The Complete Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

  At least until Gada caught Lietha with a tail whip and broke the circle. Drogan lost focus for an instant looking after Lietha and paid for it with a gash across his chest. Alton, stepping in to help, didn’t see Gada’s reversal coming, and he paid for that with a hand. A bloody Drogan grabbed Gada’s tail and yanked him back before he could land a second blow on Alton. Alton roared a challenge and kept fighting.

  Rachel telekinetically tripped Gada up long enough for the five of them to regroup in a semicircle.

  They stared each other down across the trampled snow, tension building until it felt like the very air would burst with it. If it didn’t, Rachel might. She was an easy breeze away from collapse, and all she could think about was Jarek bleeding to death in the snow behind her. But he had Al and the others. And they had Gada.

  Gada shifted his weight, and their line responded in kind. She thought they were about to get back into it when a chorus of roars and howls rolled down the mountain.

  She resisted the urge to look until Gada turned extra far to see the disturbance with his good eye, then she allowed herself a quick look.

  What tatters of the wooden temple doors remained from the mob’s ongoing assault had been thrown wide open and eight raknoth were plowing through the crowd at hard runs, headed in their direction. Once they cleared the overhanging roof of the temple, each of the raknoth bounded forward, clearing the few dozen villagers still ahead of them. Each touched down only briefly before bounding forward again, leapfrogging down to the butte at a startling rate.

  Whatever they’d been waiting for, Rachel hoped to Christ it was her and the others the raknoth were coming to stand alongside and not Gada. The rest of her allies seemed to be having the same thought. Haldin must’ve come to some decision, though, because he stepped past Rachel and started working his way around Gada so that he’d be boxing the rakul in toward the incoming raknoth.

  Gada watched him for a long moment, then he sniffed audibly at the air a few times, shook his head, and turned away from them, rumbling out a low growl she could feel in her chest.

  They all pressed forward at his turned back, but the rakul crouched and launched himself down the mountain, kicking up a big puff of snow in his wake. The leap carried him at least sixty or seventy yards away, and the thud of his landing traveled easily back to them on the crisp air.

  Gada leapt again and again, retreating down the mountain in a fashion similar to the raknoth approaching from the mountain temple.

  They stood in silence for a long moment watching him go, and then Rachel went to find Jarek.

  To Rachel’s surprise, Drogan beat her to Jarek. She hadn’t even noticed the raknoth slip away as Kul’Gada had retreated and Al’Brandt and his merry band of leapfrogging raknoth had hopped to the far-too-late rescue, but by the time she crossed the butte, he was already down there, huddling over Jarek’s armored form alongside James and Johnny and—

  “Drogan!” she cried down. “What the hell?”

  The raknoth shot her an over-the-shoulder glance, licking the blood from his chops with disturbingly wet slurps she could hear even from up on the butte.

  “Jarek Slater will survive,” he called. Then he bent back down and continued going to town on Jarek’s shoulder.

  What the fuck was he doing? And why the hell weren’t Johnny and James stopping him?

  She jumped from the edge of the butte and slowed her fall enough for her wobbly legs to manage.

  James patted the air with his hands as she shuffled frantically over. “It’s okay. Drogan’s just stopping the bleeding.”

  “By drinking his damn blood?”

  “Al’s got…” Jarek slurred. “Right, buddy?”

  She’d thought he was unconscious.

  “Should I stop him, ma’am?” Al asked.

  “Uh…” she said.

  Jarek popped one eye open and squinted drunkenly up at her, pale as the snow he lay on and clearly less than lucid. “Goldilocks…”

  “I’m here.” She dropped down beside him and found his hand. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

  His mouth worked soundlessly for a few seconds, and he seemed to be contemplating something of profound importance. “Is… Is Stumpy licking me?”

  He passed out before she could answer.

  Drogan glanced at her as if awaiting some rebuke, then he shrugged and kept slurping.

  “Okay,” Rachel said. “What the hell is he doing?”

  “Mostly cleaning and healing I think,” James said. “Raknoth can synthesize a host of different agents in their saliv—”

  “You think?” Rachel asked.

  “Well yeah, but—”

  “Jarek Slater will live,” Drogan said between slurps, not looking up. “We have lost enough allies today.”

  That set her back on her heels, so to speak. In more literal terms, she sat on her butt, not particularly minding the cool touch of the snowy ground after her exertions.

  “Don’t go too soft on us there, big guy,” Johnny said.

  “I assure you, I am as hard as the stone upon which we stand.”

  Johnny’s face scrunched and his eye twitched as he clearly fought to contain laughter. Drogan didn’t seem to notice.

  Rachel couldn’t remember a time she’d been further from a laughing mood. Not with Jarek lying unconscious in the blood-soaked snow, his armored hand cold in hers.

  Not when it was her fault.

  What the fuck had she been thinking?

  Even if she couldn’t forgive Alton, even if she ended up deciding he had to pay, throwing an ally under the bus like that in the middle of a fight—and with a galaxy-class monster, no less…

  She’d betrayed them. All of them.

  Hot shame crept over the nausea in her stomach and threatened to ascend to her face. Chest-clenching apprehension wasn’t far behind as the full implications of her actions began to tease themselves out in her mind.

  But she’d have to deal with it all later.

  Right now, she needed to be present for Jarek.

  “You’re hurt too,” she said, only then remembering the gash across Drogan’s chest as she caught sight of it.

  “I will heal,” Drogan said. “It is not a problem. If one of you would go ascertain that Lietha is uninjured, though, I would be grateful.”

  Johnny threw him a salute. “I was gonna go check on things up there anyway. Maybe find out how Brandt and his gang enjoyed the ringside seats. Be back soon.”

  Rachel watched him go then turned back to the gruesome sight of Drogan laboring to access the depths of Jarek’s considerable wound. She didn’t really know what she was looking at through the mess of tissue, but the cut was damn deep. It seemed like a mild miracle the arm had even stayed attached, especially during his flight from the butte. Judging from the marks in the snow, he’d bounced and slid a good fifteen yards before settling where he now lay.

  She never should’ve jumped from the stupid ship in the first place. Maybe if she’d waited for everyone to form up and move together…

  But Michael had been in serious trouble. That much she was sure of. She needed to go check on him too, but for now…

  She took Jarek’s hand in her lap and waited, ignoring the frosty numbness beginning to spread through her butt and legs.

  “How’s he doing in there, Al?” she asked.

  “Stable, ma’am. More or less.” Al’s tone was reserved, muted—more proof he wasn’t just some cold-hearted robot. “Believe it or not, I’ve seen him in worse shape.”

  “Oh, I believe it.” She gave him a wan smile, felt weird about it, and then remembered that Al probably did indeed see the gesture.

  “Franco says Michael appears to be all right as well, ma’am. He lost consciousness when the fighting started, but he’s sleeping peacefully now.”

  “Thanks, Al.”

  Sleeping or no, she needed to check on the Spongehead. So she laid Jarek’s hand by his side and pulled herself to her feet by her staff to go find her brother
.

  James bobbed halfway to his own feet, looking like he’d ask if she needed help, but then he thought better of it. Good man.

  She looked down at Drogan. “Just don’t… do anything weird.”

  He gave a grunt by way of reply.

  She shook her head and turned for the ship, guilt and nausea rearing their heads and looking for viable purchase throughout her insides.

  Don’t do anything weird? Who was she kidding?

  They’d crossed that line a long time ago, and the way things were going, she didn’t expect they’d be going back anytime soon.

  13

  Jarek drifted through interminable cycles of darkness and semi-awareness. There were jostles. There were voices. At one point, there was the soft touch of a hand on his cheek. He smiled at that and faded into pleasant dreams of Rachel smiling and laughing in a wide open grassy field and wearing, of all thing, a freaking sundress.

  Definitely a dream.

  When he finally rose in full from his disoriented sleep, the first thing he saw was Rachel. She was standing at the foot of his bed and, little to his surprise, not in fact wearing a dress. Or smiling. She actually looked rather surly.

  He’d done something.

  What had he done?

  Wait, why was he in a bed in HQ medical, and—Agh!

  Fire lanced through his shoulder as he tried to shift and sit up. He closed his eyes against the unexpected pain and let out a soft groan. A hand settled on his good shoulder, and he opened his eyes to find Rachel looking down at him.

  “Owie,” he whispered.

  “You’re an idiot,” she said.

  He blinked the sleep from his eyes and took a closer look at his compassionate caregiver. Her eyes were blotchy, and her lips were drawn tight, as if to keep them from trembling.

  She’d been crying? Over him?

  He locked eyes with her. “But an idiot with a sexy lady waiting at his bedside.”

  She took a deep breath, looking equally likely to laugh or cry. “What were you thinking?”

  “Mostly that I could devour about eight pounds of bacon right now. But I’m guessing that’s not what you mean.”

  Not even a little bit, judging from the look on her face.

  “You can’t just throw yourself into danger every time someone needs help,” she snapped. “Every time I…” She broke off, lip quivering.

  Jarek waited to see if she’d continue, but she seemed to be stuck for the moment.

  “I’ll always throw myself into danger for you, Goldilocks. Every time.”

  She swallowed, refusing to meet his eyes. “And for Alton too?”

  “Eh.” He turned his good hand up in a mini shrug, moving cautiously enough that it caused only mild agony through his right side. “It seemed like the neighborly thing to do.”

  “Jarek, I…”

  Merciful Maker, were those fresh tears forming in her eyes?

  Was she really this upset over him getting a bit—okay, maybe severely, judging by the fire in his shoulder—banged up?

  Maybe so.

  He wasn’t entirely sure how he should feel about that, but the thought pleased him all the same.

  “I’m still here, Rache,” he said softly. “I’ll be more careful. And hey, speaking of careful, an astute observer might point out I wasn’t the first person to throw myself out of the ship back there. Straight at the galaxy-conquering dinosaur no less.”

  He hadn’t meant it to be an accusation, but the way her face tightened told him the words had stung.

  “No. You were just the first one to do it with a clear head.”

  “Eh, I don’t know if ‘clear’ is the right word.” He grinned. “Or ‘head’ for that matter.”

  Rachel made a breathy sound halfway between a snort and a sob. She turned away to grab a chair—though Jarek didn’t miss the quick dab she made at her eyes—then she sat down at his bedside, took his hand in hers, and held it in her lap. When she’d settled, he saw that she’d lost the battle to contain those tears. The wet rivulets trailed down her cheeks silently, and for a long moment they just gazed at one another.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I’m the idiot. And now you’re hurt, and Fela’s damaged, and”—she let out another sob-laugh—“he broke your Whacker… Jesus, Jarek. A few inches to the right, and you could have died.”

  “Hey…” He didn’t know exactly what to say next, so he settled for freeing his hand from hers and reaching up to press it to her cheek. “‘You could have died’ has kinda been the central theme of all our dates.”

  She snorted, and another one of those burgeoning tears pulled a jailbreak and plunged down her cheek. “You call that a date?”

  He shrugged. “I mean, when else are we supposed to find the time? The more important question is whether it’s working.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She leaned down and planted a warm kiss on his cheek. “Just don’t die and leave me all alone here, okay?”

  He grinned. “Funny, I seem to remember making a similar request before you leapt out of a ship at the aforementioned dinosaur.”

  Her sigh was warm against his cheek, her scent setting his heart to racing. It didn’t slow down when she rested her forehead against his, eyes closed. He didn’t even particularly mind the waves of pain that pulsed through his right side with each beat.

  He just closed his own eyes and enjoyed the closeness of her. Slowly, carefully, he tilted his face up and found her lips with his.

  A quick kiss, soft and reassuring.

  He pulled back and opened his eyes to see an equally soft smile on Rachel’s face.

  “Holy crap,” he murmured. “I’m in, aren’t I?”

  She frowned at him—a little too intently. “What are you talking about?”

  His mouth split in a wolfish grin. “Oh, I’m so in.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. You must be delusional.”

  “I mean,” he continued, ignoring the quip, “it’s basically a moral obligation at this point anyway, but…”

  She reached up and thwapped him lightly on the forehead.

  “Ow. Too far. Got it.” He rubbed at his forehead, careful not to move too much. “I’ll take that as a strong maybe, then.”

  She snorted.

  Drogan chose that moment to walk into the room wearing his sandy-haired middle-aged male appearance.

  “Stumpy!” Jarek said. “Dude, I had the weirdest dream about you.” He frowned at Rachel. “What happened after I tapped out, by the way? I’m assuming things turned for the better, seeing as we’re all alive and whatnot.”

  “Rachel Cross was… bravely holding the field against Kul’Gada when we arrived,” Drogan said, his eyes fixed on Rachel all the while.

  Rachel squirmed a bit under Drogan’s piercing gaze. Which was kind of weird, seeing as Jarek couldn’t really recall having ever seen her squirm for anyone.

  “Damn near getting myself killed, in other words,” Rachel said, keeping her eyes pointedly on Jarek and looking a touch tense. “I did take one of Gada’s eyes after he got you, though. Not that that’s likely to stick. Haldin and Elise got tied up dealing with those villagers, and Drogan showed up just in time to save my ass. Al’Brandt and his raknoth came charging out of the temple in their own sweet time, and Gada ran off down the mountain.”

  “Huh,” Jarek said, mildly more curious now about why exactly Rachel was acting weird. “Well, all things considered, I’d say we earn a gold star for our first rumble with the unstoppable force.”

  “Coming from the guy whose arm is barely attached to his body,” Rachel said.

  Drogan walked around to Jarek’s wounded side and gave the bandages on his shoulder a few sniffs. “Which is why I’ve come to continue speeding your healing, if you are ready.”

  “Uh, continue?” Jarek glanced between them.

  Rachel’s face said it all.

  “Wait, that wasn’t just a weird-ass dream?”

  N
othing.

  “Ugh!” Jarek looked at his bandaged shoulder in disgust. “What the hell, Stumpy? You fed on me?”

  Drogan cocked his head. “Well, technically, yes, but—”

  “And you let him?” Jarek asked Rachel.

  She threw her hands up defensively. “It was working! His saliva slowed the bleeding and, like, started mending your tissues together in front of our eyes. It was pretty creepy.” She glanced at Drogan. “No offense.”

  Drogan huffed.

  Jarek eyed him. “You guys can heal people with spit?”

  Drogan crossed his arms. “We are masters of biological manipulation. It is why we are able to strengthen vessels once we take them. Despite what you might think about us, we create just as well as we destroy. Mending endogenous wounds comes far more easily, but we are capable of passing on some of this ability through our fluids if we so choose.”

  “Ick,” Jarek said. “Fluids…”

  Drogan sighed. “Do you wish to be healed or not?”

  “Do you really have to lick me?”

  “Would you prefer I spit in the wound?”

  Jarek made a face. “I think I’d prefer a second opinion more than anything. Can we, uh, inject it? There’s gotta be a syringe around here somewhere.”

  Rachel rooted around in the corner cabinets and came back with a syringe and a paper cup, which she handed to Drogan.

  The raknoth shrugged, wiggled his head, and bared teeth which were rapidly morphing to fangs. He raised the cup. Clear fluid—drool, as far as Jarek was concerned—began to drip from fangs to cup.

  Jarek shuddered. “The humanity…”

  He faced Rachel to take his mind away from the thought of smearing Drogan’s fluids on an open wound. “So what’s the news? How bad was the furor we missed?”

  “Well”—Rachel gestured at the walls around them—“we’re still standing here, but it sounds like things got pretty messy. We’re, uh, not the most popular kids in camp right now, what with us conveniently slipping off with raknoth before the furor and coming back not long after.”

  Jarek pointed at his shoulder. “I don’t suppose anyone happened to notice we weren’t exactly on vacation?”