Page 8 of Hooded

I close the viewing window and make my way slowly back up to the bridge and my living quarters, where the console is lit up with warning symbols.

Messing around with my mark means I’m going to have to really scramble to get ready for the wormhole transfer, setting up the engines, the shielding, and making the calculations to get in and out of the thing without being turned into so much spaghetti.

Finally, the swirling mass with the dark hole in the center appears on my viewing screen. I activate the viewer for the cells.

“We’re going into a wormhole,” I say without checking the screen. “My ship is pretty stable, but you might feel some movement.”

A blinking light alerts me to an imbalance of fuel cells between engines and when I finally look at the viewer…the cell is empty.

“Wrong cell,” I grumble, flicking through the feed to the other two.

They’re both empty.

My stomach drops through the floor and floats out into space.

“Fuck!” He can’t possibly have got out.

“Vrex indeed, little fury.” His voice comes from directly behind me.

My shaking hand finds the pulsar under the console, and I turn to face him.

Outside of the cell, I know I’ve underestimated him. Not only is he far larger than I anticipated, but his presence makes the air feel heavy. On the one hand, he stinks of Bogarok, and on the other, there is a faint scent of spice, almost like…cinnamon?

“This isn’t set to stun this time,” I warn him.

“But your contract is for alive,” he responds, taking a pace towards me.

“Alive, yes. All limbs intact, no.” I point the pulsar at his left leg. “You can face justice just as well with one leg as two.”

Does he hesitate? I’m not entirely sure because the star drive engages on its automatic trajectory, and we’re launched into the wormhole.

The sudden lurch knocks him slightly off balance, his wings suddenly rowing at the brief loss of gravity. I’m stuck fast to my console chair due to the clever design, which means in a beat he can’t match, I’m out and shoving the pulsar hard into his side.

“Do you really want to test me?” I snarl. “Because I hate bullies. I hate creatures who use their size and power to make others feel lesser, and I will very much enjoy removing your wings.”

Where that little speech came from, I do not know. The anger boiling within me is something I probably should channel more often.

The Denaver holds up his hands, claws retracted until they’re mere onyx tips. His dark, dark eyes are pools of contrition.

“Back,” I grind. “Back to your cell.”

He says nothing as he troops through my ship, down to the hold, wings sweeping the floor, swaying from side to side as I occasionally jab him in the feathered part of his back with the pulsar to remind him to behave.

His cell door stands open and he walks towards it.

“No,” I say, activating the middle cell. “This one.”

He turns his head to the side, heaves out a sigh, and then walks in. I shut the door behind him before activating the viewing window.

“This cell has additional inbuilt security measures. Try to escape again and you’ll find out what they are.”

He releases a long breath and turns towards the far wall.

After all the things he’s done, his dismissal somehow is a spear to my gut.

KLYNN

Escape is usually easy when you don’t attempt to batter a door down. But sometimes you need a show of strength.

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