Chapter 1 #2
This is not the time, Callie. This is absolutely not the time.
“Stop,” I say, clumsily forcing the word out in the caveman language I’ve learned. “Turn. Go. Go to where came.”
He doesn’t even look at me. “Deh.”
No. Just that. Completely flat and final.
I swallow. “My name. Callie.” I tap my chest. “Callie.”
His head turns this time, slow and wary, like I’m a strange animal he hasn’t decided to trust. His eyes are purple in the low light, and they stare right through me.
“Call-ie,” he repeats, testing it. His deep voice resonates despite the ocean breeze. He nods once. “Crat'ax.”
I whisper it to myself. Crat'ax. The hard sounds of it slide under my skin in a way I don’t like. Or maybe I like too much. He’s a weird mix of familiar and alien, strong and dangerous. A master of this planet. Hey, I can’t be expected to control my primal instincts.
I go back to the rope.
The boat rocks gently, deceptively calm, but every swell reminds me how fragile this stone-age vessel really is. It’s held together with string and resin, organic rope, and roughly hewn wood. One mistake and we’re in the water, alone with whatever lives beneath it.
I slide the rope back and forth against the ridge, slow enough that the sound is lost under the lap of waves.
My heart hammers anyway.
Something bumps the hull. I gasp before I can stop myself.
A shape breaks the surface. It’s slick, dark, and finned. It makes a chirping sound, almost playful, and circles the boat.
Crat'ax turns and gives me a quick look. “Skirr.”
The creature lingers. Its big eyes reflect faint starlight, then dip under again.
“What it?” I ask, pulling my legs to me.
He hesitates, then repeats, “Skirr.”
Okay. But nothing too dangerous, then? Nothing to worry about?
The rope fibers begin to thin.
I risk a glance at him. He’s watching the water now, alert. His shoulders are tense. The paddle rests easily in his hands, like an extension of his body. I can’t imagine anyone surviving out here without that kind of competence.
I try again. “My friend.” I gesture inland, toward where the saucer lies hidden. “Ship. Go. Now.”
His entire body stills. “That ship is bad,” he says, jaw tightening. “The Plood sent it.”
I don’t understand all of it, but I understand enough to hear the disgust. “She sleep,” I say. “I go there. You go there.”
He shakes his head sharply. “No. The Plood are bad. And the Deep gave you.” He gestures, first to the sea, then to the jungle. “I found you. The beach. Between.” I understand some of the words, and I don’t like what I’m hearing. It sounds like he thinks I’m his.
A wave hits us harder than the rest, slamming the outrigger sideways. I lose my balance with a small cry.
He moves with the speed of a snake. His hand clamps around my forearm, fingers digging in, holding me steady. His skin is hot and solid. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
The world narrows to that point of contact.
I’m aware of everything at once: the sheer strength in his grip, the roughness of his palm, the way his thumb presses just a little too firmly against the inside of my arm. My breath comes fast and shallow, traitorous.
His gaze snaps to mine. Something flickers there. Confusion, intensity, something dangerously close to hunger.
He lets go abruptly, as if burned.
I force myself to breathe, to focus. Yes, it has been a long time since I’ve seen a male this close. And this one is remarkably male in all the ways. But this is not the time.
The rope is nearly gone. I slide my wrists again. One more pass. Maybe two.
Okay, fourteen passes. But then my wrists come apart, and the rope drops away.
I peer over toward the beach. The surf is maybe three hundred feet away.
I’m wearing a jumpsuit, but it’s thin, and I don’t have any footwear on.
I was never the strongest swimmer, but I can do that distance.
I’ll take my chances with the monsters. Because I have no idea what this guy intends, except that his gaze tends to seek out my hips and chest, and his loincloth has developed a bulge that looks dangerous.
His back is to me as he uses his pole to push us along. It can’t be that deep here, then.
I slowly and carefully put one leg out over the edge of the boat, into the water. It would be better if he didn’t notice me leaving.
Slowly, to not make the boat judder, I add the other leg and then let my own weight take me over, still holding on to the boat so as not to make a splash. Then I let go.
The water accepts me smoothly, just a little cooler than body temperature.
The boat looms above me, pulling away.
Something brushes my leg.
It’s not the skirr, because that thing is just now slapping its tail on the side of the boat, making sharp bangs as if to alert Crat'ax that I’ve left.
The water churns. A shape moves beneath me, vast and fast, and then pain explodes along my calf as something clamps down and pulls.
I scream as I’m dragged under. The moonlight vanishes, the world narrows to terror, and the impossible, infuriating thought that the last thing I’ll ever remember is the heat of his hand on my skin.
I draw breath again before I’m pulled under. My last scream dies halfway, and my nose fills with searing water.