“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.
3
LIA
The sand shifts again.
Not enough for Tomas or Travnyk to comment if they notice, but I feel it through the soles of my boots. A faint tremor. A warning. Something big continuing to pace us just out of sight.
Rakkh walks half a step ahead of me, angled so his body shields mine from whatever stalks us. His tail sways behind him with a slow, deliberate menace, each movement measured. He does not look back at me—not once—but somehow I know he is tracking every breath I take.
My mouth is dry. The dunes roll on around us, huge and silent. Moonlight slides along the rippling sands, turning everything silver and white. I know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that Tajss is beautiful—and deadly. Tonight it leans toward the second.
A shiver crawls up my spine, but I take a deep breath, steadying myself.
I feel Rakkh’s attention shift as we approach the next ridge. The air around him goes tight, coiled, like a bowstring. He lifts hishead, scenting the wind. I watch him, not the desert, because reading him is easier than reading the vast, unchanging dunes.
“Another plant is this way,” I say, my voice low, steady. Not as steady as I feel.
He does not answer, instead nodding once. A small, sharp dip of his chin, as if telling me:
Lead. I will guard.
My heart gives an unhelpful thump.
This dune’s slope is steeper than the last. Sand pours around my ankles as I slide down, catching myself with one hand. Rakkh is instantly at my side, his clawed feet sinking into the slope and wings snapping open to anchor us both. I do not need him, not really, but the heat that rolls through me when his forearm brushes mine almost distracts me. Almost. A predator is sniffing around us, planning its dinner.
