Page 8 of Captured

Knees slamming into the side of the building with the roof edge biting into her stomach and knocking the wind from her, Flea’s arms strained to lift her weight high enough to pull her legs over. Her heart stopped as a growl sounded from behind her, but it gave her the surge of adrenaline she needed to make it the rest of the way.

Scrambling to her feet, she risked a glance below and met a pair of bloodshot eyes. The alpha was ratty, hair and clothes clumped with grime, snarl exposing yellowed teeth. His skin was a blotchy shade of green that reminded her more of illness than flesh.

The male teetered before launching himself toward the roof. If his condition and eyes hadn’t been enough proof, his lack of balance and weakness tipped Flea off to his state. Unfortunately, one of the many reasons people in the lower levels stayed was due to addiction, the gangs feeding into their need and growing fat on their misery. It was easier to find drugs than food, and this alpha had clearly fallen victim to the vice.

His second jump was better, his fingers curling over the tiles beneath Flea’s feet, but her blind terror had receded. While he was alpha and would always be larger than her, he was wasting away, his strength lacking.

Walking to the edge while he snarled and tried to heave himself up, Flea couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity. It was balled up with disgust, but it was there none the less. It didn’t stop her from bring the heel of her boot down on his fingers though.

The alpha howled and dropped to the ground, clutching his hand to his chest before glaring up at her. He tried to speak, but Flea could only understand a few of the words spewing from his lips.

“…bitch…get you…cunt…”

Her brow raised as she got her breathing under control.

“You won’t get anywhere near this cunt. Lay off the drugs, you’re a poor excuse for an alpha.”

He snarled at her words, taking a swipe at her she didn’t bother to flinch away from. He’d already proven he couldn’t reach her, and they both knew it. Ignoring the slurs he hurled at her, Flea turned and picked her way across the roof toward another. Her ribs ached from where she’d dragged them over the edge, but her coat had protected her from the worst of it. She’d likely be black and blue, but that was a price she was willing to accept.

Chapter Six

Gra’ar

He’d thought Fourth-Level was depressing, but each new one only brought new reasons why it wasn’t so bad. They still had bits of sunlight up there. It was marginally warmer. The stench was certainly less.

Curling his lip, Gra’ar gripped the handle on the door to the stairwell in the support column. He needed to know where Flea exited to start looking for her, and the only way to do that was to follow from the last place he knew she’d been.

The first pull only opened the door a few inches, the hinges protesting with a loud squeal. Curling his fingers around the edge of the door, the muscles of his arms and shoulders bulged, forcing it to open further. Obviously Flea hadn’t been strong enough to do that, but she was also slim enough to slip through, whereas there was no way to fit his bulk through the narrow space.

Bracing one foot on the frame, his wings flared as he pulled harder when the metal caught again. His teeth protested how tight his jaw clenched with the strain, but the door finally gave as the hinges snapped.

He stepped out of the way as he let it drop. He doubted anyone would care if the door was missing, but if they made a fuss he’d pay for it.

Flea’s scent immediately hit him, that spice sending a thrum through his veins that had his balls tightening. With no one else passing through the enclosed space nothing could disguise the flavor of her in the still air, and Gra’ar plowed down the metal steps in a rush.

As the working lights grew farther apart he forced himself to slow, and when the way ahead was nothing but inky blackness he gave in and opened his hind eyes. He reached the plateau for Sixth-Level and was four steps down the next stairwell when he realized her scent was fading. Backtracking to the door he’d passed, he lingered on the landing and drew in another deep breath, confirming she’d been there, but not farther.

There was no way to know her reason for leaving the stairs before completing her descent, but he figured it had to do with the utter lack of light. Even with the superior night vision of his hind eyes he had difficulty making out much in the stairwell, and her poor human eyes were nowhere near as adept.

A palm against the metal door showed he had another fight on his hands. Putting his shoulder to the cold material, he grunted as he dug in his feet and shoved. This time he managed to force it open without breaking it from its brackets, but only barely. The metal was bent and the door remained open, refusing to go back the way it had come.

Shrugging off the concern, Gra’ar focused on getting his bearings in the gloom. The dim overhead lights that still shone on the empty cityscape wouldn’t be enough for most to make out the details, but he could see it all. The grime, the cracks, the overall state of neglect and abandonment.

Something scurried past the edge of his senses, but it was too small to be a threat. Even the vermin suffered in this place, the pickings too slim for them not to be a target as well.

Gra’ar dragged in a deep breath. It was harder to pick up Flea’s scent in the open, but there was enough of it still there to let him know she’d passed through. There were other scents mingled with it, so he could tell it had been a while, but the sweetness of omega was impossible to miss.

He stretched his wings, giving a lazy flap before folding them to his back again with a rustle. He had to figure out which direction she’d gone before he could try searching from the air. Knowing when she’d entered the stairwell and how far she’d had to cover to get there, he figured she couldn’t have gone far before seeking a place to shelter and rest.

It took a while for him to find her trail and be sure he was moving in the right direction. She had more than a day’s lead on him, and since she hadn’t lingered in the place, it was harder to find her scent. Once he did and it seemed like she was moving in a specific direction, he finally took to the air.

He couldn’t say the view was a good one. Boarded up buildings marked with graffiti, debris littering the sidewalks and alleys, it almost appeared as if a war had taken place in the years past. While the majority of the building still stood, most of the glass had been broken out of the windows. The original paint was peeling away or so faded the previous color couldn’t be named, and any cloth or decorations had been scavenged and put to better use.

The thing that surprised him the most was the number of people he spotted moving about in the desolation. He’d expected the level to be near empty, making his job of tracking Flea simple, but from his vantage he spotted enough bodies to give him a sense of urgency. While many of the individual ones he passed were non-descript and focused on staying silent and hidden, he saw more groups of males hunting through the streets, preying on others.

Dropping to street level every few blocks to be sure he was on the right path, Gra’ar knew he couldn’t be far off when he suddenly lost Flea’s scent. A nearby pack had his senses on edge but he was forced to return to the previous stop he’d made and follow on foot from there to see why she’d deviated from her expected route. It took a few turns before he realized what she was following.

Pale blue teardrops marked the corners of the buildings where her scent showed she’d turned. He was close enough to the water to smell it when he figured it out, and his own thirst woke with the reminder that he’d been on the hunt for hours without seeing to his own needs. It was easy to push them aside and ignore his body when he was lost in tracking someone.

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