Page 112 of Shielded Heart 1
“Vrek’osh,” Arcanthus growled. “Once Drak and the others are inside, we’re leaving.”
He swung his attention back to the surveillance feeds to see Samantha and Drakkal nearing the wide landing in front of the big door. The azhera slowed, turning to shoot at the Syndicate and allowing Koroq, Kiloq, Razi, and Thargen to move past him.
Arcanthus’s eyes widened when Vaund burst into motion, charging toward Drakkal like a vengeful shadow blasting out of the void.
“Everyone into the hatch,” Arcanthus shouted as he leapt over the desk. He landed heavily at the base of the steps and sprang up, breaking into a sprint.
Faster, damn you! Faster!
Samantha’s lungsand throat burned as she ran. Her feet felt like they each weighed a hundred pounds, and her back itched, anticipating the deadly sting of a plasma bolt at any moment.
“Go, go,” Drakkal shouted behind her.
Thargen and the cren brothers entered her peripheral vision as she reached the staircase landing, running alongside her. The others dove in unison, sliding beneath the large blast door just ahead. Despite her terror, despite her heart pounding so fast and loud that she almost couldn’t hear anything else, her mind registered Drakkal’s absence.
Samantha risked a look over her shoulder to see Drakkal near the corridor entrance, only a meter or two from the steps, firing his blaster into the hallway. Her breath hitched when a black figure, moving faster than seemed physically possible, darted out of the corridor. The tall, slender figure ducked low, beneath the barrel of Drakkal’s blaster, and swung a crackling blue energy sword up. The blade left an after-image of its trail through the azhera’s arm; the limb detached from Drakkal’s body a fraction of a second later.
Drakkal’s roar—as filled with rage as it was with pain—was deafening, reverberating off the walls. He swung his free arm, catching his foe in the head with a heavy blow that produced a dull metallicthunk.
The figure spun aside with the force of the blow, but shifted the momentum into a kick, slamming his heel into the side of Drakkal’s head.
The azhera staggered, one of his legs buckling beneath him, but lunged forward, swiping his big, dark claws across the figure’s chest. Cloth shredded and viscous, dark blue blood glistened on the fabric of the figure’s coat. Drakkal fought savagely despite his injury.
The figure reeled before replying to Drakkal’s assault withhis own series of quick attacks. Drakkal narrowly avoided the arcing blade, but he couldn’t defend himself from the figure’s powerful kicks.
A blow to his gut doubled Drakkal over. The snarling azhera was unable to recover before his foe kneed him in the face. Drakkal staggered backward, and the dark figure kicked him twice more in the head.
Drakkal collapsed.
Everything had happened so quickly that Samantha had barely been able to register it. She didn’t realize until that moment that she’d stopped before reaching the door; it hadn’t been a conscious decision, just like it wasn’t a conscious decision that had her charging toward the black figure, who now loomed over the fallen azhera.
Samantha was terrified; she knew she was outmatched. She couldn’t stand against anyone who’d dropped Drakkal so quickly.
Drakkal’s voice sounded in her mind, echoing the words she’d heard him say to Arcanthus so many times—don’t be stupid.
This was, perhaps, the stupidest thing she’d ever done, but she couldn’t run to safety while her friend was killed. Her greatest regret had always been her failure to fight for herself. She wouldn’t add failure to fight for a friend to that regret, not if there was some chance, no matter how tiny, of making a difference.
The dark figure stood with his back to Samantha and his head angled toward Drakkal. Slowly—as though relishing the moment—he raised his sword and reversed his grip, directing the tip downward.
Clenching her teeth, Samantha launched herself at her foe.
The figure turned suddenly, facing Sam withhis featureless metal mask. She knew in that moment this was Vaund, the devil risen from Arc’s past.
Vaund’s empty hand darted out with lightning speed, and he closed his long, skeletal fingers around her throat in a viselike grip, halting her in midair.
The pain was immense, and her airway was immediately squeezed shut. She grasped Vaund’s forearm with both hands, desperate to relieve the pressure, desperate to breathe. His arm had a strange feel through his shirt—like hard leather stretched over a dense metallic core.
“So, he let his little terran wander away from his side,” Vaund said, his raspy voice pervaded by a buzzing electronic undertone.
Panic and helplessness pressed in on all sides of Sam’s mind, chased by rapidly encroaching darkness. She clawed at Vaund’s arm and kicked his torso, but his grip didn’t falter.
Worthless. Weak. Stupid.
No! She wasn’t going to listen to those doubts anymore. She wasn’t going to be James’s victim—anyone’svictim—ever again.
Focusing past the pain in her throat, the fire in her lungs, the building pressure in her head, she recalled what Sekk’thi had taught her.
Every foe has a weakness, but you must survive long enough to discover it and take advantage.
