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 thatare 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?”
