Page 25 of Fifth
“Alive,” he said. “That is the useful part.”
The Skarrin rallied. Ahalf dozen remained. The dead ones bled in arcs that silvered the ground. The surviving pack members shifted to a crescent that would pincer him against the Dravox if he allowed it. He didnot.
“Do not run,” he told Hannah. “If you run, they will take your hamstrings.”
“I’m not running anywhere without you.”
“Good.”
Two Skarrin went for Hannah’s flanks anyway, counting on his attention remaining locked on the Dravox. He allowed one step to sell the lie, then cut sideways and drove his heel into akneecap. The joint buckled. The second Skarrin snapped for his calf, found a twist of his hips and a fist instead. Bone gave under his knuckles. He felt the break all the way into his forearm.
The Dravox charged.
He didn’t meet it head-on. To do so against a Dravox was to invite death. He slid three strides at an angle, the rush of its charge ripping past his ribs, then pivoted hard. The beast couldn’t turn as quickly as a man. It skidded in its own blood, bellowing fury. Locus took the opening, slammed both hands into the thick fur at its flank, and used its bulk against itself, abrutal throw honed in the pits of Khor. The Dravox crashed into the fence. Metal shrieked. Sparks leapt.
“Here.” His voice was curt as he bent, hand closing on the twitching Skarrin he had dropped moments before. Ajagged piece of bone jutted sharp from its frame. He snapped it free and pressed the crude spear into Hannah’s grip. “Point first. Straight for the eyes. Do not hesitate. Do not waste trying it on the chest. Just the eyes.”
She nodded, lifting the crude spear with hands that trembled even as determination settled over her. Rage built in him at the sight, fury at all that had forced her to carry such a weapon. He would end every creature that had brought her to this point. But first, the Bonewing.
The Bonewing shrieked, struggling with one torn wing as it cut across the insectile Ashmaw. Locus hurled a stone into the resin pooling near its claws. Fire flared, the flash making the Bonewing veer. Its wounded hook skimmed the resin, sticky flames climbing until the wing shriveled. The Ashmaw spat but missed, its own fire scorching the Bonewing as it thrashed.
The crowd roared—half delight, halffury.
A Skarrin lunged for Hannah’s back. She didn’t see it, but Locus did. Too far to reach, he hurled the carcass he still held. The bodies collided in a crack of bone and mass. Hannah spun on intuition, ramming the jagged shard into the survivor’s eye. It shrieked once and fell still, blood hot against her thigh. She stood breathless, chin lifted, daring him to speak.
“Good,” Locus said. “Again, if needed.”
“Fine,” she replied in a voice that shook anyway. “But don’t call me good like I’m a trained dog.”
“You are not,” he conceded. “Dogs break sooner.”
She huffed a breath that might have been a laugh and swiped blood from her cheek with the back of her wrist, leaving a red smear across her pale skin. The small, defiant gesture tightened something in his gut, the streak like a mark he wanted to claim. Heat rolled through him, sharper than battle, apull as dangerous as any predator on the field.
The hulking Dravox lunged again, shoulders bunching a heartbeat before it struck. Locus slid to the side and caught its charge on the torn wing of the Bonewing. Claw met hook. The pale Bonewing shrieked as its own bones raked across the Dravox’s face, tearing its good eye. Blinded, the beast bellowed and swung wildly. It crashed into the insectile Ashmaw. Startled, the Ashmaw spat resin that splattered across the Dravox’s muzzle. The burning mix turned to choking ash, clogging its nostrils and dragging a ragged cough from its throat.
“Now,” he said, and went for the Dravox’s throat.
He had no blade, only his strength. The Dravox lunged again, and Locus pivoted beneath it, catching its head in both hands. With a sharp twist, he wrenched at the vulnerable joint beneath its jaw. Bone cracked, the sound sharp and final. Thebeast collapsed at once, its massive weight slamming ground, stilling in an instant.
The Bonewing wheeled low, trailing fire. It tried to climb, but one hook caught on a ring of chain that still hung from the fallen Dravox’s leg. The Bonewing dragged the chain and crashed to the ground in a tangled squeal. Dirt trembled. Locus marked it fast—two Skarrin left, the Bonewing crippled on the ground, and the Ashmaw still skittering aroundthem.
Hannah reached him then and caught his shoulder. Her breath came fast against his neck. He turned into that heat without thinking and caught her waist. She was shaking now that the Dravox had stopped moving. Shake first, then move. He approved.
A Skarrin’s chitter yanked at his attention. Two remained, starving and frantic, eyes rolling white. They had chosen badly. They had chosen to sprint for the smaller prey because men yelled at them from the fence, because men loved the show of a scramble.
Locus moved without thought, stepping between. The first Skarrin leapt for Hannah’s face, but he caught it midair and hurled it into the second. They hit hard, bodies collapsing in a heap. He drove a kick into one skull, then wrenched free as the other snapped weakly at his arm. With a sharp twist, he ended it cleanly. Both went still at his feet. He drew a fast tally in his mind—the Dravox killed, the Bonewing down, though not yet dead, the Skarrin scattered and slain. That left only one enemy moving. The Ashmaw.
Hannah pressed close to his back when fear told her the next strike would come for her. Her heat came through the blood and ache, the line of her shoulder to her hip lighting every nerve. Heclosed his eyes once, hard, then opened them back on the feral glare of the field.
The Ashmaw circled. Even though clever and patient, its reserves weren’t endless. Spit took resources. He needed itdry.
He lifted a fragment of bone fallen from the Bonewing. “Throw this,” he said, and tossed it to Hannah. She caught it awkwardly. “At the resin when it pools. Do not let it thicken. Break the surface and it will flare hot and fast. We want it thin.”
“Why?”
“Because if it thickens, it clings. Break it early and it burns out fast,” he answered, eyes never leaving the circling Ashmaw.
“Got it.”
