Archangel's Enigma (Guild Hunter)(74)

Nothing. No tracks, no glints of silver, nothing.

Breath coming shallow and hard, she thought of what he might’ve done. He hadn’t had time to dig another hole, but he was fast. Really, really fast. He could keep up with her flight speed; that meant he could have made it to a small cave they’d passed on the way here.

She went to head toward the cave, hesitated. He’d probably want her to stay in place. “Hell, no,” she muttered. If he was hurt, she had to find him. And if he wasn’t hurt, he could track her easily enough.

Sword out of its scabbard and in her hand, she began to stride toward the cave. Ten minutes of walking later, she wasn’t yet there and she’d seen no signs that Naasir had passed this way. Part of her said he couldn’t have made it this far. Perhaps he’d gone toward the water instead.

She hesitated, caught exactly halfway between the possibilities. The cave would’ve provided shelter but it wouldn’t have stopped the insects from getting in. The water on the other hand, would provide a shield—and Naasir was an almost-immortal. He didn’t need to breathe for long periods, though the need to breathe was instinct.

She ran through a grove of peach trees toward the narrow end of the teardrop, the part hidden from the village. Her wings were heavy weights that created drag on the ground and scraped against branches and thorny bushes. She knew she was leaving a trail, ignored it. Chest painful, she tumbled out on the water’s edge and looked frantically in both directions, the moon a spotlight that lit up the world in a soft wash of silvery gray.

Nothing.

A closer look showed her tiny corpses washed up on the rocks not far from her. As if the locusts—or whatever the bugs were—had tried to dive toward the water and drowned.

“Naasir,” she called in a low tone that wouldn’t carry beyond a short distance. “Naasir.”

Hearing no response, she slid away her sword and focused on the tiny insect corpses. They were gathered in a particular area, but the water had a quiet current. Walking her way upstream, she saw a spot on the edge where the grass was crushed and the soil disturbed—as if Naasir’s heel had slid as he dived in.

She got on her knees and peered into the water, but couldn’t see much. Everything was too churned up. There was only one option and Andromeda didn’t hesitate to take it: leaving her sword on the bank, she kicked off her boots and dived in, searching the murky water using her arms and legs. Swimming on top of a body of water was one thing, diving quite another; she had to combat the buoyancy of her wings to go under and stay under.

She didn’t find anything in the first pass, or in the second, but her right hand hit something that wasn’t stone on the third pass. It was cloth over flesh.

Feeling her way up Naasir’s body, she noted his head was hanging limply. Her muscles tensed to painful tightness—Naasir was old enough that he could survive a broken neck, but it depended on the intensity of the injury.

Fighting her instinct to breathe, she tried to pull him up but he wouldn’t rise. She made herself let go. Searching all around his body using her hands, she finally discovered the large branch that was hooked into a tear in his pant leg.

Unhooking it, she managed to get him to the surface. She gasped in air and lightly slapped his cheek. “Naasir. Wake up.”

No response.

Teeth clenched, she swallowed her panic and touched his neck with gentle fingers, trying to discern if it was broken. It didn’t seem that way to her inexpert touch, but as she made her way upward, she felt a knot on the back of his head. Her eyes went to the large stones scattered amongst the grasses on the bank.

Naasir must’ve slipped and hit his head as he went into the water. That was survivable as long as his neck wasn’t broken. Floating with him toward the bank, she kept on talking to him. She didn’t want to risk wrenching his neck by trying to haul him out of the lake, so she stayed in it with him, holding him so his head remained clear of the water.

Her arms were starting to tire and her throat beginning to choke with all the scared emotions she refused to allow free rein when she realized she was an idiot. Tilting back his head, she deliberately pressed her wrist against his mouth. No response. She looked around for something to break the flesh. Her sword was too far away, but she was just close enough to a sharp rock to graze the skin and bring a bare hint of blood to the surface.

Placing it against Naasir’s mouth, she waited. Nothing.

“Drink, damn you.” It came out a snarl.

His fangs burned into her flesh. There was no pleasure this time, just the suction of him drinking her blood.

Each time his throat moved as he swallowed, she felt her smile widen. Even when her head began to grow heavy, her blood surging into him, she didn’t pull away her hand.

The suction suddenly stopped, Naasir’s eyes flicking open in a blaze of silver as he lifted his head. “Your neck’s not broken.” Her voice came out slurred.

Naasir moved, hauling her out of the water with primal strength. Leaving her on the bank, he disappeared. She stared up at the blurry night sky, her mind trying to hold on to thoughts without success.

Then Naasir was beside her again. He had a pack with him. A pack. One of their packs, she realized dully. They’d left it behind when they ran from the swarm.

Opening it, he took out strips of jerky and said, “Eat!” When she just stared at him, he began to tear the jerky into tiny pieces and feed them to her.