Chapter 2
RAKKH
The human girl moves through the canyon mouth like she belongs to the dark. Small steps. Quick breaths. Determined movement.
I watch from the shadows of the ridge. She walks as if she is not afraid—but her pulse betrays her. I hear it from here, a soft flutter beneath the whisper of sand.
Lia.
The plant women spoke her name with pride. Whispered it with worry. I can already see that the humans underestimate her, the Zmaj overlook her, and the Urr’ki barely notice her at all.
Which makes her the most dangerous kind of human. Unseen by choice.
The Urr’ki Queen stands beside me, delicate braids swaying, bone beads chiming softly in the rising wind. The moons cast silver across her emerald skin. She is small for an Urr’ki, but her presence commands warriors to stand straighter.
Even me.
“She goes alone,” I murmur.
“She believes she does,” the Queen replies, voice warm and sharp at once.
The girl adjusts the pouch at her hip. Her hand trembles. She swallows hard. Fear rolls off her in waves she tries to mask—but she does not turn back. Courage. Quiet courage. The rarest kind.
“She will not make it two lengths of travel without something scenting her fear.” I flex my claws in the sand. “She should not be out there.”
“That,” the Queen says, “is why you will go with her.”
She steps forward, voice lowering for me alone.
“Your Al’fa has agreed. The Surface Zmaj have no objections. The humans trust her. She stands between all three peoples without threatening any of them. A rare position.” Her gaze softens. “And because she is rare… she must not die.”
I bow my head. “I will guard her with my life.”
“I know, Rakkh.” Her hand rests briefly on my shoulder, comfort and command intertwined. “But she will resist your protection. Humans are surprisingly stubborn.”
A low rumble escapes me. “I am patient.”
“For her, you must be.”
Footsteps approach. An Urr’ki—Travnyk—and Tomas, one of the human scouts. The Queen nods to them, then looks past me.
“She will sense us soon,” the Queen murmurs.
As if on cue, she does. Lia stops, every muscle tensing, her hand drifting toward her knife. Slowly, she turns. The Queen steps from the shadows first. I follow.
Lia’s eyes widen. Fear, yes, but something else flickers there. Something hotter. Quick. A spark that hits the center of my chest with startling precision.
My breath catches. I step closer without meaning to.
“Lia,” the Urr’ki Queen says, nodding to her.
Lia straightens like she has swallowed fire. Her eyes dart between us nervously.
“I—I was just leaving. Calista and Jolie said—”
“Yes.” The Queen smiles softly. “I am aware. They are rarely wrong.” She gestures to me. “And because your life matters to all three peoples… you will not go alone.”
Lia’s gaze jumps to mine. Holds. Heat coils low in my spine; my hearts beat faster.
“I did not ask—” she begins.
“No,” the Queen says gently, but firmly. “This is not a request. I am assigning Rakkh to your protection.”
I hear her pulse spike. My hands clench reflexively as Travnyk steps forward.
“I will accompany you too. A sickness that strikes Urr’ki and Zmaj both must be understood.”
“And I will come too,” Tomas says, fist pressed to his chest in awkward human salute. “Extra hands.”
The Queen nods, approving. Then her eyes find Lia again.
“Follow the dying plants. Track the corruption. Return with the truth.” Her voice softens. “Come back alive.”
Lia’s throat works around a hard swallow. Then she looks at me. Really looks.
Something inside me shifts—slow and seismic, like the stir of a sandstorm deep underground. A recognition that should not be possible. Her chin lifts, a fragile defiance glinting in moonlight.
“Fine,” she says, mouth tightening. “Then… we go now.”
The Queen hides her smile poorly. I do not look away from Lia. Something tugs in my chest, gripping my heart so that I cannot look away.
“May Tajss guide you,” the Queen whispers.
Lia turns and steps out onto the dunes. I follow, and the others fall in behind us. We quickly leave the valley behind and enter the desert proper. It is not long before we crest a rise of sand and the wind shifts, carrying a scent that sets my senses on alert. It is feral, patient, and hungry.
It feels as if something watches us from the next dune. I study the desert, staring, expecting to see something—anything—but there is nothing. Only shadows and shifting sands.
The wind shifts again, carrying that scent—feral and musky, threading over my tongue like the taste of old blood. There is no mistaking that there is a predator.
I stop on the dune’s slope, loose sand sliding under my feet. I swing my tail for balance, remaining steady, and hold an arm out for Lia to use. Behind me, the others halt.
Tomas breathes too loudly. Travnyk, quiet like most Urr’ki, barely breathes at all—his green skin blending with the shadows. He sniffs the air with his broad nose, the tusks at the corner of his mouth rising and falling. And Lia… her breaths are soft and fast, but controlled. Good.
She stops at my side as Tomas stumbles forward. Small. Tense. Her fingers hover near the knife on her hip. She is not panicked, but she is ready. Her readiness stirs something hot and unwelcome in my chest.
I lift my head, taking in another long pull of air. The scent lingers, faint but undeniable. The dunes are treacherously quiet.
“Do you see something?” Tomas whispers.
“Silence,” I rumble softly before Lia can answer.
The night is quiet. Too quiet. Even the wind seems to have stilled.
I crouch, digging my claws into the sand. The moon paints long, jagged shadows—just enough light to catch the faintest imperfection in the sand. A shallow ripple, a drag-trail, a place where something heavy shifted its weight.
“There,” I say.
Tomas squints, uselessly. Travnyk leans forward, nostrils flaring.
“Something large,” he murmurs, his voice smooth as desert stone. “Something… hungry.”
Lia whispers, “Is it following us?”
Her voice calls to something inside me. She is not showing fear—she is pushing past it, and her bravery sparks embers that are not appropriate for this moment. She has a steady, sharp curiosity braided with courage. I look at her, unable not to.
“It is studying us,” I answer. “Waiting.”
Even Tomas goes still at that. Lia’s jaw tightens, but she does not step back. Her hand curls more firmly around her knife hilt, shoulders set with quiet fire.
“We should head back,” Tomas mutters. “If it is hunting—”
“No.” I snap, cutting him off. Lia flinches. I do not think it is fear, but surprise at the force of it. Guilt flickers, unwelcome but impossible to ignore, but I will not soften the truth. “If we retreat, we lead it straight into the settlement. We draw it away. Always away.”
Travnyk nods once, serious. “Smart.”
Lia looks between the two of us, her eyes calculating. A moment later, she lifts her chin and nods.
“Then we keep moving. Make it choose the wrong moment,” she says.
I stare at her. Moonlight catches in her eyes. There is no bravado—only determination, which is both dangerous and beautiful. I should not be admiring her. Should not be feeling this warmth low in my belly. A pull tightens in my chest, seizing something I thought long dead.
“We move,” I say, dropping my voice lower. “Stay close to me. Always.”
Her pulse jumps—I hear it, feel it, want it—and she steps closer without hesitation, shoulder nearly brushing my arm. Tomas shifts awkwardly. Travnyk observes quietly, eyes glimmering.
We descend the dune in controlled zigzags. Every grain of sand whispers beneath our feet. I keep myself angled toward the hidden thing, placing my body between it and her without thought.
Halfway down, the wind changes again. The scent spikes. My head snaps right, and for the briefest flicker I see eyes. Low to the ground. Reflecting silver like shards of broken moons.
Lia inhales sharply. Tomas curses. Travnyk grimaces, but remains silent. The eyes vanish, but the sand beneath them… trembles. It is moving underground. Circling. I bare my teeth.
“Do not run,” I warn. “If you run, it chooses.”
Lia’s voice comes soft, steady, threaded with a tremor she refuses to let win.
“Chooses what?”
I look down at her, letting the truth settle between us.
“Who dies first.”
She swallows hard, the silvery light of the moon washing the color from her face.
She smiles, but her lips quiver, betraying the falsity of her bravado.
I know as well as any that bravery is nothing but bravado backed by the strength to move ahead in spite of fear.
I give her a smile and nod, then take the lead.
She stays close to my tail. I scan the sands, watching the predator’s pattern, judging when it will attack, but I find her distracting. She is unique among humans. I have not known many of them, but those I do have been noisy, blundering, and lacking courage. Lia has been anything but the same.
It is admirable. And her form is… pleasing.
Not that I should be having such thoughts.
I am on a mission. A mission from my Al’fa and the Urr’ki Queen—something I never would have considered possible.
Me, doing anything for, or even with, an Urr’ki.
I am acutely aware of Travnyk. What strange twists of fate Tajss has thrown at me.
Once, Urr’ki blood and mine would have soaked the sand side by side, each trying to kill the other. Now Travnyk walks behind me, quiet as breathing stone, and I do not mistrust him. Not entirely.
And walking ahead of him is Lia. A human. Small and breakable, but intensely determined.
A species I would once have dismissed as soft, short-lived creatures. Yet the humans endured a crash from the stars, the Urr’ki Shaman, the Paluga, and the desert on this side of the mountains—and still they endure. And she… she is different.
Her steps are steady, though she is tired.
I sense it in her scent—edged with strain, threaded with fear she will not allow to own her.
The moon paints her hair silver chased with gold.
She glances back to be certain Tomas is not falling behind, and something warm and dangerous coils low in my belly.
I should not be noticing such things. I force my gaze forward, out into the desert. The predator’s scent has thinned… but not vanished. It circles wide, testing us. Waiting for a mistake. My claws flex against the sand. Lia must not make a mistake.
“Rakkh?” Her voice drifts back to me like a whisper caught in wind.
I step faster until I am beside her. “Yes.”
She watches the dune ahead, not me.
“Why is it following us? If it wanted to attack… it could have.”
“It is patient,” I murmur. “It studies our formation. Looking for the weak point.”
She swallows. “Me.”
A flare of fury snaps through me sharp enough that Tomas stumbles when my wings twitch open.
“No,” I hiss. “Not while I breathe.”
She blinks at me, startled—not by the vow, but by the sound of it. The way it scraped out of me like truth I had not meant to reveal. Travnyk makes a low, clicking hum. Approval, perhaps. Or warning. Hard to tell with Urr’ki.
I move closer to her. So close that her small shoulder brushes my forearm. So close that I hear her breath hitch ever so slightly. I should move away. I do not.
Her presence steadies and sharpens me more than danger does. Her determination burns hotter than fear, and that fire in her… it draws me like prey draws a ghost-stalker.
We crest another dune, this one steeper. She slips once—only a half-step—and I catch her elbow without thinking. My claws do not break her skin. I am careful. Too careful. Her breath shivers out.
“Thank you.”
Her gratitude does something to me. Something unwelcome and deep.
“We should stop soon,” Tomas says. “The moons are dropping.”
I taste the air. He is right. Night is thinning, the dunes cooling beneath our feet. Soon the cold will bite hard, but before I can answer, Travnyk stiffens, lips pulling taut around his tusks, baring more of the curved bones as tension ripples through his stance.
“Look,” he whispers.
The tone alone sends my claws digging into sand. Lia follows his gaze.
“Is that—?”
At the base of the next dune lies a cluster of scrub plants.
Alive, but wrong. Their leaves curl inward, blackened at the tips.
The soil beneath them glitters faintly under moonlight in a way that is not sand.
The air is heavy with the same scent from the sick hunters’ vomit.
Lia steps toward it, but I block her path with my arm.
“What—?” she gasps, startled.
“Do not touch it.” My voice is low, sharp. “Not until we know what poisoned it.”
She nods slowly, but her eyes burn with curiosity, fierce and bright. She is afraid, but fear does not rule her. It tempts me to pull her back against me, to shield her from even looking at the danger. Instead, I crouch, scooping a pinch of the glittering dust between two claws.
Cold. Sharp-smelling. Wrong.
“Not native,” Travnyk says, leaning in.
“No,” I growl. “Something not natural.”
“Should we turn back? Bring this sample to camp?” Tomas asks, shifting uneasily.
“It is spreading. We track it now, before we lose the trail. If we turn back every time we get scared, we will never find what is causing this,” Lia says, shaking her head at once.
She steps closer to me. Unthinking. Natural. As if the place beside me already belongs to her. My hearts beat too fast, too hard.
“You are brave,” I say quietly.
She looks up sharply. I do not know why I said it. I do not take it back.
Her lips part slightly. In the moonlight, her eyes shine brightly. Warmth coils beneath my ribs. I drag in a breath, trying to steady myself.
“We continue,” I say, voice rough. “Stay close.”
She nods and moves closer as the sand beneath the poisoned plants shifts. Something—large and weighty—moves beneath the surface. Lia’s breath catches. Travnyk’s nostrils flare. Tomas curses under his breath.
I lower myself into a crouch, placing myself between Lia and the movement. The sand rises in a thin ripple. Then stills. Waiting. Observing.
I bare my teeth. Whatever hunts us has not given up. And it will not have her.
Not tonight. Not ever.