Emberhawk - Jamie Foley Page 0,36

trembled as she aimed. Which was worse: being shot or being eaten by a giant tree-scorpion?

Ryon’s god, if you’re listening, help me save him!

Kira’s fingers strained as she pulled back with all of her strength and loosed the arrow.

It arced through the branches and struck the d’hakka’s back as it retreated. The arrowhead clinked off its chitin and spun into the forest.

No!

The d’hakka whirled. It raised its tail and hissed deep and slow.

Kira grabbed another arrow from the ground. She straightened into the stance Tekkyn had taught her and aimed for its eye. Her fingers trembled as she loosed it.

The arrow soared over the d’hakka’s dark form.

Kira scrambled for another arrow as the beast raced toward her. Ryon slipped from its back and thumped to the ground.

There wasn’t enough time.

She turned and ran.

Kira ignored the blinding pain in her ankle as nothing but survival overwhelmed her. If she just ran fast enough, it could give up chase in favor of the human who’d cut its leg off.

Something sharp and coated with fire slammed into her back, and she landed face-first in dried leaves.

Kira screamed and leaped to her feet as a sudden exhaustion swayed over her, slurring her movements and tripping her steps. She went back down hard but barely felt it.

Is this it? Her thoughts whirled and slowed like a storm after pouring out its life. Is this where I die, because I was stupid enough to run after that man?

She fought to keep her eyes open as sleep beckoned her, ignoring the horror and chaos in her mind. She reached out for her last throwing dagger, but couldn’t find it. A shadow loomed over her and bled into her nightmares.

17

RYON

Ryon dreamed of his sister’s laughter and their cousins’ snickers. The boys schemed against Ryon’s sister and her collection of dolls at every opportunity, inventing new ways to steal the porcelain figurines and hasten their demise. Lysander, as the eldest, was always the ringleader. But no matter how they planned and prepared, their mothers always caught them, and their playtime would forcibly shift from toy swords to dress-up as Valinorian princesses.

Muffled light pressed upon Ryon’s eyelids. He groaned and shrank away from it, then realized he couldn’t. Something soft yet strong held him firmly in place.

Blood flooded his head, making it feel bloated and heavy. His back was sore and his shoulder hot, as if it had a fever all its own.

Ryon opened his eyes. White strands crisscrossed his vision, sticking to his eyelashes as he blinked. He raised a hand to move the offensive silk from his face. His arm didn’t move.

Terror threatened to overwhelm him as he tried to recall what had happened, besides the dream about an angry Lysander blaming him for their latest shenanigans. He’d been captured. Tortured. Released. Followed.

And attacked by a d’hakka.

D’hakka silk? Ryon’s hazy mind first reminded him of how extremely valuable the substance was. And he was covered in it.

Ryon controlled his breathing. He was still alive, so the d’hakka must not have injected him with the deadly digestive poison yet. He felt . . . all right, somehow, besides his shoulder and a few sore spots. The left half of his body seemed cooler than the rest. Ryon moved his left arm and winced as pain lanced through his shoulder. But this arm must have been free—he easily broke through the few strands of silk.

He gritted his teeth and raised his free arm to claw at the threads covering his face. They were strong, but more sparse than he’d seen on the weavings of purses and garments of the most affluent women of Jadenvive. He tore the threads aside and blinked at the fresh light. Why didn’t it finish the cocoon? It couldn’t be that the d’hakka had run out of silk because Ryon was larger prey. The creatures normally hunted deer and even trace cats, if they were so lucky. Did it catch something else—

Kira!

Ryon squinted at his surroundings. The sun hung where the ground should have, and dying tree limbs void of leaves curved in the wrong direction. Dark earth stretched out in place of the sky, riddled with piles of bones and a puddle of dark slop that probably sourced the overwhelming scent of decay.

He struggled to turn his head. A white cocoon hung from the next tree over. A thin, umber-skinned arm dangled from it, along with a fluff of dark frizzy hair speckled with pine needles and twigs.

No d’hakka in sight.

Ryon tugged at the silk