Before he could speak, another voice rang out. “No.”
His gaze whipped around.
Furball was pointing at him, her finger shaking with such vigor her whole pelt rustled. “No,” she repeated, the O drawn out, transforming the word into an exotic, melodic sound he would have thought was pretty—if it wasn’t issuing from her mouth.
“Them.” Furball’s wagging finger pointed past him.
There was a blur of movement, then two females, one of whom was Melody and Hope’s mother stumbled forward and it was clear exactly who Furball was pointing at. The nearby slaves cringed and back away.
The girls screamed in protest. Tyson, too.
“Shut up.” Scar Face backhanded Tyson, toppling him to his ass.
Grif roared, only to pull up short when Big Ear’s whip rose and pointed toward the girls. “Any closer and they’ll suffer.”
Grif stilled.
Bully seized the girls’ mom, even as she fought and screamed, her hair flying in her face, her heels digging into the dirt. “No! Not me. How could you? No!” It didn’t matter. They dragged her toward the feathered beast and its treacherous owner.
Grif surged forward. This could not be happening. Not when he was so close to freeing them all.
The guards were ready.
The manacle at his neck snapped taut. “Not twice in one day, scum.”
Out of the corner of his gaze, he glimpsed six guards holding tight to his chains, their knuckles straining. Three he could have shaken off, maybe even five, but six was too many. Especially when he needed to be conscious and mobile enough to save the girls tonight.
Two hard boots slammed him to the dirt. He tasted blood and grit.
Black spots danced in front of his eyes. An all too familiar sensation. Help me. Save me.
Furball looked on, indifferent to it all as Melody and Hope’s mother was chained with the others and her girls sobbed.
His rage amplified, inky blackness surging through his veins and his soul. The reminder from his youth the final straw. He didn’t do well with helpless.
Fingers finding purchase in the ground, he strained to rise, his gaze locking with hers. I will find you.
The pelt shivered.
All too soon, she swung onto the creature’s back and yanked its leash. The beast lurched forward, its big body rocking side to side. The slaves—five females in all—dragged behind, the girls’ mother throwing one more glance over her shoulder as she was taken away.
Air gone, the scene before Grif faded, except for one thought.
Furball would pay.
3
Twenty-Eight rotations later…
The steel toes of Grif’s boots skittered close to the edge of the pit, the early dawn light from the two suns casting the deep hole in soft light.
A handful of dirt pinged down the side of the hole, landing on the blurred lump below. It—she—didn’t even twitch.
He’d done it.
He fingered the rope at his hip, excitement humming beneath his skin. The first sensation besides rage he’d felt in a long time.
She was in his pit. Finally.
He’d been waiting for this moment since he and the others broke out of 223’s camp. He’d scoured the area, tracked down every potential lead, blistered his hands digging a hundred pits, and put up with a lot of worried looks from his teammate. It was all finally worth it.
It had taken longer than expected, but he’d run his prey to ground.
He gave the longer cable he’d attached to a nearby boulder a sharp tug. No give. Perfect.
Launching himself over the edge, he landed in a crouch by his quarry’s side. The line pulled tight against his knuckles, the extra length pooling in an S-shape by his boots.
The shapeless pelt that covered every inch of her was filthier and more ragged than before, but it was still as memorable as ever. No sign of the glowing spear, but he knew it was here somewhere.
He’d find it, deal with it, and eradicate the threat. Like always.
His orders were simple: interrogate the target, extract the intel, and put the hostile down. Clear. Straightforward. Uncomplicated. Just the way Grif liked his lines.
And, yes, this time there was a personal component to the mission. A little personal revenge and redemption added to the mix, but he wouldn’t let it get in his way.
He intended to prove to his commander that he was the right choice to take over as second-in-command.
He knew the chance of finding the missing females alive was grim at this point, but dead or alive, he was bringing them home.
Scanning for the weapon, he stalked closer, stepping over a pair of dirty small fur slippers, the ripped foil that had held the drugged food crinkling under his boot.
His captive didn’t even flinch. No surprise. It wouldn’t take much to knock out so small a predator and she had to have been starving.
Once he’d rediscovered her tracks, he’d stolen the prey from every trap he’d found. Then he dug up all the root and plant sources in the area. He’d tightened the noose until the hostile had no choice but to forage exactly where he wanted her to go. He’d made sure his pits, covered in debris and nearly impossible to see after dusk, were primed and ready.
Rubbing away the dirt on his right wrist, he traced the wound from their last run-in with his fingertips. A perfect human bite mark—except for the two small fang-like incisors. Thirty-two dents. Thirty-two savage red marks. Thirty-two reasons for revenge.
Payback was finally coming due.
He crouched down, hand outstretched to shove the covering aside. His stomach gave a little kick. After so much time picturing what was under that pelt, he was more than ready to see the bitch’s face.
Images of a hairy, hideous demon with fangs and fury tits had woken him up more than a few nights.
His fingers gripped the fur.
Without warning, his prey bolted upright, the hood slipping from her face and bringing them nose to nose.
He stilled. Everything shifted.
Of all the countenances he’d imagined, he would never have predicted this one.
Iridescent cobalt blue eyes fringed by thick, dark lashes flashed in a feline-like face caked in mud and grime. Her features were delicate and fine-boned, her wide eyes almost too big for her face, her hair a wild mane of tangled chocolate-colored strands mixed with tawny stripes.
Far from demonic and hideous, her nose was small and upturned with three faint ridges near the bridge and pointed ears that only enhanced that feline look. Humanoid, for sure, but not like any New Earther he’d ever seen before. She was young, gorgeous, and exotically other. Fucking pixie-like in appearance, except for that cupid-bowed, carnal mouth.
His dick stirred in interest.
In the next heartbeat, those lips stretched wide—revealing two tiny sharp incisors—no bigger than his teeth, but a hell of a lot pointier.
How the fuck had he forgotten those?
A piercing screech rent the air.
Something hard and thin—and oh-so-familiar—slammed toward his temple.
Except he was ready for her ambush this time. Ducking to avoid the spear tip, he seized the handle and wrenched it from her grasp. No damn way was he being brought low by the same weapon twice.
What he didn’t expect was the simultaneous strike from the other direction.
Fuck him, Furball was resourceful.
Thankfully, there was no energy surge this time. But the strike did carry the force of a regular punch. He rocked sideways.