Page 12 of Alien Devil's Wrath
BRONWEN
The slot canyon stretched ahead of us, walls rising so close they scraped my shoulders. Ideal for an ambush, if someone were so inclined.
Which, apparently, someone was.
“How unexpected,” I said, studying the ragged band blocking our path. “More visitors.”
Six figures in salvaged clothing, armed with improvised weapons. Sharpened metal, crude clubs, a crossbow that looked like it had been assembled from scrap. Not all human, I noted with genuine curiosity. Two Ewani ratmen with their distinctive mottled fur and sharp teeth. A single Poraki, his amphibious skin mottled green-brown in the canyon shadows. The rest were human, or close enough.
Escaped prisoners, judging by their poorly healed scars and the desperate gleam in their eyes. They’d probably been surviving in the wilderness for months, growing more feral by the day.
Their leader, a bull-necked human with ritual scarification covering his scalp, grinned at us with rotting teeth. “Look what we have here, boys. A pretty little thing and her pet monster.”
Pet monster. I glanced at Zarek, who had already shifted into a flanking position without being asked. His massive frame coiled like a spring, the tension in his shoulders promising imminent violence. The grey traceries on his arms stood out stark in the canyon’s shadows, and those red eyes held the cold calculation of a predator selecting its prey.
The thrill ran through me like electricity. Not fear, never fear.
The ability to even have that emotion had left me, long, long ago.
But the electric thrill of watching a beautifully designed weapon preparing to do what it was made for.
“The woman’s ours,” the leader continued, his companions spreading out to block both ends of the canyon. “The grey-skin, well, we’ll see how tough Vinduthi really are.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. These poor, stupid creatures had no idea what they were threatening. It was like watching mice challenge a wolf. Tragic in its futility, but grimly entertaining.
“You could let us pass,” I suggested reasonably, though I was secretly hoping they wouldn’t. “It would be the intelligent choice.”
The leader’s grin widened. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“You make an excellent point,” I said brightly. “Intelligence is vastly overrated.”
They didn’t expect the shrill cry that ripped from my throat. The territorial call of a cliff-dweller protecting its nest, a sound guaranteed to agitate every carnivore within a kilometer radius. The acoustic properties of the canyon amplified it, turning the already piercing shriek into something that made the convicts flinch and cover their ears.
Which gave Zarek the opening he needed.
He moved like violence given form. The first man died with a throwing knife between his ribs before the cry had finishedechoing. The second barely had time to raise his crude club before those massive hands snapped his neck.
“Efficient,” I observed, watching him work with professional appreciation.
He dismantled them systematically. Using their confusion against them, their numbers becoming a liability as they stumbled into each other trying to respond to attacks that came from impossible angles. The Ewani tried to flee, their rat-quick reflexes no match for Vinduthi speed. The Poraki attempted to use his natural camouflage, but Zarek’s senses tracked him easily.
“The throat strike was particularly well-executed,” I noted as another body hit the ground.
Four dead in under a minute, and he wasn’t even breathing hard.
The leader, the only one left standing, stared at the carnage with dawning comprehension of exactly how badly he’d miscalculated. His gaze darted between Zarek’s bloody hands and the bodies of his companions, his hindbrain finally recognizing the predator in their midst.
But instead of fleeing or begging for mercy, the fool made the worst possible choice.
He ignored Zarek entirely and lunged for me.
The perceived weaker target. The soft little human who would make an excellent hostage or bargaining chip. He grabbed for my throat with scarred hands, his rotting breath hot against my face as he snarled something about teaching the “grey-skin” a lesson.
“Poor decision,” I said, almost pitying him for what was about to happen.
He never saw Zarek coming.
What happened next wasn’t combat. It was annihilation.
