Page 128 of The Spider Queen
My limbs grew heavy, and I forced my eyes to open into slits. The salt stung. Speckles of sunlight dotted the surface of the ocean. I reached up, wanting to catch it.
But I sank—and that’s when I saw Hunter’s body.
His neck was bent, his blond hair floating away from his forehead, arms and legs twisted at odd angles.
Had he hit the rocks?
Was he dead?
I blinked salty eyes and watched as dark shadows swam toward me.
Sharks, I thought.
The shadows drew closer. Gleaming silver scales, hands the color of eggshells, webbed fingers. And then I met the somber gray eyes of the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen before everything went black.
My throbbing cheek dragged me from sleep. I opened my eyes to find a gull perched on my chest.
“Gah!” I yelled, startling the bird into flight—but not before it cawed at me in anger. Apparently it had been making itself at home on me.
“Fucking nature,” I muttered.
I sat up, a swell of nausea hitting me. Once my stomach settled, I moved and took stock of my body. I was a little sore, and parts of my face stung, but otherwise, I seemed to be intact.
I looked up at the cliffs and then at my surroundings, realizing I was alone on the rocky shoreline.
I heard a groan in the near distance.
Scrambling up from my spot, I glanced around, trying to find the source of the noise. I found Hunter propped up against a rock, his face swollen and battered.
“Hunter!” I called, grazing his neck for a pulse. Slow, but strong.
He cracked his eyes open. “I’m not dead?”
“You’re not dead.” I smiled, but then it faded. “You’re not dead,” I repeated. “And I’m not dead. Why aren’t we dead, Hunter?”
“Stop shouting.” He moaned. “My head hurts.”
“What do you remember?” I asked.
“Cold. Ice. Flying out of the cliffs. Ocean. Drowning.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the rock.
“Flying out of the cliffs. Yeah. But I thought we were deep down in the earth.”
“Maybe not as deep as we thought. Or magic.”
“Right. Magic. You’re still wearing the backpack,” I said, reaching around him to help him take it off. “Can you move?”
“Maybe.” He placed his hands on the ground, trying to prop himself up. He gritted his teeth and went pale beneath the swelling bruises. “I don’t think so. I think my left ankle might be broken.”
I lifted his pant leg to examine it. The ankle in question was puffy, and his foot was bent at an abnormal angle. “Yeah. I think you may be right. What should I do? Can I call someone?” I asked, feeling desperate and shaky.
“The cell phone is in the backpack,” he gritted. “Help me get this thing off. There’s some Ibuprofen in there. I’ll take a few. That will help a bit. Maybe. I’m not taking off my boot. It might cause more damage to the ankle.”
Once I got him settled back down and a few Ibuprofen down his throat, I sat back onto the rocky sand. The late day sun moved behind the clouds causing me to shiver. I was cold and wet. But wet wool was still better than no wool.
“At least it’s still daylight,” I said, striving for positivity even though on the inside I was scared out of my mind.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “How did we get on the beach, Poppy? How did you get us both to land?”
