Chapter 16 Kaitlyn
KAITLYN
Kaitlyn felt mesmerized by the show playing out in the U-shaped center stage between the tables.
She hadn’t been to the circus since she was a little girl, but that was what it reminded her of.
The trainer had all the flashy showmanship of a ringleader and the Kriver was an absolute nightmare—she couldn’t look away from the spectacle of it all.
Also, the warmth of the cinnamon wine still singing in her veins made everything pleasantly fuzzy.
She still had a loose grip on her Protector’s cock, but she was barely aware of what she was doing with it. Her head felt light, and she hardly noticed that Braze’s entire body had grown tense and hard beneath her.
She was leaning forward, watching the whirling vortex of snapping tentacles spinning around and around the Kriver trainer when the lights suddenly started to flash and strobe again. The sudden, blinding flashes made her blink and gasp—they actually hurt her eyes.
Kaitlyn wasn’t sure if whoever was working the lights thought they were adding to the drama of the scene, but for her, at least, they weren’t adding a thing—in fact, it was making the entertainment much less entertaining. She winced and shaded her eyes, annoyed by the lighting change.
But the blinding, flashing lights seemed to have a whole different effect on the Kriver. It let out a shrieking roar that made Kaitlyn let go of Braze and clap her hands over her ears instinctively.
The angry creature turned its many tentacled beaks—which were still spilling around the trainer—inward. Suddenly Kaitlyn heard another shriek—one of terror and pain.
“No!” the trainer screamed. “No, don’t—behave! Stop! Stop! Stahhhh…”
The last word died away into a horrifying gurgle and when Kaitlyn dared to look, she saw why.
The Kriver had shredded her trainer—literally shredded him. He was nothing but a bloody pile of blue flesh and hair and a jumble of long, thin bones.
Oh my God, Kaitlyn thought, staring numbly at the gory sight. It looks like he was put through a cheese grater!
But before she could fully comprehend the awful sight before her, the angry Kriver reared up on its hind legs.
Its swirling tentacles were still screaming and writhing—they flung droplets of the trainer’s blood and gobbets of his flesh into the crowd.
The gore even reached the Empress’s table—Kaitlyn felt something warm and slimy splash against her chest and run down between her breasts.
Looking down, she saw with horror that it was a piece of bloody blue flesh, leaving a slippery trail over her skin.
“Ugh!” she gasped. Reaching into her cleavage, she snagged the piece of flesh with her fingernails and flung it away. But she was so distracted by the gory task that she didn’t realize what was happening.
The lights had stopped flashing, but the Kriver was still enraged. She bounded away from the bloody jumble of bones that was all that remained of her trainer and headed right for the dais where the Empress’s table sat.
The Kriver bounded once, twice—covering the distance between the blood-soaked stage and the dais in terrifying, ground-shaking leaps. Its single amber eye was fixed, not on the Empress, but on the source of the sudden movement—on Kaitlyn, flinging the bit of flesh from her chest.
At last Kaitlyn looked up and her stomach seized into a fist-sized piece of ice. Cold clarity sliced through the last of the cinnamon wine haze.
Me—it’s coming for me!
Screams erupted from the tables below as a wave of panicked women in silken gowns and elaborate headdresses hastened to disengage themselves from their husbands and scrambled back from the huge, U-shaped table configuration. Chairs overturned, plates shattered and wine spilled everywhere.
But on the dais, there was a frozen, horrified silence.
The Empress stared, her mouth a perfect ‘O’ of outrage.
Aria had somehow managed to twist all the way around in her husband’s lap and had buried her face in Dinky’s neck, squealing.
The guards at the periphery stood like ornate statues, staring stupidly at the Kriver, their ceremonial spears useless in their stunned hands.
Kaitlyn wanted to do something—anything—but her brain seemed to have short-circuited, getting stuck somewhere between run and freeze. She felt as trapped as the insects in the vast amber doors as the Kriver raced towards her.
The beast landed at the base of the dais with a thud that vibrated up through the stone and right into her bones. It reared again, towering over them, blotting out the light.
Up close, it was worse than she could have imagined. She could smell its breath—hot and rancid—like spoiled meat and rotting garbage. She could see the individual rotating teeth in each snapping beak-mouth, all flecked with blue gore. The muscular tentacles whipped forward, aiming right at her.
Abruptly, Braze erupted into motion beneath her.
A hard shove between her shoulder blades sent her pitching sideways off the big Kindred’s lap. She hit the cold stone floor of the dais shoulder-first, a jolt of pain shooting down her arm. The breath left her lungs in a startled “Oof!”
She rolled onto her back, dazed, just in time to see Braze go into action.
He didn’t just get up—her Protector uncoiled.
One second he was a tense, seated statue—the next he was a blur of tan skin and corded muscle launching himself from the chair.
But he didn’t go toward the beast—he went along the dais, running full-tilt toward the petrified guard standing at the far end.
The Kriver saw the movement and screamed—a sound that felt like needles in Kaitlyn’s ears. One tentacle, faster than a striking snake, lashed out at Braze’s retreating back. It missed by inches, the beak snapping shut on empty air with a sound like cracking bone.
Braze reached the guard, but he didn’t yell or gesture. Instead, his hand shot out, grabbed the shaft of the man’s ornate spear, and yanked it free. The guard stumbled backward, finally waking up, his face as pale as milk.
Time—which had been dragging for Kaitlyn as she watched the big Beast Kindred in motion—suddenly snapped into hyper-speed.
Braze raced back, planting his feet wide on the edge of the dais, putting himself between the beast and Kaitlyn. He held the spear low and ready—not like a parade-ground soldier—but like a hunter who knew how to kill.
It flashed through Kaitlyn’s mind that he was from Rageron—a planet with a vast jungle filled with monstrous beasts. This was Braze in his element—rugged and deadly. He had the polished metal point of the spear aimed straight at the Kriver’s massive, glowing eye and looked ready to use it.
“Come on, you fucker!” she heard him growl. “No one threatens my Mistress!”
The beast charged. It wasn’t a bound—it was a full, murderous gallop straight up the shallow steps of the dais. It screamed as it came—all of the hungry mouths at the ends of its tentacles screeching in unearthly discord at the same time.
Kaitlyn scrambled backward on her hands and heels, her dress tearing on the rough stone. Her heart was pounding and part of her wanted to hide her eyes, the way Aria was doing, pressing her face to Dinky’s neck. But she couldn’t look away.
The Kriver reared up, blotting out everything. Then its tentacles rained down. One whistled toward Braze’s head. He ducked, and Kaitlyn heard the snap of the beak right where his ear had been.
Another shot for his legs. He sidestepped—the movement so fluid it was like watching water flow around a rock.
Then he struck.
He didn’t throw the spear. He braced it and shoved as the Kriver’s own weight came crashing down against him.
The point hit the shimmering black fur just below the nest of tentacles around the single Cyclopean eye.
There was a horrible, wet thunk—a sound like punching through leather and meat—and the Kriver’s shriek of rage turned into a gurgling scream of agony.
Dark, purplish blood jetted from the wound, spraying across the stone and across Braze’s chest and face.
The creature’s charge became a convulsive stagger.
The Kriver twisted— trying to dislodge the spear buried deep in its chest—but Braze held on, his muscles standing out in sharp relief.
He was using the creature’s momentum to drive the weapon deeper, to wrench it sideways, Kaitlyn thought numbly.
He was fighting like a warrior used to battling with enormous beasts.
The Kriver swiped at the big Kindred with a paw the size of her torso.
Braze let go of the spear and dropped flat.
The curved black claws passed so close over his back they ruffled his long black hair.
He rolled and came up in a crouch, empty-handed, now directly between the thrashing, wounded monster and Kaitlyn who was staring at it in horror.
The Kriver’s eye, blazing with pain and hate, locked onto him. It seemed to forget the spear lodged in its chest. Instead, it focused entirely on the male who had hurt it.
It gathered itself, bleeding profusely, and prepared to pounce.
Oh my God—oh my God!
Kaitlyn’s heart was a trapped bird beating against her ribs.
She was still scrambling backward, the rough stone tearing at her palms and the delicate fabric of her gown.
The coppery-ammonia stench of the Kriver’s blood mixed with the lingering smell of roasted meat and spilled wine, creating a nauseating miasma of pure panic.
This is it, she thought numbly. This is how I die—how we both die!
Because it seemed clear that the wounded beast was going to kill first Braze and then her—those horrifying beaks were going to strip the flesh from their bodies and there would be nothing left but a bloody pile of bones and hair.
But despite the impending doom, Braze didn’t back up. He widened his stance, his body a tense line of readiness. He had no weapon now. Nothing but his hands, his speed, and the furious will to put himself between the beast and its target—his Mistress.
He’s going to die for me, Kaitlyn thought. My God, what did I do to deserve that kind of loyalty?
The Kriver pounced.
It was a clumsy, pain-maddened leap, but it covered the distance in a blink. All eight tentacles shot out—not in a coordinated strike, but in a frenzied, whipping storm of beaks and muscle—aiming to envelop him, to shred him as it had the trainer.
All but one—that flew through the air and wrapped itself around Kaitlyn’s ankle.
With a breathless cry, she found herself being dragged forward, towards the screeching, screaming beast. The tentacle squeezed so tight she felt like it was going to tear her foot off and she kicked in panic, trying to get free.
“Help!” she gasped. “Get it off me—get it off!”
“Get off her, you fucker!” she heard Braze snarl.
As the creature descended, he lunged forward, inside the arc of its lashing limbs.
One tentacle wrapped around his torso, the beak-mouth snapping furiously an inch from his face, but he ignored it.
His hands shot up, reaching not for the body, but for the base of the tentacle that had Kaitlyn’s ankle.
He caught it and pulled it taut, his fingers digging into the thick, rubbery flesh.
Using the beast’s own momentum, he twisted with a brutal, wrenching torque of his entire muscular body. There was a sickening, wet pop—like a cork pulled from a bottle—followed by a sound like tearing canvas.
The Kriver’s shriek hit a new, ear-splitting frequency.
The tentacle in Braze’s hands went limp and—to Kaitlyn’s frantic relief—finally released her ankle, which throbbed and ached, but at least it no longer felt like her leg was being pulled out of its socket.
Dark purple blood poured from the ragged stump where Braze had torn the tentacle free from the creature’s body.
Enraged beyond reason, the Kriver collapsed more than fell, its legs buckling as the butt of the spear hit the stone dais and the weapon was driven farther into its chest.
It landed half on the dais, its massive head and thrashing tentacles slamming onto the banquet table in an explosion of splintering wood, shattering crystal, and flying food. A tidal wave of green gravy, red syrup, and cinnamon wine washed over the edge, soaking Kaitlyn’s legs.
Is it over? she thought, feeling sick. Is it dead now?
But it wasn’t…not yet.