely, then, with a solemn nod, turned and left the treehouse. When Ceeka’s attention moved to my father, her voice and movements became much more somber.
Vysar sucked in a deep breath, his shoulders slumping.
“What is it?” I demanded.
“Ceeka fears Lucy is too fragile and delicate to survive the fever.”
“No,” I would not hear it. “Lucy is small, but she is the strongest female I have ever known.”
“I am sorry, my son.” Vysar’s hand landed on my shoulder with a gentle squeeze.
“No,” I snapped, slapping his hand away. “I will not hear this.” I could not hear this. I could not lose her. My gaze sought Ceeka, and I felt it grow hot. “Please, there has to be some treatment, something you can do.”
I could not stand the thought of her dying. That she would leave me. The very idea hollowed me out from the inside, leaving nothing but a shell of who I was. Considering a universe without her smile, without her joyous outlook on life, made me physically ill.
The healer’s eyes met mine and held for a moment before she let out a long breath. Her chittering voice floated through the air as she spoke to my father before she turned on her heel and left.
“Ceeka says there is a poultice that may help.” My father’s hand hit my shoulder again, and this time, I let it lie. “She will prepare it, but she does not hold out much hope.”
“She cannot die,” I insisted, dabbing Lucy’s brow with a wet cloth. She was so feverish that beads of sweat popped up themoment I dabbed them away. “She cannot die,” I repeated in a whisper, my heart clenching. I could not bear the thought of it.
