Chapter 487 Worlds Collide - Part 3

Chapter 487 Worlds Collide - Part 3

~ HARTH ~

Harth stood on a pointed, shale rise, eyes wide, waiting to see if the figure would move.

Nothing.

Her throat closed convulsively. The wind had changed and ran at her back so she couldn't scent the male one hundred feet away, sprawled in the dry dust and stones of this strange place.

She'd been running when the forest suddenly gave way, and all its lush, damp beauty stopped as if fire had drawn a line on it.

The land here was dry, barren, and overwhelmed by this huge amphitheater of rock and dirt. She'd climbed the strange wave of land that shoved, pointed, towards the sky, to discover that it was a massive oval ringed on three sides and broken only in one spot—as if the Creator Himself had stomped a foot into the land and it rose, displaced, piercing the air.

And dead. The air itself was bone-dry

Nothing lived in this circle.

Not even the male?

Go. Go. Go.

Harth swallowed again and looked around. Could it be a trap? She didn't think so. Despite the beating sun, the male's skin was dry, caked in dust. He'd fallen in the dirt with his head turned away from her so she couldn't see his face. But she'd stood there a full minute, the wind at her back and taking her scent to him, yet he had not moved.

Was he dead?

Something about that thought froze her insides.

Breath hissing between her teeth, Harth took her wolf and used its superior stealth to creep down the shifting shale and rock into the great bowl.

She'd been wrong, she discovered. The wind blew up the side of this place then over her head.

She took human form again just feet from his head, then hesitated.

She'd thought his hair was thick, but this close, even with his head twisted away from her, she could see that he'd wrapped a thick, dark scarf around his eyes and ears.

Under it, the sides of his dark hair were shaved, but the length long enough to be pulled back into a tail—the pieces that hadn't escaped to flutter around his face and catch on the stones under his cheek.

His jaw was wide and square, peppered with two days growth, and a long scar emerged from beneath the cloth, marring his cheek.

She took one step closer with her human feet, the stones and dirt giving only the slightest crunch under her. His body twitched, and his mouth worked, but he didn't move. Didn't use those massive arms to push himself up.

She had a vague impression of tattoos covering one shoulder and that side of his chest, trailing down his ribs, but he sprawled in an awkward position so she couldn't see what they were.

And then Harth realized... she'd stopped feeling the urge to run. To move. To pursue. n(o-VEl,U/s,b.(,C-O(m

Her soul no longer called her to go.

Harth couldn't breathe.

"Who are you?" she breathed.

The male groaned and the fingers of one calloused hand—tendons standing proud—

closed as if reaching for her, then went still.

Harth took the final steps to close the space and, trembling, knelt at his side. She reached for the blindfold on his face, slipping it up and over his high forehead to reveal a face, rugged with that horrible scar and the growth on his jaw.

Golden brown eyes fluttered open, bloodshot and clouded with pain. But they rolled slowly up to find hers and Harth was frozen again.

"... My..." His voice was a bare wheeze, dry and so quiet she almost missed it.

"I have water," she said, reaching for the skin at her belt. "Are you injured?"

"... My... mate..."

The word penetrated her chest, piercing skin and the cage of her ribs to loop around She reached for him to roll him onto his back, hissing when she felt his skin—burning and dry. "You need water, and shade and..." but his eyes dragged closed. As Harth her heart, which promptly stopped. "What did you say?"

He opened his cracked lips, his eyes locked on hers. Harth's entire body went rigid as his pupils dilated. But when he tried to speak again, he only coughed—a terrible, dry sound that made Harth's heart leap back into action, hammering with fear.

She reached for him to roll him onto his back, hissing when she felt his skin—burning and dry. "You need water, and shade and..." but his eyes dragged closed. As Harth hurried to get the cork off her waterskin, she looked quickly around, cursing the dry, barren earth of this place, when just beyond these tall sides she knew there was a thick forest with shade and rivers and...

She had to get him back to the waterway she'd passed just a few minutes before she broke out of the forest and into this desert-like area.

Harth swore as she leaned down to trickle water into his mouth, but all he did was cough it back into her face. And he didn't open his eyes.

"What are you doing out there alone?" she hissed, adrenalin flooding her veins.

Mate. He'd called her mate. Was it just delirium caused by the heat stroke?

But no. She'd been drawn out here. Driven to it. And the moment she'd gotten close, that drive had... eased. It must have been him all along, pulling at her from the moment she entered this land.

With a frantic whine she tried again to trickle just a tiny amount of water into his mouth. He spluttered again, but seemed to actually swallow some this time.

Yet, the sun beat down on them, and when she judged that he'd had as much as his stomach could likely take without bringing it back up, she tied it back at her waist and shook his shoulder.

"Can you move at all? Sit up? I can help you. We need to get you out of here..."

But even though he swallowed again, he didn't respond. And when she lifted his arm, it was a deadweight.

Even his arm was heavy, though manageable. But how was she going to lift all of him when he couldn't even help her? She was strong, but the river she'd crossed had to be at least a couple of miles away. And it was quickly becoming clear...

If she didn't get him out of the sun quickly, he wouldn't live much longer.