Chapter 6
TIME TO GO STAB THE WATER
SARVEN
Panic has a scent.
It rises sharp and acrid, cutting through the usual cave-smells of smoke and stone. It spreads faster than fire, filling the cavern in the span of a few dra-kirbeats.
Kol does not let it take root.
“Haroth. Zan. Kelvan,” he projects, his presence cracking through the mindspace like a whip. “Go. Now.”
He does not need to say where. My brothers move before the last echo of his thought fades.
Haroth snatches his spear from the rack. Zan falls in behind him, checking his blade with a quick, practiced swipe of his thumb. Kelvan already has his weapon in hand, jaw tight.
I step forward.
Kol did not name me. My duty is here. He told me earlier to guard the perimeter, watch the entrances, keep predators from slipping past us into the hollow of the clan.
But I let the worst predator of all into our midst.
I did not smell the poison until it was already in their hands.
Shame burns low in my gut, an icy fire that refuses to go out. But I will not stay behind.
I found the poison. I will hunt its source.
“I go too,” I project toward Kol, my thought hard as bone.
His gaze cuts to me. He sees the tension in my jaw, the way my claws are flexing. He feels the way my need to fix this beats against the confines of my chest.
His head tilts once.
Permission.
Haroth, Xan, Kelvan, and I turn toward the deep tunnel as one, feet striking stone in a heavy, unified rhythm. The air near the passage mouth is cooler, carrying a faint dampness that tells of water trapped in stone.
We do not look back.
We are almost in the darkness when I hear it.
Footsteps. Soft. Too light to belong to any of my brothers. Slapping quickly against the rock.
I turn.
Mih-kay-lah is running toward us.
My dra-kir jerks at the sight of her, a painful thud in my chest.
She is breathing hard, chest rising and falling. Strands of her head-fur have come loose, sticking to her damp cheeks. In her arms, she clutches a woven basket, hugging it close.
Haroth and Zan slow, following my line of sight.
“Mih-kay-lah?” I rumble.
She has never come toward me like this. Not head-on. Not with purpose.
For a moment, my mind blanks.
Then she stops in front of me and sets her feet.
She touches her chest with one hand, then jabs that hand toward the dark tunnel. Then back to herself.
“I’m coming,” she says aloud.
Even without Jus-teen, the meaning is clear.
“Noh,” I snarl. The word scrapes my throat raw. I switch to Drakav words next. “Dangerous. Wet. Dark.”
She ignores the warning entirely.
Of course she does.
This is my Mih-kay-lah. Bee-yoo-ti-ful and stubborn.
She reaches into her basket and pulls out a mound of black firestone dust and a scrap of torn covering. The items look snatched up in haste, thrown together without care.
She points back toward the sick alcove where Tee-nah lies. Then to the dust in her hand.
I do not understand the connection.
But I understand her stance. The way her chin lifts. The stubborn flare in her eyes.
She wants to come with us.
“Noh,” I say again, stepping into her space in a way I never have before.
She is suddenly very close. Close enough that the heat of her skin seeps through the air between us. Close enough that I can see the dark freckle on her temple. Close enough that my body reacts without my permission.
My dra-kir kicks hard.
The pressure at my groin pulses, the flesh heavy and aware.
Something warm blooms in the center of my chest, right behind my chest bone.
I loom, letting my shadow fall over her. I have seen shadows make other females step back. My size alone should send her retreating. She reaches only to my chest-height.
How do I explain what claws and mind-speech and broken mouth-words cannot?
“You… soft,” I grind out. My throat protests every sound. “You… stay.”
It is the best I can do with the crude tools I have.
I expect her to falter. To at least hesitate.
I am a fool.
Mih-kay-lah is not like the other Daughters. I have known this since the dust first delivered her to us, all fury and fire despite her smallness.
She is mine.
And she does not back away from my shadow.
Her eyes darken, heat sparking there. She takes a step closer instead of away, closing the space I tried to create with my size.
“No,” she says, voice firm. She taps her chest. Then her skull. “I know methods. I can help.”
More words spill from her mouth. Quick. Most of them beyond my grasp. “I was a teacher,” I catch, the human term familiar from the translations drilled into us.
She taps her skull again as she says it, as if that will make the meaning sink in.
I almost tell her to stop before she shakes something loose.
“I go with you,” she finishes, folding her arms over her chest.
The motion pulls her tunic tight across her body. My throat tightens in a way that has nothing to do with speech.
She is soft. She is unarmored. She holds a basket of odd scraps and thinks it makes her ready to face a poisoned spring.
“We waste time,” Zan growls from the tunnel mouth, impatience sharp in his presence.
He is right. Every moment we argue is another moment the enemy seeps deeper into the stone. Another moment the poison threads further into the water.
And I cannot stop Mih-kay-lah without grabbing her. Without hurting her. Without risking her small, fragile bones.
“Kol,” I send, lifting my eyes past her to where the dra-dam stands.
The rest of the cavern is watching. Every Drakav. Every human female who can sit up.
Kol meets my gaze.
Surely he will tell this stubborn, precious thing to remain here.
“Let her go,” his projection hits me. “The other Daughters say she has knowledge. Guard her, dust son. I give you this duty.”
My jaw locks. The dra-dam is giving up without a fight?
I turn my head, ready to snarl at the female to stay put, and I see it. Her chin is jutting out, and her eyes are narrowed into tiny, burning slits that promise a world of pain.
A sudden, cold understanding slides down my spine.
Oh. The dra-dam is not weak. He is wise. Very, very wise.
Guard her. Yes. A much safer duty.
I already do, anyway. In my mind, in my watch, in every pass I have made near her sleeping mat without waking her.
But now he makes it formal. Duty. Command.
Oath.
I step in closer, crowding into her space until she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes.
“Stay…” The word scrapes. I force the rest out. “Close.”
Her throat works. Her gaze drags over my face, lingering for a dra-kirbeat on my lips.
There is something in the way she looks at my mouth that makes the air feel thick.
Then she seems to remember herself. Her chin drops in a short, sharp jerk.
“Let’s go,” she says, stepping sideways out of my shadow just as a faint heat rises along her cheeks.
I turn with her, watching as she moves to join the others at the tunnel mouth. The basket bumps against her hip.
Dust.
Fine.
My greatest treasure walks with us into danger.
I will manage.
I will be her shield.
If she falls, she will fall onto me. If her feet slip on wet stone, my hands will catch her. If something waits in the dark, it will find my claws and my throat before it ever reaches her skin.
I do not realize Zan is watching me from the side until his presence brushes mine more sharply.
He leans in slightly, his face hard to read in the half-shadow.
“A sand-runner could crawl up your leg, and you would not notice,” he projects, dry as old bone. Annoyance clouds his thoughts. “Your eyes are open, but do you see anything besides the female?”
I bristle, lips peeling back just enough to show fang. “I am guarding.”
“You are thirst-mad,” Zan answers, his disapproval clear. “But do not worry. I will watch the tunnel, since you are only watching her.”
“Let us move,” I growl back.
He snorts, but turns toward the dark.
We step into the tunnel together, the cool breath of the deep path washing over us.
Time to go stab the water.