“I have to check on the wounded,” I whisper, my throat incredibly tight as I look up at his fractured, shadowed face. “I have to get you help.”
His hand locks onto my shoulder. It shakes for a fraction of a second, but his grip is iron. With a shuddering breath that rattles his ribs, he steers me forward toward the main cavern.
I swallow the nausea down and I start walking. He shadows me, exactly two inches behind.
The cavern floor is a mess of slick dark stone, and blood. Blood everywhere. The reek of it mixes with the scent of the dust, making it hard to breathe. I step over the dense, armored plates of a dead shadowmaw, my boots slipping on something wet. I catch myself against the rough rock wall and keep moving.
I have to check the faces.
I find Justine first. She’s sitting on a low rock shelf near the entrance to the storage alcove, shaking uncontrollably, her hands covered in someone else’s blood. Rok is kneeling in front of her. He is ignoring the horrific, bleeding gash across his own chest, his large hands frantically sweeping over her arms and shoulders to make sure she is unharmed.
The thud of Kol’s feet sounds right behind me. Rok freezes. His amber eyes flick from Justine to the terrifying shadow looming directly at my back. Rok slowly lowers his chin in recognition of hisdra-dam. I can feel the absolute, unquestioning respect, even without words being spoken. Then his amber eyes turn to focus back to Justine.
Justine is pale, her chest heaving, but she’s alive.
Jacqui is standing near the remains of the central fire pit, arguing softly with Zan. Her voice is hoarse, her scale tunic torn, but her posture is intact. Alive.
I turn the corner toward the narrow offshoot. A sudden wave of intense, suffocating heat presses into the length of my back. Kol doesn’t give me more than an inch of space.
Mikaela is there, her shoulder wedged under Sarven’s thick arm, supporting his weight as he limps badly on a ruined leg. She’s covered in dust and someone else’s blood. Sarven’s head snaps up as we approach. He sees Kol and immediately tries to force his ruined leg to bear his own weight. A deep, warning vibration rattles in Kol’s chest directly behind my ear, and Sarven instantly drops his gaze.
Mikaela’s eyes meet mine in the faint glow of Ain rising in the distance. Alive.
Pam is wrapping a crude hide bandage around the forearm of a warrior I think is named Rhaz. She’s shaking so hard she drops the hide twice, but she’s on her feet. Alive.
Mira is kneeling in the middle of the torn-up sleeping mats. She’s packing mud and green paste into a Drakav’s chest wound so fast her hands are a blur. Her face is blank. I don’t interrupt her. Alive.
I step around her toward the edge of the mats.
Alex’s sleeping mat is pushed against the stone wall. The thick fur she uses as a pillow is slightly indented, a half-empty waterskin sitting next to it.
My breath dies in the center of my chest.
I turn, my feet dragging on the stone, toward the center of the cavern where the fighting was thickest. Kol shadows my turn precisely, his broad frame shifting to block the open cavern at my back.
Amelia’s bone spear lies shattered on the ground. The thick shaft is cracked clean in two, the leather binding torn loose. The amount of force required to snap that weapon is sickening. I stare at the splintered bone, picking out the dark smears of blood on the grip.
My breathing stutters. Behind me, Kol’s hand instantly clamps onto the back of my neck, his long, thick fingersspanning from my ear to my collarbone, anchoring me to the earth.
“I’m alright,” a rough voice says.
I jerk my head up. Amelia is sitting on a low ledge a few feet away, her dark hair plastered to her forehead with sweat and dust. She is cradling her right arm against her ribs, looking at her broken spear with absolute disgust. She’s alive.
I let out a ragged breath, easing back into the tension of Kol’s hand.
I keep going, keep counting heads, my legs feeling disconnected from my brain. I look toward the far corner where the empty woven baskets the women were working on just days ago are pushed against the wall. Lucy is sitting there, her knees pulled to her chest. Her face is wet with tears, and she scrubs at her wet cheeks furiously, trying to hide them from me. She’s alive.
She’s accounted for. But one woman is not.
One of us. Stranded on an alien planet, terrified, relying on the safety of the cavern. And we lost her. A rival warlord walked right into our home and dragged Alex screaming into the deep dust.
My throat closes. The walls of the cavern tilt sideways. The burning weight of Kol’s hand on the back of my neck instantly tightens, his towering frame a solid wall directly behind me, holding me upright when my knees threaten to buckle. I close my eyes and force myself to breathe.
Uno.
Dos.
Tres.
