“Liebchen, flee!” Korbinian shouted.
Babette looked and saw him draw a knife and lash out at the beast. The beast grunted and knocked the weapon away.
Babette forced herself up on her elbows, every movement making her body shudder. Perhaps if she ran, she could get far enough away before the beast had finished killing and consuming Korbinian. Certainly that was what he hoped. But Babette would be damned if she left the man she loved to be eaten while she fled like a coward.
Claire de Mirabeau might do such a thing, but not a Varanus.
The beast drew back its paw and slashed Korbinian across the chest. Its claws, like knives, tore through the layers of Korbinian’s coat, waistcoat, and shirt with ease. Korbinian cried out in pain and stumbled. A moment later he fell in a heap on the ground.
“No!” Babette shouted. She reached out toward her beloved as he collapsed.
The beast turned toward her and looked at her curiously. The expression in its eyes was both intense and thoughtful, and it made her shiver. A beast in want of reason should not have known such understanding.
The beast raised its claws, still dripping with Korbinian’s blood, and licked them clean with its thick tongue. The sight made Babette cry out again, and she struggled to rise. She could not find the breath to move, and her body rebelled. She fell backward into the dirt once more. The beast chuffed at her. It sounded like a laugh.
Babette watched as Korbinian began to crawl toward his knife. It was a futile effort, but the refusal to succumb made Babette giddy for a moment.
She forced herself to her feet, aching with every movement. The beast had turned away from her and now loomed over Korbinian, watching him as if amused by his futile attempt to escape.
Babette looked about for a weapon. The pistol was empty—not that it had done any good—and the beast was between her and the knife. Her eyes fell upon the uprooted sapling that the beast had torn from the ground.
It was an unlikely chance, but it was the only one that Babette could see.
She stumbled over to the sapling and picked it up. The young tree was heavy and unwieldy, but under the heat of the moment, she found that she lifted it with ease. Babette spun around and saw the beast hunched over Korbinian, pinning his arms down with its massive forepaws.
She hefted the sapling and ran for the beast. If the pistol’s bullets and the knife had been unable to stop it, a blow to the body with a glorified cudgel would be no better.
Find someplace vulnerable… Babette thought.
The eyes.
Babette raised the sapling into the air as best she could and brought it down on the beast’s head with all her might. She had been aiming for the bridge of the beast’s snout, but instead she connected with the top of its brow. Her makeshift club struck and bounced off, making her stumble back a pace.
But it had had an effect. The force of the blow made the beast lurch, though it showed no sign of pain. Instead, it looked up, having suddenly forgotten Korbinian, and patted the top of its head with one massive forepaw. Slowly it turned toward Babette and snarled at her.
Babette swung the sapling again and struck the beast full in the face with its roots. The beast let out a snarl of pain and jerked away, lashing out at the sapling with its claws. Babette was thrown off balance and fell to her knees, but the beast withdrew a few paces as it rubbed its eyes with the heel of its forepaw.
Hand, Babette realized. The beast’s forepaw was like a hand, fingers and all. Good God, what sort of creature was this?
She picked herself up again and raised the sapling. With a roar that rose from her toes and into her belly, she charged at the beast and swung again, throwing all her weight into the blow.
The beast reached out with one hand and snatched the sapling in midair. With a single, easy movement, it tore the weapon from Babette’s grasp and flung it away. Babette fell onto her side and threw up an arm to shield herself, expecting the beast’s next blow to be on her.
When nothing came, she opened her eyes and saw the beast looming over her, watching her. It sniffed at her and grunted. For a moment it seemed to shake its head.
What can be the meaning of this? Babette thought. Why had it not killed her?
The beast chuffed. One massive hand took her by the shoulder and shoved her aside. Babette rose again as quickly as she fell. Grabbing the beast by the arm, she pulled herself ahead of it and flung herself upon Korbinian. The beast drew up short and snorted angrily at her. It reached for her again, but she pulled away from it, all the while keeping herself between it and Korbinian.
The barking of dogs rose in the distance. The beast raised its nose and sniffed the air. Grunting, it looked into Babette’s eyes. Babette stared back and saw something there she never thought an animal could know: frustration.
The beast turned and thundered back into the brush.
Babette lay there, gasping for breath for a few moments. She could scarcely comprehend what had just happened, what she had just seen.
What the deuce…?
Another thought came to her:
Korbinian!
Babette turned and looked down at Korbinian. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing. Babette touched his cheek, and his eyelids fluttered open.
“Babette…” he murmured.
“Hush,” Babette said.
She pulled the tattered edges of Korbinian’s clothing away from his bloody chest. She gasped at the sight of the wounds left by the beast’s claws. Korbinian’s pale skin was awash with blood, the old mass drying and dark amid the flowing crimson.
“Liebchen…” Korbinian said, reaching out for her.
Babette pushed his hand away impatiently.
“Be still, my love!” she said. “For God’s sake, be still.”
What could she do? The claws had not cut deep—Korbinian’s ribs were still intact—but the blood was endless. She would have to staunch the flow of it. Only then could she even begin to think about moving him. That would be a dreadful risk, but she could not leave him there, not in his state.
But what to use for bandages? All their clothes were covered in dirt, and dirt seemed the last thing that should be going inside one’s body.
But of course, she realized, not all of their clothing had been soiled during the fight.
Babette grabbed Korbinian’s knife from where it had fallen and wiped it off on the cleanest part of her sleeve. She hiked up her skirt and began cutting her petticoats into pieces as quickly as she could manage. For the first time in her life, she had found a practical use for the damnable things.
She packed a bunch of fabric pieces together into a mass and placed it against Korbinian’s chest. She pushed on it as hard as she could, just as it had been described to her during their many lessons on medicine. To think that now she the student had to perform on her teacher.
Or that his life depended on how well she had learned.
Babette bit her lip, but the grim realization only hardened her resolve. Korbinian would not die because of her.
The sound of dogs was louder now. Babette turned toward it and saw a pair of hounds, straining at their leashes, leading a figure in rough clothing through the trees.
“Gustave!” Babette shouted, recognizing the figure as her grandfather’s game warden.
“Mademoiselle?” Gustave said. He hurried to her and knelt, looking at Korbinian in shock. “What has happened? I heard a shot and thought it was poachers.”
“There is no time!” Babette said. “Lift his chest