Page 3 of Vargan

I say nothing, continuing to eat.

"I'll make you a deal," Victor continues. "Work for me for a few weeks, help me clear out some... reluctant property owners, and I'll not only get your bike fixed good as new, I’ll put you on my payroll."

I meet his gaze. "No."

His eyes harden. "Your choice."

He walks away as Royce stands up from the counter. In three strides, he's behind Savvy, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other around her throat.

"Maybe we can change your mind," Royce says to me over her shoulder. "What do you boys think? Should we show the big green freak what happens to those who don't play along in our town? Maybe take turns with this one?"

The diner falls completely silent. No one moves to help her. Not the customers, not the frightened cook. Not one of these cowards makes a move.

But Savvy—fierce, defiant Savvy—her eyes find mine across the room. There's fear there, yes, but also a silent plea. Not for herself, I realize. She's afraid of what I might do.

Something inside me snaps.

My beast roars to the surface, drowning out the voice of reason that's kept me alive and free for the past two days. I stand, the booth scraping across the linoleum with a screech.

"Let. Her. Go." My voice is barely recognizable, even to me.

Customers scramble for the exits. Victor smiles.

"Now he wants to play," he says to his men. "Show our guest how we welcome monsters in Shadow Ridge."

The first thug steps forward, fists raised. I don't give him time to swing. One punch to his sternum sends him flying back into a table, gasping for air.

The second one is smarter, circling me like he's had some training. He feints left, then springs right, a flash of metal on his knuckles catching the light. Brass knuckles connect with my jaw, sending stars across my vision.

I stagger back, shaking my head to clear it, then surge forward. My fist connects with his ribs. Something cracks. He falls.

The first man is up again, and now he's armed with a metal chair. It comes down across my back with a crash. Pain blooms across my shoulders, but I've had worse. Much worse.

I turn and grab him by the shirt, lifting him off his feet. "Stay down," I growl, then throw him into an empty booth. He doesn't get up this time.

Blood trickles down my chin from a split lip. My ribs scream in protest. But I'm still standing, and both of Victor's men are down.

I turn toward Royce, who's still holding Savvy, though his confident smirk has faded. I start toward them, my focus narrowed to the arm around her throat.

That's when I see it in her eyes—not fear of Royce or even of me, but something deeper. A warning. She's trying to tell me something.

It shouldn't matter what this human woman is thinking. I shouldn't care.

But I do.

I'm three steps away from them when white-hot pain explodes across my side. My muscles seize, contracting beyond my control. I drop to my knees, unable to command my own body.

Victor steps into view, holding what looks like a cattle prod—the same kind of electric weapon the human guards used in the camps when I was younger. He's smiling like he's enjoying this.

"Had enough?" Victor asks, crouching to meet my eyes.

I bare my tusks in a snarl. "Leave her alone."

Victor chuckles and stands. "Let her go, Royce. Wouldn't want the big bad monster to get you."

Royce releases Savvy with obvious reluctance. She stumbles forward, rubbing her throat, eyes wide and wet.

Royce steps closer to me. "Fucking abomination," he spits, literally spitting in my face. "Know your place."

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