Citrine (Deliverance #3)

6. Wroahk

6

Wroahk

My tentacles are poised to scoop up the creature before me. But before I can reach out, the bright yellow eyes meet mine, wide with terror.

Something makes me pause as it takes in my form with frantic, darting eyes. Then it slips from the rocks, tumbling to the ground below with a dull thud.

I study the fallen form.

Her bright yellow weeds cascade around her, a stark contrast against the muted tones of the rocky terrain. As I study her, I notice the small, delicate frame of her body, far more curved than the females of my species.

The creature is a female and injured, red blood trickling in tantalizing rivulets on her brown skin.

Another whiff of air drifts my way, carrying with it the unmistakable scent that invaded my senses earlier. I recoil, realizing with a start that it emanates from her.

From the smell of her, I can tell her flesh would be vile.

She is best for the Many Teeth.

I descend the rock so I can grab her. As I scoop her up onto my tentacles, I can't help but notice how small and fragile she seems in my grasp. Her body is delicate, almost childlike compared to the robust forms of my species.

Even our young ones are larger and more formidable than her. It's almost laughable how easily I could crush her with a mere flick of one long, twisting limb.

I lift a long tentacle to do just that, excited to see her spill more of that red blood, even if it will probably make the air even more foul. My limb quivers in anticipation as I try to bring it down to strike her.

I just… can't.

Instead, I climb back up the face of the rock with her and back down the other side toward the lakeshore. Her body is limp as I hold her above the rock, the vast expanse of the lake spreading out in my periphery.

I thought the sky had sent me something extraordinary, but all they sent was a dainty meal.

And a nasty one at that.

She's not even the enemy I have sworn to kill. Useless.

I sigh, extending my tentacles to drop her into the lake below. The sunset is already on its way, casting an orange glow over the water. Just as I'm about to release her, she moans.

Her eyes flutter, then open wide and bewildered as she takes in her surroundings before she focuses on me. Those same disgusting eyes I saw earlier. They make my skin twitch with the desire to have her away from me.

She lets out a string of words I don't understand, along with sounds I would guess are pain, as she tries to escape me.

"You make no sense," I tell her, not even sure why I'm bothering speaking to Many Teeth's food.

She gasps, a grasper darting to her throat, no longer trying, and failing, to push off my suctioned grip. " Madre mía , being alone was way better," she says, using the clicks and calls of my own people.

How?

A surge of rage follows her exclamation, since it is said in the stolen voice of my people. I gather myself to crush her in retaliation, but once again, my body betrays me, shifting to hold her more delicately instead of crushing her against the rocks until she never moves again.

It's then that I notice the yellow weeds coming from her head again, and a wave of disgust washes over me, though I tell myself that's all it is.

I become stiff, hesitating for a moment longer than I should.

Her eyes, so vivid and terrified, hold me captive. For a single thrumming of my blood, I find myself unable to follow through with any plan, beyond holding her.

What am I doing? She's unworthy of my hesitation. Yet, something in her gaze stops me.

I tighten my grip, trying to shake off the unease creeping into my mind.

Instead of dropping her, I lower her onto the lake shore. Her eyes never leave mine, a mix of fear and something else flickering within them. Once she realizes I'm not going to crush her, she sits up straight, her graspers moving over her oddly sharp, rigid limbs.

There's a look on her face I can't quite understand, but it gnaws at me.

Maybe she is just dirty, and that is why she smells so terrible. Maybe I will keep her to myself and prepare her, so one day, I can crack her bones and eat her with satisfaction.

The idea feels right, a way to reclaim my control over the situation. I'll keep her, fatten her up, and when the time is right, she'll be a meal worth savoring.

My graspers twitch at the thought as I watch her drag herself to the edge of the lake. It's clear she can't move correctly; the fall must have injured her. Vile red blood seeps through her tight covering.

She cups her graspers, which have far too many digits, and dips them into the water, drinking frantically as if she hasn't had anything to relieve her in a moon's passing.

Each gulp is desperate. Her eyes are darting around, scanning her surroundings for any signs of danger.

How has she not dried out?

I survey her. She's small. Harmless.

The worst thing anything could ever be, but there's something intriguing about her desperation. Her bright yellow weeds fall over her face, sticking to her skin as she drinks.

Distressed. Maybe that's why I am drawn to her.

I always did like the despair prey get in their eyes right before the kill.

Once she's had her fill, she wipes her mouth with the back of her grasper and looks directly into my eyes.

I notice something that makes me pause. There's something about her eyes I finally recognize. Something I wouldn't expect in prey that knows it is beaten and is simply waiting for their death.

The female is angry.