But the arm the beast bit is the only scratch on him. Black lines spiderweb from the wound, the skin already turning purple.
I inhale deeply. Warm metal. Faint sourness. I know that smell.
Venom. Hushbite venom. How is it here?
Rythar looks at me, eyes narrowed.
“Run,” he orders. But his eyes don’t leave mine. Not even to save himself. “Go with Drenz. Behind you.”
Rythar collapses, hands and knees in the mud.
Footsteps are coming behind me, but I don’t look.
I drop beside Rythar and rip open the medkit, hands already moving.
I cinch a strip of fabric tight around his arm, just above the wound, just firm enough to slow lymphatic spread.
“Don’t move,” I warn, already reaching for the antivenom.
I inject two of the tiny vials fast, giving him a double dose because of his size. I press hard afterward, counting under my breath as the serum disappears into his system. Broad-spectrum antivenom. It doesn’t cure. It buys time. A real counteragent has to be built against the exact venom, and that takes a lab.
“Get your Xythean medicine,” I order.
Rythar groans. His bared teeth show white in the night. He grabs my wrist with his good hand, squeezing until I gasp. Beads of sweat are already forming in large droplets all across his forehead.
“There is no cure,” he rasps. “Too late. Shouldn’t have let you get beyond the shield.” His jaw locks in fury. His skin darkens beneath my hands. The black lines spread.
"You knew I ran," I say. I was never going to get away. They let me do this. Let me think I was free. My hands shake as I squeeze the wound to drain the venom. “You knew.”
He jerks, the muscles in his neck standing out. His breathing slows.
I hold on, desperate, clutching his bleeding arm and praying the antivenom from the kit is compatible with his alien biology. The wound keeps bubbling, black and yellow, and Rythar shakes through his whole frame, but his eyes stay on me.
The guards circle us at a careful distance, weapons drawn and pointed toward the jungle. They let me go. They let him come after me. They let this happen.
“Water,” I shout at Drenz. My voice cracks, but Drenz tosses a canteen from ten yards. I catch it and rinse Rythar’s wound, washing away the worst of the blood and venom.
“Don’t touch it,” Rythar rasps. But he doesn’t pull away. His whole body is trembling, damp with sweat.
“You should lie down,” I tell him, pushing him back.
“No. Not dead yet,” he grunts. He sits.
I climb into his lap, straddling him so I can brace his arm against my chest and keep pressure on the wound. The moment my body settles against his, he exhales like the world has narrowed to this.
He drops his head to my shoulder. His lips find the curve of my neck. I feel his breath shudder over my skin. It’s desperate, a drowning man clutching something solid. My antivenom should have worked better than this already, but Rythar is not human, and this venom may not be exactly the same as Hushbite.
It shouldn’t be the same at all.
“Get your healing tech. Rythar has been envenomed,” I call to Drenz. “He needs help. Now.”
No one moves.
One guard shifts, looking to Drenz. Another tightens his grip on his weapon.
They are waiting for Rythar’s command. Even dying, he still terrifies them.
And I’ve been pissing him off since he pulled me off that platform. And now I’m saving his life.
