Right now, in this cave full of sick human women and worried alien warriors, he is the only thing that looks truly, stubbornly unbreakable.
So, I hold his gaze.
And I don’t look away.
Chapter 5
HYDRATE OR DIE (MOSTLY DIE)
SARVEN
The cavern smells wrong.
Not the familiar sickness we know. Not the slow, heavy heat that seeps into the females’ bones, that makes their breathing sound like pushing through thick dust.
This is different.
Sharp. Sour. Fast. Like meat forgotten under Ain’s burning eye and left to rot in a still pocket of air.
I stand motionless before the partition where the sickest females lie. My claws dig into the stone, anchoring me in place. If I do not root myself, I will pace a trench into the floor.
Guard duty,Kol ordered.Watch the perimeter. Keep predators from entering the cave.
But the predator is already here.
I can smell it, even if I cannot yet see its shape.
Across the small alcove, Tee-nah shudders and curls tighter around herself, thin arms wrapped across her midsection as if she can hold the pain in. Mih-kay-lah kneels beside her, onehand resting lightly on Tee-nah’s shoulder, her thumb moving in small circles.
“You’re going to be okay,” Mih-kay-lah vocalizes softly to Loo-see on the next mat over, pushing damp strands of head-fur from her forehead. Her own face is drawn, the fine skin around her eyes tight with strain, but her voice is steady. “We’re right here, okay? You’re not alone.”
I watch the gentle way her hand moves, soothing Loo-see even as her own body trembles with the same heat. The sickness drags at her, painting gray shadows under her eyes, yet she does not curl in on herself. She pours her strength out for others, unselfish and endless.
She is perfect.
If the dust chooses me... if Ain sees fit to bind this incredible creature to my soul... I will be the luckiest Drakav to ever walk the Dust. I will spend every rotation proving I am worthy of the air she breathes.
She shifts then, a small change of her weight as she soothes the other female, her knee brushing the dusty floor. The movement is tiny, but it pulls my focus.
My gaze drops to the floor beside Loo-see’s mat. Her waterskin lies there, knocked over, the stopper loose. A small spill has darkened the dust, seeping into the rock.
The scent hits me in the same breath as the liquid sinks into the warm stone, the heat releasing it.
Faint. But there.
I narrow my eyes and lean in, careful not to disturb the hanging fibers that mark the edge of the females’ space. Crouching at the entrance, I inhale deeply.
The wrongness does not come from Tee-nah or Loo-see. It comes from the wet place on the stone.
Slowly, I extend one claw, dipping just the tip into the spilled liquid. A single drop clings there as I bring it to my nose.
Under the familiar, cool scent of the spring lurks something else. Sour, unnatural. A death-smell hiding beneath the surface.
My dra-kir stutters, then slams hard.
The females drink constantly. They are soft, thirsty creatures, their bodies demanding clear water in a way ours do not. To us, a long drink from the spring is a rare necessity, not a constant need.
To them, it is survival.
