Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
Despite his resistance, the effects of the shock collar were too strong for Drakkal to resist for long.
After a couple minutes of struggle, Foltham’s guards finally managed to stand Drakkal up against one of the transport’s interior walls, and Vanya swiftly locked the manacles against it, forcing his hands up and to either side of his head.
Growling through his teeth, Drakkal strained against the bindings and kicked at his captors.
The panting guards stumbled backward to avoid his clawed feet.
“I’ll take it from here,” Vanya said, appraising Drakkal with smoldering, half-lidded eyes.
The guards wasted no time in exiting the vehicle, smoothing their rumpled suits and attempting to don an air of dignity and composure along the way.
The doors closed behind them. The space was plunged into darkness but for the faint blue glow of instrument panels from the cab, which was through an open entryway up front.
That light granted Vanya’s features a fittingly sinister cast.
Drakkal wished he’d seen her in such a light when they’d first met.
She sauntered toward him, and the raging fires in Drakkal flared with the intensity of an exploding star.
He threw his weight forward, ignoring the pain in his shoulders and chest as the muscles were stretched beyond their normal range of motion, and snapped his jaws shut on the air a few centimeters from her face.
Vanya reacted only by widening her grin. Her eyes moved over him from top to bottom. “You always were big, Drakkal, but you’ve filled out very well over the years.”
Her scent, old, familiar, and despised, filled his nostrils; Drakkal focused past it, shifting his attention to the lingering scents of his mate and cub.
His instincts thrummed with wild energy.
He’d never wanted so badly to taste someone’s blood, to feel it running warm over his lips and down his throat, to watch it drip from his claws.
She tilted her head, and her tail flicked forward, brushing his leg. “We’ll talk soon. I’m sure you don’t want to be here any longer than I do.”
“Should’ve killed you already,” Drakkal rasped. The words were raw and abrasive in his throat, as harsh as his festering regret.
Her grin receded into an almost wistful smile more genuine than he’d thought her capable of. “But you didn’t. And that was always the difference between us, wasn’t it? You may be big and strong, but you’re soft on the inside. You’re weak. Even now. Your terran ji’tas is a prime example of it.”
“Don’t talk about her!” Drakkal lunged forward again. This time, the transport rocked, and the cuffs lifted away from the wall, albeit for a fraction of a second and barely a few millimeters.
This time, Vanya did flinch back, surprise flashing over her features.
She recovered quickly, and her expression fell into something dark and dangerous.
Her voice was low but had a sharp edge when she spoke again.
“She’s gone, and you’re mine now. You’ll learn to put that ugly little terran behind you soon enough.
Once you accept that you’re never going to see her again, you’ll start thinking clearly.
You’ll see that having me back really is the best thing for you. It’s what you always wanted.”
She took a step closer and leaned her face as near as possible without entering his reach. “Either you can reach that conclusion on your own, or I can break you and force you to it. You may be bigger and stronger, Drakkal, but you’re just as weak as your ji’tas at heart.”
“If I’m even half as strong as her at heart, zhe’gaash, you should be afraid right now.”
“Do not speak to me that way again,” Vanya warned.
“You’re a disgrace to our people,” Drakkal snarled. His entire body tensed as he pulled against the bindings again. “An honorless, cowardly traitor.”
Vanya scowled and swung her arm, slamming her fist into Drakkal’s mouth. The flare of pain it caused came with a metallic tang of blood.
She raised a clawed finger and pointed it at Drakkal’s face. “You don’t call me that. Everything I’ve done was to survive. That is the true way of our people, not your inflated sense of honor and overvalued courage.”
“Truth sting, zhe’gaash?” Drakkal forced his lips into a grin, displaying his bloody fangs.
“You’re the one who picked a fucking terran,” Vanya roared.
“And you’re the one who’s locked up. You’re a failure, Drakkal.
You couldn’t fulfill me when we were young, and you couldn’t protect your ji’tas and her ugly little beast now.
You couldn’t even succeed at dying like your blind honor dictated.
But you’ll learn soon enough. I’m going to shape you into something better. ”
Drakkal tugged violently against the cuffs around his wrists, making the transport shake. “Release me and let’s test your confidence, you fucking zhe’gaash!”
“I suppose that’s another difference between us. You always were stupid, Drakkal. Never knew when to give up. Now shut your mouth, or I’ll knock you out again.”
“Kraasz ka’val, killing you once will not be enough,” he growled.
Vanya tugged something off her belt and flicked her arm to the side. The object extended and clicked as it locked at its full length, and a pulse of energy crackled on its tip. A stun baton.
Without a word—and without breaking eye contact with Drakkal—she jabbed him in the chest with the tip of the baton.
The flash of white that overcame Drakkal’s vision caused all his muscles to seize and made thunder boom in his ears. The pain of it was gone so quickly that he barely registered it; instead, it was his battle against the aftereffects that occupied his focus.
But his willpower was not quite enough; oblivion rose over him, dark and foreboding, and crashed down on Drakkal like a tidal wave.
When he sucked in a sharp breath and returned to awareness, he had no idea how much time he’d lost. He was sagged forward, shoulders sore, arms stiff, head bowed, and right hand numb.
His eyes were closed, and the dull throbbing of his split lip was only one of the many aches and pains throughout his body.
After the pain, he was next aware of the slight swaying of the floor, which carried up through his body, exaggerated by his hanging posture. Panic burst inside him, speeding his heart and constricting his lungs. Had they already left Foltham’s? How long had he been out? How far had they traveled?
How far away were Shay and Leah?
He forced his eyes open. His eyelids did their best to resist the command, but he won the fight.
Drakkal’s neck protested as he lifted his head and turned it toward the front of the transport.
The entryway was still open, allowing that pale blue light to spill through.
His angle prevented him from seeing Vanya, who was presumably at the controls, but he could see through a section of the windshield.
Even from that limited view, he knew they were somewhere in the Undercity by the ambient neon glow contrasting the otherwise dominant darkness.
He gritted his teeth and reached internally for that still-burning rage, but he stopped himself.
Need to think clearly for a minute, Drakkal… You’re banged up already, and all you’re going to do like this is wear yourself out. Can’t rely solely on instinct here.
He needed a different approach, a more direct approach, and he needed it quickly.
So far, he hadn’t been able to move the manacles more than a few millimeters away from the wall; he didn’t have enough leverage to pull beyond that.
Hell, he didn’t have enough leverage to even maintain that tiny gap. But if that wouldn’t work…then what?
Drakkal turned his head toward his left hand.
He curled the fingers slightly and formed long, red hardlight claws at their tips.
This was his sleeker prosthesis, the model he could easily conceal beneath his clothing, and he didn’t have quite the same degree of control over its claws that he did with the armored prosthesis Samantha had designed for him.
He couldn’t control their length or shape—there was only on or off.
He bent his left wrist as sharply as possible, but the thick manacle blocked the angle he’d hoped to achieve.
When he bent his fingers, only the claw of the smallest one could touch the manacle.
He could only generate enough force to etch a small gouge in the metal—not nearly enough damage to deactivate it, much less cut it off.
The small hardlight blades could penetrate the material, but they’d need a bit more strength behind them.
Dismissing the hardlight claws, Drakkal let his gaze fall as he desperately sought a fresh idea, a better way, anything that had a chance of producing results. His eyes stopped on the portion of his prosthesis that connected it to the socket on his bicep.
It took him several seconds to realize what he was staring at, but once he understood, his heart leapt.
Freedom. Vanya. Back to the manor. Murgen and Nostrus.
Those were the priorities; he had to deal with them in that order if he wanted Shay and Leah safely in his arms again. This time, he would eliminate every threat to his family. The time for mercy had long since passed. The time to be passive, if there’d ever been one, was gone.
Drakkal bent his left arm at a sharper angle and leaned toward it, his right arm straining as it straightened and stretched.
The ache from his shoulder pulsed all the way up the side of his neck.
He grunted and bent farther, ignoring the pain and discomfort, until his cheek touched his bicep.
He’d done this countless times with his hands. How hard could it be with his mouth?