Chapter 8 #2
I turned and ran.
My feet slipped on wet sand, my injured ribs screaming in protest, but I didn't stop. Driftwood. I needed something long, something to keep distance between me and those translucent bells of death.
There—a thick branch, sun-bleached and solid, half-buried in sand near the tree line. I yanked it free, testing its weight. Heavy, but I could manage. Long enough.
When I splashed back into the water, my heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat.
What if I'm too late?
No. Not an option.
The jellyfish had drifted closer to shore, still clustered around that spot where I'd last seen him. I waded in up to my thighs, then my waist, forcing myself to move slowly despite every instinct screaming at me to rush.
The first jellyfish brushed my leg.
Fire. Pure, searing fire spreading across my calf.
I bit down on a scream and kept moving.
Using the branch, I swept through the water in wide arcs, pushing the jellyfish away from the centre of the swarm. They drifted, their bells pulsing indignantly, but they moved. The bioluminescence scattered, breaking apart into individual sparks of light.
Another sting on my arm. Then my hip.
Keep going. Keep moving.
I could see him now—really see him. He floated face-down, motionless, his greenskin still spasming with erratic light. Too many stings. His body wasn't responding anymore.
"Come on, Rainse. Stay with me."
I swept the branch one more time, clearing a path, then dropped it and lunged forward.
His body was heavier than I expected—all that dense muscle, that alien physiology. I hooked my arm under his chest and kicked hard, pulling us both toward shore. My ribs shrieked. My stung leg barely responded.
A jellyfish brushed my shoulder. Another burst of fire, spreading down my back.
Ignore it. Move.
The current fought me, trying to drag us back out. My vision blurred at the edges—pain or exhaustion or both. I couldn't tell anymore.
"Not today," I hissed through clenched teeth. "You don't get to die on me, seaweed man."
My feet found sand. Solid ground. I hauled him the last few meters, half-dragging, half-carrying, until we were clear of the waterline. Then my legs gave out and we both collapsed onto the beach.
For a moment, I just lay there, gasping, my whole body on fire.
Then training kicked in.
Airway. Breathing. Circulation.
I rolled him onto his back. His chest was rising and falling—shallow, too shallow, but breathing. His greenskin was covered in angry welts, the fronds hanging limp and discoloured where the venom had done its work.
Stingers. I needed to get the stingers off.
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely control them. I grabbed a shell from the sand—smooth, flat—and began scraping along his skin, careful not to press too hard. The nearly-invisible filaments came away in sticky strands.
"Sorry," I muttered, even though he couldn't hear me. "Sorry, sorry, I know this hurts."
His greenskin twitched under my touch, still trying to respond even in this state.
There—the worst cluster, across his ribs where the greenskin was thickest. I worked methodically, scraping, checking, scraping again. My vision kept trying to blur. My own stings burned like brands.
Focus. He needs you to focus.
When I'd cleared all the visible stingers, I sat back on my heels and looked at my limited resources. No vinegar. No ice. No medical kit.
But there was coconut water.
I crawled to where the fallen coconut still lay, cracked it open with a rock—took three tries, my hands were shaking so badly—and poured the liquid over the worst of his welts.
It hissed faintly where it touched, steam rising for just an instant. Not vinegar, but it was acidic enough to help neutralise the venom. I hoped.
Using another shell, I scooped out the coconut meat and pressed it against the angry red marks on his chest, his arms, his neck. Cool. Soothing. Something.
Please work. Please let this work.
His heartbeat was rapid under my palm when I checked—too rapid, or maybe that was normal for finfolk, I had no way to know. His skin was too warm. Or too cold. I couldn't tell through my own fever-haze of pain.
I needed to monitor him. Keep watch. Make sure he kept breathing.
But my own body was starting to rebel. The stings on my legs and arms throbbed in time with my heartbeat. My vision kept swimming. The adrenaline that had carried me this far was draining away, leaving only exhaustion and pain.
Just for a minute. I'll just rest for one minute.
I lay down beside him, keeping one hand on his chest so I could feel if his breathing changed. The sand was warm. The sun was warm. Everything was warm except the cold knot of fear in my stomach.
"You're not dying," I told him firmly. "I didn't drag your heavy alien ass out of the ocean just to watch you die on this beach. So you're going to keep breathing, and you're going to wake up, and you're going to owe me. Again."
His greenskin pulsed once under my hand—so faint I almost missed it.
"That's right," I whispered. "You keep fighting."
The world tilted. My eyes drifted closed.
When I forced them open again, the sun had moved. An hour? Two? I couldn't tell.
But Rainse was still breathing. Slower now. Steadier.
I checked the coconut poultices—they'd dried out, crusted to his skin. But underneath, the welts looked better. Less angry. The greenskin had stopped its erratic pulsing.
Relief hit me so hard I started crying.
Stupid. Unprofessional. But I couldn't stop.
I'd saved him. The alien who'd saved me. We were even now.
Except it didn't feel even. It felt like something else entirely—something I wasn't ready to name.
I rested my forehead against his shoulder and let myself shake apart, just for a moment. Then I pulled myself together, checked his vitals again, and settled in to wait for him to wake up.
"You're going to owe me so much fish," I told him. "And an explanation for why you thought swimming into a jellyfish swarm was a good idea. And possibly a foot rub, because my legs are never going to forgive me for this."
His greenskin flickered—just once—and I chose to believe he'd heard me.
His skin felt warm under my hands. Too warm. I put a hand on his chest, hoping that he had a heart - and in the same place as mine. It was thumping rapidly. Was that normal for a finman or not? There was no way to know.
“You’re not dying on me,” I said firmly. “Not after I just saved you. I need you to wake up so we can celebrate that I returned the favour. I'm no damsel in distress. I'm a heroine.”
Still no answer. I swallowed hard and leaned down until I could feel his breath against my cheek — shallow, but regular.
“Good,” I whispered. “Stay that way.”
A cold shiver ran over my back, and I realised that I was still wearing the wet oversized T-shirt.
Where had Rainse put the clothes I’d worn when he’d fished me from the sea?
I found them laid out to dry on a large flat rock.
They were hard with salt, but they would do.
This had to be the first time in all my life that I was glad to put on a bra.
It gave me safety. Protection. Having my own clothes back felt good.
I sat next to Rainse, staring out onto the ocean, hoping for... What? A sign? One of his brothers?
If Rainse died, I wouldn't last long by myself. This tiny island wouldn't sustain me for long. But... that wasn't the only reason I didn't want him to die. I rested my hand on his chest again and closed my eyes, focusing on his heartbeat vibrating against my skin.
I didn't want him to die because...
No. I wouldn't even think it.