Page 115 of Ruby
Ani leans over her, grinning. “I will help you. I can definitely get behind the idea of fucking with someone that grumpy. But no more declaring dominance over spawning grounds until you can sustain a full crescendo.”
Kira groans. “Worst island ever.”
The lapping of the lake water continues its steady rhythm against the shore, the island unconcerned with Kira’s feelings about it.
Thivoll saunters over and envelops Ree in a purring embrace. Ree wriggles free just enough to poke Thivoll in the ribs, then starts up a purr of her own.
“You two sound like overgrown furballs,” Kira comments, voice still edged from her failure.
Thivoll gives a mock growl that only makes Eli laugh harder.
I feel the tightness in my chest loosen. I am still afraid. Azoeul is still missing. The hunters are still out there.
But I am not alone. And… I do not want to be.
42
Ani
The whale song breaks us all out of our merriment. It carries a warning. An aggressive… cry for help?
Everyone bolts upright as Azoeul, dripping from the lake, staggers into the light from the fire, Wroahk’s tentacles following along behind him, almost like they want to strike him down as much as they want to help.
There’s no elegant entrance this time. No smug lean against a trunk after an impossibly fast appearance. He stumbles and nearly goes to one knee before catching himself on a rock.
Blood runs down the side of his face.
Not pink slime. Not alien goo. Red, like human blood, but darker, almost brown.
“Shit,” I breathe.
He sways.
Szhe’ka is on his feet in a blink, wings stumps flaring, but it’s me who moves fastest. I’m to Azoeul in a blink, assessing, offering support.
There’s no screaming. No freezing. No mental spirals about how this is all my fault or how we’re doomed.
I just… act.
“Sit,” I snap out in his toneless language, already at Azoeul’s side. “Now.”
He opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, then actually listens and lowers himself onto a flat stone.
Good.
I grab his rough chin, the spikes there digging into my palm as I turn his face toward the light. The cut on his temple is deep but not fatal. There’s a slice across his ribs too, soaked through his shirt.
“Ree!” I call, but my voice is steady. “I need the wound kit.”
She’s moving before I finish the sentence.
Szhe’ka hovers too close, massive and anxious.
“He is bleeding,” he says unnecessarily.
“I can see that,” I mutter.
And I can.
