I shrugged my shoulders, the gesture earning me a rather pathetic smack to the back of my head from a nearby guard.
“Tell me!” Spittle flew from Qurbaga’s mouth in his rage, droplets catching the filtered sunlight.
“Make me,” I challenged with a smile. I wanted him to try. I wanted his complete and undivided attention focused on me. The longer I could keep it there, the better chance my family had of disappearing.
Qurbaga stepped closer, his bulbous eyes narrowing to slits. “Oh, I will.”
Chapter 15
Jolie
The walk toward the southern caves proved a grueling ordeal. No pathways carved through the jungle to guide us, only dense foliage closing in from every direction, clutching at us like grasping fingers. The ground was uneven, pocked with hidden holes, gnarled roots twisting up from the earth like arthritic hands, and jutting stones ready to send me sprawling. Most of Eden’s jungle was lush and thick. Yet here, the plants pulsed with malevolent energy, as though they might spring to life and pull us into their verdant embrace never to be seen again.
Fat droplets of sweat beaded on my forehead, trickling down my neck and mixing with the fine mist that hung perpetually between the twisted branches like gossamer curtains. Movement became more exhausting with each step, my lungs fighting for oxygen in the increasingly humid atmosphere, each inhale heavier than the last soaked in the scents of decomposing leaves and exotic blooms.
Lilibet tried valiantly to walk on her own, her small face scrunched with determination. Yet her tiny frame endured only a short distance before her resolve waned. Now, she rode perched atop Numa’s sturdy shoulders. A pink-haired princess safe with her Peecha nanny, who was far more acclimated to the terrain and climate.
Tark strode several paces ahead, his lean frame slicing through undergrowth while he murmured urgently into ahandheld comm unit. The Zarpazian king, on the other end of the comm, millions of miles away, parsed Tark’s rapid chittering with ease, though it remained a blur of clicks and trills to my ears. Yet I needed no translation to sense the king’s anxiety. He was deeply worried about Diarvet. The Zarpazian ship he’d dispatched was close, but a vessel called theBardagawas closer and would reach us within four to six hours.
The thought of Diarvet alone somewhere in the jungle—tired, running on nothing but adrenaline and determination as he did whatever he could to lead the Kwado in the wrong direction—tightened my chest with dread. The worry grew into a physical ache, anxiety pulsing with every heartbeat.
When I was first abducted, all I could think about was how to get back to Earth and the mundane comfort of my old life. Now, standing in this alien wilderness with sweat dripping down my spine and my heart hammering against my ribs, I wouldn’t go back if it were an option. I wanted to build a life with Diarvet and Lilibet. I wanted to wake up each morning knowing they were safe in my arms. My family.
A violent rustling through the treetops made me jump. My eyes jerked upward to catch three Peecha warriors riding thick vines, their bodies swinging through the branches with fluid grace. They thumped into the dirt with such impact that it sent small tremors through the ground. Despite the thick covering of fur that masked their features, I spotted the unmistakable distress etched in their postures—the way their shoulders hunched, how their usually confident movements seemed stilted and urgent.
Rapid-fire chittering erupted through the air, a cascade of clicks and trills. Though I could only catch a few scattered words, the frantic gestures were clear enough.
The Kwado had captured Diarvet.
As soon as the news hit, my legs gave out beneath me as if someone had severed the tendons, knees crashing into the jungle floor. The shock of impact jolted through my body, but I barely felt it. Tears burst forth in a torrent, each one a visceral response to the worry that now threatened to consume me.
Through the haze of my breakdown, I heard a hushed, gentle voice and glanced up to see Ceeka’s concerned face. She motioned to Numa, her gestures indicating she should carry Lilibet on ahead so the child couldn’t witness my complete and total emotional collapse. Then Ceeka was beside me, her cool but rough palms wiping the tears from my face while she chittered in low, soothing tones.
Despite Ceeka’s gentle comfort echoing in my ears, my heart remained buried under the weight of anxiety and fear for my mate. I knew the torture he had endured at the hands of the queen. And I knew with bone-deep certainty that what Qurbaga would do to him would be infinitely worse. The Kwado prince was a special kind of ruthless when it came to getting what he wanted; his cruelty, as refined as it was boundless. I would not leave Diarvet to face it alone. I couldn’t.
I clambered to my feet, my legs still trembling as my fear hardened into determination. Using the few Peecha words I’d learned, amplified by wild, urgent gestures, I signaled to Tark and Ceeka my plan. I would go back, return to the Kwado ship, and somehow rescue my mate.
Tark was decidedly not in agreement. His body went rigid with disapproval as he responded, gestures sharp and dismissive, indicating my lack of warrior prowess. My plan was not just foolish. To him, it was almost insultingly naïve.
“I know I’m not a warrior,” I snapped, my hands flying about wildly as frustration made my movements erratic. “I’m not going back to do battle.” The idea was ludicrous—I knew that. “I know that ship. I’ve spent years navigating the corridorsand hidden passages. Years of slipping around like a ghost, staying out of sight to keep Lilibet safe. If I can sneak inside....” My mind flickered to Binwee, and the desperate hope that she remained blameless in my escape. “I have friends aboard who might help me rescue Diarvet.”
Tark and Ceeka exchanged a long look, their dark eyes communicating in that wordless way that bonded pairs often shared. They seemed to understand my meaning, but their expressions remained skeptical, unconvinced that my plan was anything more than a suicide mission born of grief.
“Diarvet is my mate,” I said, my voice breaking as I pressed my hand to my chest where the bond between us pulsed like a second heartbeat. “I love him. I can’t leave him to suffer alone. Whatever it takes, I’m going to bring him back.”
Ceeka’s thick fur rippled in waves, a sign I’d learned to recognize as deep respect among her people. Tark’s sharp, intelligent eyes studied me, no longer dismissive but calculating, measuring.
I reached out and grasped Ceeka’s calloused palms in mine, my fingers interlacing with hers as I held on desperately. “Watch over Lilibet for me. Keep her safe.” The words came out thick, each syllable weighted with the gravity of what I was truly asking. Her dark eyes, flecked with gold in the jungle light, met mine. For that one moment, we didn’t need language or gestures, only profound, unspoken understanding.
Ceeka’s expression shifted. She understood the trust I was placing in her and that the request might not be temporary. I was asking her to take Lilibet, to raise her in case I didn't return. Without hesitation, she began nodding so vigorously that the delicate shells of her necklace clattered together, echoing my heartbeat.
She pivoted toward Tark, her entire demeanor transforming as her spine straightened and her expressiongrew stern and unyielding. A rapid-fire exchange of chittering erupted between them, her voice rising and falling while her hands gestured with decisive movements. Whatever demand she was making, it was non-negotiable. After only a minute, Tark’s resistance crumbled. His shoulders sagged in defeat, and his head bobbed in a curt, reluctant nod.
Another round of urgent chittering summoned Numa to our small circle. Lilibet still perched on her broad shoulders like a tiny queen surveying her domain. The sight of her—pink curls catching the sunlight, her small face bright with innocent curiosity—nearly shattered what remained of my composure. I hastily wiped the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand, not wanting what might be our last moments together to be tainted by my fear.
“Hey sweetheart,” I managed, forcing my lips to curve upward in what I hoped resembled a genuine smile. I held out my arms in invitation, and Lilibet launched herself into my embrace with a delighted giggle that rang through the humid air like bells. The solid warmth of her small body against mine was both comfort and agony. A reminder of everything I stood to lose.
I pushed the riot of pink curls away from her face, my fingertips memorizing the silk-soft texture while I pressed a lingering kiss to her plump cheek. The warm softness of her skin beneath my lips, the faint scent of jungle flowers that clung to her hair, the way she fit so perfectly in my arms—I committed every precious detail to memory, storing them away like treasures against the darkness that might come.
