Chapter 26 #2
Drakkal slammed the stock of his auto-blaster into a guard’s face and turned toward the next enemy before the first had fallen.
Two more blaster shots struck him, one on his breastplate and the other on the armor plating extending from the top of his prosthesis.
He let his auto-blaster drop to hang over his shoulder by the strap and tackled the shooter.
The struggle was brief, fierce, and bloody, ending when Drakkal rose on his knees and slashed his hardlight claws through the guard’s face and throat.
He looked up to see three more guards in front of him, two of them holding smoking blasters; they were facing Drakkal with their backs pressed against an overturned bed. Drakkal snarled, baring his fangs, and tensed to launch himself toward them.
A big, heavy foot came down on Drakkal’s back and pushed him forward as the weight bearing down upon it increased.
Thargen leapt over Drakkal, wielding a tristeel knife in each hand, and loosed a guttural roar just before he crashed bodily into the trio of guards.
His blades flashed and darted in the tangle of limbs, and blood splattered the floor and nearby bedding.
Drakkal rushed into the fray as the guards grabbed, clawed, and kicked the wild vorgal in their midst. He landed on the heap of thrashing bodies and set his claws and teeth to work.
Blood soaked patches of his fur and ran sticky over his hands.
Blaster shots sounded from nearby, providing a beat for the melody of grunts, growls, shouts, and wet, crunching sounds.
When a strong arm looped around his neck from behind and dragged him backward, he hurriedly planted his feet—one firmly on the floor and the other on meaty, unresponsive flesh—and kicked off, forcing himself back hard.
The increased momentum knocked his assailant down, and Drakkal landed atop him heavily.
The hold around his neck loosened. He angled his chin down, sank his teeth into his opponent’s forearm, and brought up his left hand.
A slash of his hardlight claws nearly severed the guard’s arm at the elbow; a hard jerk of Drakkal’s head to the side finished the job, tearing apart the remaining tissue.
The guard screamed and thrashed. Drakkal rolled aside, landed on his knees, and lifted his left arm high over his head. He swung it down like a hammer. His metal fist struck the guard’s face, which crumpled like it was made of cloth. The screams ended with a choked gurgle.
“All clear,” Urgand declared from nearby.
“They are dead,” said Sekk’thi. “May they meet their ancestors in shame.”
Growling, Drakkal tugged his hand away from the guard’s caved-in face and shoved himself onto his feet. He shook his hands, flicking off excess droplets of blood, and surveyed the room.
The guards’ bodies were strewn across the floor and over the beds, with blood and scorch marks everywhere.
Taking in the carnage, Drakkal felt…little different than before.
His bloodlust wasn’t sated, his rage hadn’t diminished, and his worry for Shay and Leah had only intensified.
He ran his gaze over his companions. Urgand and Sekk’thi sported a few new blaster burns on their armor, but seemed otherwise untouched. And Thargen…
Thargen was covered in blood of at least two different colors, so much of it that Drakkal couldn’t tell whether any of it belonged to the vorgal. His lips were stretched into a wide grin that fully displayed his short, pointed tusks, and his eyes still gleamed with that wild light.
“Everyone all right?” Drakkal asked.
All three of his companions answered affirmatively.
“There are a few updates, now that you have a moment,” Arcanthus said. “The guards are aware of intruders in the lower levels, according to their chatter, the cren have pushed into the manor, and…Shay escaped, but she’s run into a volturian guard.”
Drakkal’s heart thumped, sending a wave of heat outward through his arteries. He wasn’t sure whether that feeling was relief or terror. He lifted his wrist and said, “Show me.”
His holocom’s display gave way to a surveillance feed depicting the intersection of two corridors. Shay stood near one corner, dressed in an oversized jacket of the same style the guards wore. And she was locked in a physical struggle that had her face-to-face with Nostrus.
Drakkal’s eyes widened, and everything inside him went suddenly still and silent.
“Guide me to her. Now,” he barked, but his voice sounded distant to his own ears.
He was already running into the hallway, though he couldn’t remember telling his legs to move, and no matter how much strength he put into the movement it felt too slow, like he was running under water.
He raced down the corridor, following the directions as Arc relayed them, and saw nothing and no one even though his companions must’ve been right behind him. Shay was all he could focus on in those moments.
Almost there, kiraia. Almost there.
Tightening his grip on Shay’s forearm, Nostrus swung himself around and slammed his right shoulder into her left. The impact was hard enough to drive her aside and into the wall. Before she could react, he’d twisted his hips so his right leg was in front of both hers.
Guess I’ll have to wait for a chance to kick him in the balls.
He leaned into her, wedging his hip against her midsection, and bashed her hands against the wall.
Shay growled in pain. Nostrus’s face was so close to hers, and his hate filled eyes and qal markings glowed as though alight with spiteful fire.
He forced her hands away from the wall only to slam them against it again.
The blow was painful enough to break her grip; the blaster fell from her nerveless fingers and hit the floor with a heavy thud.
For all her training, she couldn’t deny the facts—Nostrus outweighed her by at least twenty-five kilograms, stood at least ten or fifteen centimeters taller, and he was stronger than her. She was at a disadvantage.
So all-in-all, no different than any other fight I’ve ever been in.
She sure as hell wasn’t going to lose her first—and only—real fight with him. This time, she wasn’t held back by shock collars, heavy restraints, or an unwieldy pregnancy belly. And now she was fighting for something more powerful than ever before—her daughter.
She turned her face toward his and spat in his eyes.
Nostrus snapped his head aside and leaned away, swearing. Shay used the tiny amount of leeway that afforded her to brace her leg against the wall and shove away from it, throwing her full weight into Nostrus.
He stumbled backward, maintaining his hold on her arms, and growled through his teeth. He quickly regained his balance and halted, blinking away moisture from his eyes. His torso pitched toward her again, threatening to force her back and negate the ground she’d gained.
He snarled. “You little fucking—”
Shay snapped her head forward. Her forehead struck the bridge of his nose with a satisfying crunch.
Nostrus reeled away, losing his hold on her arms, and Shay staggered back simultaneously. Her head throbbed dully, and little black spots floated across her vision. She shook it off and dropped a hand toward her pocket.
Growling again—and releasing a ragged breath that sprayed the blood running from his nose—Nostrus charged at Shay.
His hands hit her upper shoulders and immediately slid toward her neck, but Shay lifted her hands to grasp the front of his jacket and threw herself backward, adding her weight to his momentum.
She brought a leg up as she fell into a roll, planting her foot against Nostrus’s stomach, and flipped him over into a somersault.
He crashed down behind her, striking the floor on the back of his head before tumbling onto his back.
Rolling aside, Shay hurried onto her knees. She reached for her pocket again—for the spare blaster inside it—but Nostrus recovered too quickly. He sat up, planted a hand on the floor, and swung his leg around, spinning on his hip.
His shin struck her upper arm before her hand had even reached the pocket. The pain swept up to her shoulder and down to her fingertips, and the force of the blow knocked her aside. Gritting her teeth, she tucked her shoulder and went with the momentum he’d created, moving away from him.
She stopped herself on one knee and shoved onto her feet, raising her left arm in a partial fighting stance as she shook the tingling and stiffness from her right.
Nostrus sprang to his feet. He smiled a joyless smile as he assumed a fighting stance of his own. “I’ve waited a long time for this.”
He was too close for her to go for the spare blaster again; all the attempt would accomplish was to lower her defenses.
She knew Nostrus was carrying a blaster in a shoulder holster beneath his jacket.
There was also a collapsible stun baton dangling from his belt, and she’d seen him carry knives in the past.
Guess I should be happy he hates me just enough to want to use his fists.
“Me too,” she replied. “Been too long since I’ve seen your blood.”
Nostrus’s smile twisted into a scowl, and he lunged forward.
His strikes were quick and controlled, conveying discipline, experience, competence, and a touch of caution.
Shay refused to give him any ground. She defended herself from his blows, blocking and dodging, and offered her own retaliatory strikes—but none of her attacks landed.
Nostrus held the fight at the edge of his reach, using his longer arms as his primary means of defense.