Chapter 2 #2
Then he moved and hefted her across his shoulder, the hard plates of his armor digging into her stomach. Every step jarred her broken leg into a white-hot flare that made her vision swim. Grinding her teeth, she breathed shallowly and fought the urge to be sick all down his back.
His hand clamped across the backs of her thighs, and brush slapped past her face as they carried on through the forest. Working the only plan she had, she squeezed the sharp stone in her palm and let the blood fall in drops to the ground.
Onto pale leaves. Flat stones. Light bark.
The mean one walked close behind them, his breathing harsh and eager. The skin between her shoulder blades crawled. He was looking at her, she was sure of it, even though she couldn't see him.
"When we get there, I make her beg."
The leader whirled around and snarled at him. "You touch her, and I take your fingers."
The mean one laughed, low and hungry.
The jumpy one muttered from somewhere behind them, "Storm coming. Move faster."
Fat raindrops started to fall, cool against her overheated skin. Shit. The rain would wash away the blood trail.
But someone would come looking. They had to.
Liam and Caleb would be found when the morning shift arrived.
Her stomach lurched as her memory replayed the moment Caleb had crashed into the concrete and slid, boneless, to the ground.
Tears burned the back of her eyes... hopefully they were both okay. Or if not, help got to them in time.
Her vision started to gray at the edges. Too much blood loss, too much pain. Biting the inside of her cheek, she used the sharp pain to stay alert.
I can't pass out. Not now.
The mean one's hand snuck out to touch her arm, and she recoiled, every cell in her body screaming at the contact. The leader's hand shot back, and there was a sound like breaking wood.
"I said no."
The mean one snarled but pulled back.
Thunder cracked overhead, close enough to make her jump. The storm was almost on them. Rain drummed harder through the canopy, washing away her blood trail drop by drop.
She didn't know where they were taking her, didn't lift her head to check their direction. Counting thunder between breaths, she tried to stay conscious and keep marking the trail.
Someone would find her. Someone would follow.
They had to.
They were wasting time.
The flyer's engines whined as Zeke strapped himself into the jump seat, his hands moving through the motions while his mind stayed locked on one image... the way Michelle had smiled up at him, soft and unguarded, when she'd caught those flowers at Sy and Ashley's mating ceremony.
Now she was gone. Taken by some feral draanthic who'd probably already...
He cut the thought off before it could finish. Michelle was alive. She had to be. Entertaining any other idea was a quick path to insanity, and gods alone knew he had enough issues on that front.
He leaned his head back against the headrest. The flyer was one they'd brought with them when they'd fled the southern fortress, and the cabin reeked of unwashed bodies and weapon oil.
Kraath sat across from him, checking his weaponry for the third time.
Zeke barely glanced at him, his attention snagging on the third team member.
A feral slouched in the corner seat like he owned the place, dark hair pulled back from his face.
Zeke's lip wanted to curl back from his teeth just at the sight of him.
He'd seen the guy around the garrison since the attack, and something about his posture—the way he swaggered—just screamed entitlement.
"Listen up," Kraath barked over the engine noise as he unfolded a portable tactical display on his lap. "We're heading to the secondary construction site where the human engineer Michelle Trevor was taken. We'll start tracking from there."
The feral in the corner shifted. "I saw her leave the garrison this morning."
Zeke snapped his head around as Kraath leaned forward. "You were there?"
"Saw the engineers heading out before dawn. The female with the broken leg was with them." The feral shrugged. "Figured it was human nonsense. Aka none of my business."
Something cold and deadly unfurled in Zeke's chest. "Why were you watching the engineers?"
The feral's red eyes met Zeke's.
"Couldn't sleep. Was checking the perimeter."
“You were checking the perimeter?” Zeke arched an eyebrow, they had automated defenses online to deal with that. Then what Raaze had said registered. "You saw her leave with a broken leg and didn't think to question it?"
The feral shrugged again. "No orders to stop them. We were told the humans are free to come and go as they please. The injured human female was making poor decisions, if you ask me. Seen it before... people pushing past their limits for attention."
The casual dismissal sent heat rushing through Zeke's veins. He moved, the harness straps shredding under his claws as he yanked the feral up out of his seat and slammed him back against the bulkhead hard enough to dent the metal.
"She's not looking for attention," he snarled, forearm pressed against the feral's throat.
The draanthic didn't struggle... he didn't even look concerned. Just stared back like the whole situation was boring him to death. "Everyone's looking for something. I had a million fans once. Didn't matter when I became inconvenient."
A million fans. Something clicked in Zeke's mind.
Draanth, he'd heard that some famous warball player had been shipped to Parac'Norr recently.
A warball celebrity... They were revered like gods through half the empire.
That explained the entitled attitude and complete lack of give-a-draanth about anyone else.
"Look, I get it," the feral rasped, managing to speak despite the arm crushing his windpipe. "You went and caught feelings for the human female. But your feelings don't make her less dead, and they don't make this mission less pointless."
Fury exploded through Zeke's chest again, his claws dropping. The soft snicks were loud in the sudden silence of the flyer cabin, but the feral’s expression didn't change.
"Zeke." Kraath's voice cracked like a whip. "Stand down. Now. If I have to tell you again about assaulting people, even draanth-heads like him, I will throw you off this flyer personally. Understand?"
It took every ounce of control Zeke possessed to release the feral and step back. He forced his claws to retract, his hands shaking. "Understood."
The feral grinned as he rubbed his throat with one hand. "Name's Raaze, by the way."
"I don't give a draanth what your name is," Zeke growled back.
Kraath looked between them, his expression hard and unamused. "Behave, both of you. Zeke, Raaze is the best tracker we have available right now. Like it or not, we need him if we're going to find Michelle before her captors decide she's more trouble than she's worth."
The unfinished threat hung in the air... Before they killed her. Before they did worse...
"Fine." Zeke forced himself to sit back down. "But if she's hurt because we've wasted time—"
"She won't be," Kraath cut him off. "We'll find her. Look, we're nearly there."
The flyer banked sharply, and through the small porthole, the secondary construction site sprawled across the rocky plateau below, its equipment scattered like abandoned toys.
"The storm's moving in faster than predicted," the pilot called back. "You've got around five hours before it hits."
Kraath cursed under his breath. "How long to track them down?"
Raaze examined his fingernails. "With their head start, it depends on the trail. If they left a clear path, could be a couple of hours. If they were smart about it..." He shrugged. "Could take longer."
The flyer touched down with a bone-jarring thud and Zeke was moving before the landing skids had fully settled. Slamming the release on the side door, he dropped to the rocky ground below.
He hit the ground running, his nose already working to sort the tangle of scents around him. Michelle's floral sweetness cut through the diesel stink and metal dust like a knife. But underneath that familiar comfort was a sharp, metallic tang that made his chest tighten—Terror.
Michelle had been afraid. Really afraid.
He quartered the area methodically, following the scent trail away from the equipment clusters toward the eastern edge of the site. He spotted a heavy drill abandoned near a concrete barrier, its bit stained with rust-brown blood that drew a satisfied growl from his throat.
"She got him," he said, crouching beside the weapon. The blood was definitely feral. It was the wrong smell and color to be human. "Hit the draanthic hard enough to make him bleed."
Raaze wandered over, hands shoved in his pockets like he was touring a museum. "Yeah, but a trall-load of good it did her, eh?"