Page 90 of The Garnet Daughter
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.
