A Warrior s Desire - By Pamela Palmer Page 0,32

anything, her brows drew closer together.

Glancing down the dark tunnel, he searched for distant light.

"Any sign of the Esri?" "No.

Charlie, I know why you've been feeling the way you have."

"I have a virus."

A big, honking Esrian virus, if he had to guess.

He'd never had anything ambush him in quite this way, with so little warning.

He could barely trust his own body anymore.

Which was kind of ironic, given Tarrys's situation.

He frowned, suddenly remembering he'd collapsed so fast he hadn't had time to think about securing her, let alone doing it.

The end of her rope, the end he'd been holding in his hand, was now tied around his wrist.

He held up his hand.

"You did this?" "Yes.

I'd hoped it might wake you up if I was forced to try to go to him."

Clearly, thankfully, the bastard hadn't called her.

Charlie rose, bending at the waist to keep from clobbering his head on the low ceiling.

"Let's get going."

"Charlie, we need to talk."

"We'll talk while we travel."

Tarrys rose with an easy, fluid grace before he could even offer her a hand, and he ushered her in front of him, envying her height.

The ceilings through here were several inches above her head, leaving her free to walk upright.

"I'm kind of surprised you're still here," he told her.

"The way you were wanting me to let you go."

"I only wanted to leave to help you.

Now I have to stay to do that."

The passage was wide enough for the two of them to walk side by side and she fell into step beside him.

"What do you mean?" The grave expression on her face didn't bode well.

"You were poisoned, Charlie.

By the trimor."

He frowned.

"It didn't attack me."

"It must have broken your skin with its horn."

He reached for his shoulder, rubbing it.

"I felt his horn snag on my tunic for just an instant, but I swear he didn't break through."

But her expression made it clear she didn't believe him.

Charlie scowled.

"Do I look paralyzed? I promise you, it's just a virus."

Without answering, she looked away, and they continued on in silence for several minutes before she spoke again.

"Do you remember the way my skin looked after the trimor attacked?" She turned back, her eyes sharp and demanding.

"That green mottling? As you fell asleep, I saw the same green pattern on your neck."

Charlie looked at his hands, turning them over.

Nothing.

"It went away quickly," she said.

"But I know what I saw."

"Then why aren't I paralyzed?" She looked to the ceiling with a shake of her head.

"I don't know.

You're human.

And you probably only got a tiny amount of the poison.

But this has to be why you keep tiring.

Your body's trying to fight it."

Charlie's jaw clamped tight.

At least he knew why he'd turned into the walking dead.

"Is there an antidote?" He reached for his canteen, so damned thirsty.

Was the poison to blame for that, too? He offered her a drink, but she shook her head.

"There is an antidote.

The root of the carnasserie bush.

But we have to get out of the mines to find it."

Charlie took a long pull of water, forcing himself to stop long before his thirst was quenched.

"Then we have to find another way out.

We've got Esri behind us."

Tarrys nodded, her eyes worried.

"The paths have been feeling familiar to me.

I think there's another exit beyond here.

But it's just a feeling."

"It's better than nothing."

Going forward was a risk.

But so was going back.

Just because they hadn't seen the Esris' light in a couple of hours didn't mean they weren't still being followed.

The Esri could be using the same lighting technique as Tarrys, and probably were.

If he had to face them, he'd face them, but strictly as a last resort.

They knew he was human and would be going for the jugular.

If he killed either of them, which could only be accomplished with fire and the death curse, he'd bring the whole damned Esri race down on his head.
Chapter 12
They hadn't gone far when Charlie found himself reaching for one of the canteens he kept in the vest beneath his tunic.

He took a small swig, letting the cool water slide down his parched throat.

Thirst was beginning to hound him.

He was tempted to ask her to try to make a spring appear, but he remembered how she'd called for the tree to provide the fruit - with her full palms pressed against the bark.

Hitting the crystals in that manner would light them up like the sun, giving away their position.

He still had one full canteen and a little water left in a second.

At the rate he was going, he'd have both