Citrine (Deliverance #3)

13. Wroahk

13

Wroahk

I can hear everything.

The sound of her muscles coiling. The ridiculously colored weeds on her head flying in the wind. I don't need to see her before I sense her. I am attuned to every movement she makes, and it feeds back to me, a habit, but only used for hunting.

This is not that. My tentacles twitch and my gills flare.

That I am keenly aware of her every movement annoys me. There's a sort of simplicity in her movement, yet the coils of her muscles tell a different story. I know now that there's something wrong with her.

I just don't know why it concerns me so much.

From the moment she awoke to the moment she fell from the rock, my eyes never strayed. My tentacles move instinctively as I'm drawn to her and they coil around, waiting for a moment to leap at her.

Instead of spreading my senses all around, as I should if I want to survive, they're all latched onto her right now.

I do not scold myself anymore, preferring to think I am enjoying the thrill of a hunt. There's no hunt when she's ever so slow, and ever so heavy. She leaves a sign that she's traversing the world, an awful behavior for prey.

Most erase their presence or make themselves invisible or try to make themselves bigger or blending into their environment. Not her.

She's searching for something.

A cornered prey is hardly ever mobile unless they are looking for a hiding place. That would explain it, though I wonder where she'll find one.

I watch her, aware of her labored breathing. It's erratic, which doesn't make sense to me either. If she doesn't breathe, she'll die.

Such an off-putting thought. I don't want her to die. Why don't I, a hunter, want my prey to die? Why am I paying so much attention to her?

She's repulsive, and yet as I look my mating tentacles pulse, though I carefully ignore them, using my other limbs to keep them contained.

I hear the words she mumbles under her breath, but I cannot understand them. The words run from her mouth often and it seems like she's talking at herself. She is so strange it makes me unwilling to continue my pursuit.

When she moves too far away, I follow.

I see her struggle to rise, her small eyes searching. Such pointless struggle, especially if she plans to hide.

Her blood leaks through as she walks, leaving a trail as she drags herself among the rocks, using them to keep her body upright.

I hear those useless teeth grinding together as she moves farther away from where she started. She's slow, but she doesn't stop.

She keeps moving along the shore, carefully shifting her limbs so the one is pulled tight to her side isn't touching any of the rocks. This only slows her down, and it only looks reckless from where I'm watching.

If she wants to arrive at a safe space soon, she must stop wasting her breath and her blood.

Her slow walking angers me, so I take my eyes off her and swim toward the other shore, deeper and farther from her. I reach out a grasper and climb up to the surface, feeling the warm air on my body. It feels much too odd.

I dislike it as much as I dislike being around that female.

There isn't much to see on land except more rocks. I don't know what I'm looking for, aside from seeking something else besides obsession.

Then I remember the gust of wind that knocked me over and how I met the female. The thing she arrived in is still there. If she finds it… I don't want to think about that.

Quick action is needed if I want to avoid drying out. It takes very little time to reach it.

This silver shell that brought her here. To me. It is the source of my misery. I growl as I stare at it, remembering the violent graspers that tugged at my body and the haziness that filled my head.

I still don't know much about what happened to me or how she got here. All I can think of is how angry I am and how disgusting the feel of this air is on my skin.

My tentacles wrap around it, flinging it into the lake. It lands with a loud splash, causing fierce ripples to spread along the surface of the water. That type of chaos is enough to draw in more predators, but I don't care.

With quick writhing movements, I join it in the water.

I watch it sink and make sure it doesn't resurface, following its descent to the depths. It goes out of view into the trench, and it brings a small satisfaction.

The presence of that female maddens me. Every breath she draws grating against my senses. I don't want to see her anymore, so I stay underwater, trying to remind myself of my dignity as a hunter.

It doesn't work very well.

I keep wondering, what if I lose sight of her? What if I never understand why I can't hunt her? When did I lose my will as a hunter and become curious about my prey? Why do I focus so much on her when everything else is novel to me?

I must return, the dread of losing sight of her crawling up my tentacles, up my back, and onto my scalp.

The ripples on the surface of the water are calm as I make my way back to the other side. I swim through the lake silently, stretching out my tentacles to feel for any nearby predator. When I don't feel any, my body drifts to shore, toward the very female that enrages me.

Of all the things to be curious about, why such a weak and unfettered thing that draws predators to herself with every walking step? The wind carries her scent into the water and even I can feel their excitement for a rare prey. I certainly haven't seen anything like her before.

Is it because her upper body is similar to mine?

There's an infinite number of excuses I can come up with, an infinite number of questions I can ask. The trail of blood excites my tentacles as they taste her scent and my body reacts when I'm near her. How could something vile be so exciting?

This isn't the excitement of a hunt anymore.

Even if she is weak, my reaction to her is proof she is a different kind of danger. One I don't yet understand, but if I am to survive her presence, I must.

A good enough reason to keep trailing her.