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.
2
-Crat'ax-
The skirr slaps its tail against the hull.
Once. Twice. Hard enough to make a real bang.
“What?” I look up. The skirr would not waste strength. It doesn’t warn unless there is a good reason. There must be a Big down there somewhere. Nearby.
I reach for the spear at the bottom of the boat and unwrap it from the leather, then put its shaft within easy reach.
The female is too quiet.
My hand tightens on the paddle as I turn?—
“No!”
I am already moving, leaning over the side, already knowing.
