Page 71 of Red Demon
That made me curious. I clicked on my name and braced myself. The screen displayed a list of details, most of which aligned with what I knew: my age, birthplace in Crofton, my biological parents’ names. I clicked on their pictures, and relished a look at their faces after so many years, realizing that if I shaved off my current stubble, I’d look so much like my dad.
Then I saw my father’s occupation as “medical lab technician” with the employer as “Crofton Mine.” He’d been a mechanic who worked on the rigs. He’d shown me his work station one day. Yet as I clicked through to his employment reviews, there was nothing about mechanical engineering. He worked in a lab. There were order histories of chemicals and work correspondence I didn’t understand. It felt like a betrayal. I loved my dad, a man with a quiet strength who worked hard and taught me to do the same. Why did he lie about his job?
I glanced at the door, a million questions swirling in my head. But for now, I had no one I trusted enough to talk this out with. And I had one more search to try.
No hits on Red Demon in that database, and the only two Faruhars recorded looked nothing like her: Asri who died centuries ago.
A knock at the door: not like a tap-tap-tap, just one. I rose on my cane to go investigate, squinting as my eyes readjusted to the burst of late afternoon light. Taking a deep breath of crisp, pine-scented air, I pushed off into the forest, wincing at the throb in my leg.
“Faruhar?” I called out, my voice resounding through the trees. Birds chirped, insects buzzed. A woodpecker drummed in the distance.
She couldn’t have gotten far. I closed the door behind me with a click, and started limping down the leaf-strewn path, hoping to track her.
I rounded a bend in the path, and I heard movement in the brush beside me.
“Not creepy quiet this time, but you could still call back,” I said.
The figure emerged, then another. In a clearing dappled with sunlight and shadow, stood a pack of wild dogs.
Chapter 31
Wild Dogs
The Nara didn’t have dogs before we Chaeten got here. The Asri found the idea of a meat-eating pet repellent, but we Chaeten loved our pups. When we went to war, outnumbered, we modded them to kill. These feral dogs that roamed the woods descended from those war dogs, and my ancestors did not re-engineer these creatures for their looks.
As a child, Mom never allowed me in the woods alone until she was sure I could defend myself. Dogs would take toddlers or young children who wandered too far, but they shied from a good knife. Most armed adults had no fear of them; the deer were easier prey. But I was unarmed, alone, limping. My breath hitched in my dry throat. I was afraid to turn my back to them to find more behind.
The pack stood furred in a range of matted, earthy colors, scarred and growling low. Overgrown muscles strained against taut skin that could barely contain their bulk, each movement showcasing honed predatory power. Their eyes, gleaming cold, fixed on me with more intelligence than I remembered. Wide, long jaws, sharp teeth and claws.
Eight. I counted eight.
“Faruhar!” I called out, hating how vulnerable I felt. “I need your help!”
A low growl rumbled from the largest of the pack. On his hind legs, that tan beast would stand as tall as me, and those teeth—voids, if they got anywhere near my throat I was done. I had a walking stick; that was it. The dogs took a collective step forward, muscles coiling beneath mottled fur.
“Faruhar! Please!”
Ears pricked, tails held high. I knew what that meant.
The pack lunged. I gripped a tree branch for balance as terror took hold, and swung my stick-cane straight at the nearest dog’s eye with all my might, connecting with a thwack on the skull. The beast yelped and stumbled back, but three others were already upon me, and one sunk its teeth into my bad leg.
Adrenaline surged through my veins, and I lashed out with the cane again, the wood splintering under the force. I barely deflected a snapping jaw, leaving a hot streak of slobber and pain across my arm. But now I had two sharp pieces of that wooden cane. I got one through a dog’s throat before it found mine.
A black mass of muscle grabbed my arm and pulled me across the ground as others tried to gut me. I roared, kicking back despite the pain; a primal sound ripped from my throat.
“Faruhar!”
A searing pain erupted in my calf as teeth sunk into flesh. I kicked out with my best leg, connecting with canine ribs, forcing a temporary release. I stabbed another off and rolled atop a furry body, flinging the stick and snapping its neck with my hands.
Taking down one in the pack should be enough to drive the creatures away. Why weren’t they running?
A searing pain in my shoulder, a whirlwind of jaws and teeth. Guttural growls, mine and theirs as I twisted at any head that came within reach, between ragged gasps for breath.
My last half of the walking stick got stuck between a furred ribcage as I felt the hot breath of a dog against my neck, then a blur of red and brown-studded leather slammed into the pack.
Faruhar had three dogs dead in seconds, both swords flashing in the dappled sunlight. The last two put their tails between their legs to flee at full speed. She tucked her swords and ran them down, her eyes glinting as she sliced with her curved blades. The first mottled beast fell with a thud, her sword buried deep into the matted fur before it even had time to yelp. She went after the last, almost out of sight when it crumpled, twitching to the ground.
I leaned against a tree, adrenaline washing away. Faruhar scanned the clearing as she jogged back, then locked eyes with me. At best, I saw a flicker of relief before she scowled at my wounds.
