His not-so-drugged quarry took immediate advantage.
Skittering over his shoulder, her heel clocked him in the jaw, the other foot smashed his neck.
He recovered fast, but his grasping hands only caught air as she seized the rope he’d left for himself and scaled upward, a dirt-streaked blur of fur and tangled striped hair. She was fast. Faster than he would have expected from such a tiny thing.
With a roar, he launched himself after her. Bare, dirty feet flashed just out of reach as he stretched to close the gap, biceps flexing.
She disappeared over the edge.
He threw himself upward, ignoring the protest of his recent injury.
His hand locked around a delicate ankle.
With a shriek, she kicked back.
A rush of air breezed by his cheekbone.
With a snarl, he used the rope to leverage himself the rest of the way out of the pit. He landed on top of a squirming mass. Hard. The stink of tigos and a surprising fresh water scent mixing in his lungs as he pressed down, using his weight to immobilize her. “Got ya.”
She bucked. Hissed. The soft fur of her pelt rubbed against his bare chest. Her toes dug into the dirt for leverage. As wild as an outraged newborn furball.
But he was a wily, Old Earth panther in comparison, too big and mean to even be winded by a kothi kitten’s puny efforts. He pressed down harder, doing his best to ignore the friction of her perfect round ass against his groin. “Calm the fuck down. You’re not going anywhere.”
The strange trilling sounds out of her mouth were shrill and sharp, and incomprehensible.
He stored that information away for a calmer moment.
She clawed at the ground. Bucked once more.
“Quiet.” He knew she understood New English. 223’s guards had spoken it to her. His free hand patted her down, looking for more unusual weapons. He wasn’t about to be taken by surprise again.
Her head slammed back. Dodging the hit, he reared upward and deliberately let her slither out from under him, her fur covering clutched in his hands.
Nice as it was having her stretched beneath him, he wanted a look at the rest of her. Plus, there was always the possibility that she had another weapon hidden somewhere on her body.
She popped up an arm’s-length away, bared to him without the pelt, her form bathed in the strengthening light from the two suns.
Beneath the dirty pelt, his captive wore nothing.
His lungs stuttered.
Golden skin shimmered in the suns’ light. Golden. Skin.
Not a trick of light, after all. Her unusual skin color made her appear even more pixie-like.
No weapons in sight, either.
Just amber-tipped nipples crowning full breasts, while her belly gleamed bare and firm and a sweet honey-colored pussy peeked out at him between firm, supple thighs.
As far as he could tell the only hair she had was the striped tangle of chocolate and gold on her head. No fucking wonder she’d worn that covering in the camp. The sight of her would have caused a full-scale riot.
Glowing golden symbols snaked across her navel and up her arms and thighs. Her curves were lean and strong. Her concave belly and gaunt cheekbones hinted at hardship and hunger, the kind he was likely responsible for, but she still held her spine straight, her head high.
He could already imagine how amazing she’d look, elbows and wrists bound, his ropes coiled like a spiderweb harness around her tits and hips, the knots pressing tight against her golden flesh.
Even too-thin and covered in dirt, her hair a tangled, wild mess, she was gorgeous. Hands down, the most stunning female he’d ever seen. She looked like a warrior princess or some kind of nubile young priestess. One blessed by the gods and insanely angelic looking, aside from those tiny fangs, of course.
He knew the truth.
Running his hands along the bite marks, he welcomed the reminder.
“On your knees.” He freed his rope from where he’d looped it around the rock.
He placed her at around twenty-four planetary rotations. Old enough to know better and to shoulder the consequences when she didn’t.
“N-no look.” She spoke New English in a lyrical accent that sounded like a song.
Her arms wrapped around her breasts and belly in an attempt to shield herself as she backed up another step. Without her glowing spear, she clearly knew she was no match for him.
“Do as you’re told.” He snapped his rope in warning. “I don’t want to bring you to ground again, but I will hog-tie you if I have to.”
She whirled. Ran.
Not unexpected.
He had to admit, she was fast and graceful for an evil flesh trader, her lean thighs flexing as she bounded over the rocks.
Breath steady, he took his time uncurling his snaring weapon, the same whip he’d reclaimed from Bully before he took the bastard’s life. It might not glow or emit a strange surge of electricity, but it was effective all the same.
He swung the looped end over his head a few times to build momentum.
She was several lengths away, lush hindquarters bobbing like a perfect target, when he let the lasso soar.
4
Something scratchy slipped over her head, gripping her shoulders.
With a gasp, she went to shove it off. Too late. It cinched tight, pinning her arms to her chest and checking her forward momentum.
She screamed. Stumbled back and sideways.
Not long ago, she’d thought the Ancients had finally softened toward her. The pack had been grateful for the bounty she’d brought from the Others’ camps. Even Talg had seemed less angry.
She’d told herself the culmination of her greatest hopes could not be far behind. She’d told herself that, despite the curse, she would finally gain acceptance, a real position in the pack, a slice of approval from those who mattered.
She’d told herself one more trip to trade with the savage Others would not be a problem.
She should have known better.
Or maybe this was her punishment? She could not deny that a part of her had wondered what would happen if she saw the dark haired, green-eyed savage again.
A hard yank. Her body jerked backward, her feet sailing out from under her.
Her spine hit the ground.
A scream for help clawed at the back of her throat. She cut it off. All such noise would do was draw unwanted attention. No one from her pack was out searching. They would never risk coming so close to Other territory. She was on her own.
Some things did not change. No matter how much she wished otherwise.
Her glowing whalh spear might have saved her, but it had broken during her fall into the pit. Her chest pinched at the memory. That spear had been a gift from her pack’s best hunter, Ramm. It was one of her few treasured possessions—a steady companion in an unsteady world.
Now, it was gone. One more loss to lay at the feet of the savage Others.
She hadn’t realized she could hate them more than she already did.
Digging in her heels, she struggled to throw herself upright. It proved impossible with her arms bound tight to her waist.
Red dust billowed into the air. Her body jerked, her back dragging through the dirt as her captor tugged her to him, hand over fist, a flailing, helpless prey on the end of a savage’s line.
But she’d always been counted out.
Spinning, she kicked out, aiming for his thigh.
Her heel slammed into hard rock. Pain rocketed up her leg and along her spine. What kind of beast was more unyielding than stone?