Page 127 of Starside

His voice is a frustrated growl. “You need to have it snapped back into place.”

“No, thank you,” I say, continuing forward, ignoring the pang of pain with every movement.

It takes three of his long strides to be in front of me. Then, there he is, blocking my path, the monster that cut down nearly all the beasts in the Bone Woods. His hands are in fists. It really must be so hard for him not to kill me. “You threw yourself headfirst into this fucking place, yet you’re afraid of popping your shoulder back in?” he demands, seething.

I know why he’s upset. With my dislocated shoulder, I can’t protect his precious sword. I can’t be the perfect mule.

“No,” I say, in a sickly sweet tone I know he hates. “I’m afraid of you doing it, with your big fucking beast-destroying hands that don’t care at all about my comfort or pain levels and hurting me even more.” It’s true. With strength like that, I wouldn’t be shocked if my bones just snapped beneath his hold. I’d rather wait for a healer.

I must be imagining it, but I swear … I swear he almost flinches. Like finally I’ve nicked him in this ongoing duel of ours. I’m too tired and in too much pain to dig in further. I just step to the side, to keep going.

He steps in front of me again.

His voice isn’t soft. I don’t know if it’s even capable of that. But it’s as gentle as I have ever heard it when he says, “I won’t hurt you, Aris.”

My look is punishing. “Not yet, you mean?”

I don’t trust him. Not at all. Even after he jumped through these mists and saved me. Because it’s not really about me, is it? It’s about the things I have that he wants. The map. My sword. He’s practically told me he will kill me to claim it.

But right now, my shoulder really fucking hurts. And I don’t stand a chance if I can’t even hold my sword.

“Fine,” I say through my teeth. I close my eyes.

He doesn’t walk around me. No, his massive hands curl around my waist, and he turns me in a flash. His rough, callused fingers are surprisingly gentle around my wrist and my arm. Just like they were when he was training me in the cave. His head leans low.

“Please don’t scream,” he says, right into my ear.

Then he twists my arm to the side. He pulls it up. And I try. I really try not to scream. I grit my teeth.

As my shoulder slides back into its socket, though, my lips part—and those long fingers are on my mouth again. Smothering. He makes a tutting sound.

But it’s done. And … he didn’t shatter bone.

“Thank you,” I say, when his hand finally releases my mouth, biting out the words. Thank you for fixing my shoulder. Thank you for coming through the mists for me, even if it was for something I have, because without you, I would be dead.

Raker takes a step back, but he’s still close enough that I can hear his sharp exhale of incredulity. “Gratitude. From you. I didn’t think you were capable of it.”

Then he turns and stalks off through the mist.

And I follow.

For hours, there is nothing. Just soul-rotting silence. I keep the fangs clutched in my palms, instead of my sword. They’re lighter, easier to use, and though my shoulder has been righted, pain still shoots down my arm every time I move it.

For an entire day, nothing emerges. I wonder if the mists whispered about Raker’s fighting skills. Perhaps even these creatures leave a monster like him alone, after that.

We’re both covered in blood. It hardens and reeks, searing the inside of my nostrils. I search for water, but there is none, and when darkness falls, we are unprotected.

But even the demons avoid the mists.

I left my canteen back at the inn, but Raker opens his pack the next morning and throws me a new one, with a little too much force. It seems he got provisions in the village while I was finding trouble.

The canteen is full. My throat works as I drink most of the water, then wash my hands and face. He seems to have known I would nearly drain it all, or lose it, because he snatches it back before I’m done, and puts it back with the rest of his things.

The creatures continue to leave us alone. We walk through the maze of moon-white trees in near silence.

Every once in a while, I hear them. The whispers at the fringes. Beckoning us off the trail. Creatures that don’t slither or leave tracks behind. Beasts that are formless.

Every instinct within me tells me not to look into the trees. Not to search the distance. I just stare at Raker’s back, his spine straight and his armor mirroring my reflection. I just follow him, like he’s a guiding star.