“He won’t go,” she told Cam. The ties at her wrist were loosening. The more she twisted and pulled, the more give there was. Soon, she’d be free. She just needed time. Time to escape the restraints. Time for Grif to come for her.
Because she knew he would.
“Make him move.” Cam drew the whalh spear from the harness latched to Sharluff’s side. The same one she’d used to knock Grif out. “Do it or I’ll use this on him. He’ll suffer.”
“Luna will forgive you.” Nayla tried to reach Cam. “So will the others.”
“I don’t deserve forgiveness. None of us do.”
That was the heart of it. Cam wanted to die, and she wanted to take them all down with her.
“I understand. I do.” Heart breaking for the female, Nayla slipped one wrist free of the ropes. “I spent a long time letting myself be hurt without fighting back. Even longer, punishing myself for that.”
There was a time when it had been all she believed she deserved. Until a fierce, savage Other had shown her differently.
“Both are a waste,” she continued. “You don’t have to let the monsters win. You can be more merciful with yourself than they ever were to you.”
The silence stretched.
Nayla slipped her other wrist free, but kept them at her back. She would only have one chance to take the female by surprise if her words didn’t penetrate.
“I don’t want mercy.” Cam said at last, dashing Nayla’s last hope. “I just want it to end.” She poked the spear in Sharluff’s direction. “Now, enough talking. Command the beast to walk or watch him die and then I’ll drag you there myself—”
“Naja faresh lang!” No intruders on Pack land. The growled shout came from behind one of the large twisted plants that lined the pathway, cutting short the rest of Cam’s words.
Four male hunters emerged. Two blocked the path, cutting off retreat. Two more loomed in front. Their fangs flashed as their skin flared red and black and their spears glowed.
Sharluff brayed in happiness, the familiar scents and sounds proof he was home.
“Naja.” Nayla spoke fast, pushing herself upward and launching herself off Sharluff. If she was to have any chance of saving Cam—
The other female charged, slamming the glowing whalh spear into the closest guard’s belly. He screamed, twitching as he folded.
Nayla could only watch in horror.
With a howl, the second guard grabbed Cam and, using his own spear, knocked the weapon from her hand. Another seized her from behind. His tusks ripped into her throat before she could utter a single word.
Blood spurted.
Nayla’s stomach seized.
Cam’s anguished eyes fluttered shut.
No mercy. Just as she’d wanted.
The guard tossed her body to the dirt.
Bile burned at the back of Nayla’s throat, her heart heavy, her skin chilled.
Nayla could only hope the female found peace in the Void, her guilt and shame lifted. Not everyone was strong enough to survive the wounds of their past and find a way beyond.
“Kijan.” The shout to kill her echoed in Nayla’s ears.
“Naja! Tameth ale a Talg.” No. Take me to Talg. She skittered back, pressing into Sharluff’s solid bulk.
The guards froze.
She did not know if it was the use of their language, the mention of their leader’s name, or Sharluff’s low growls, but some of the bloodlust cleared from their gazes.
They studied her as she snarled back at them. Their scowls deepened as they remarked on her small fangs and color, their uncertainty obvious, the whispers of Gazi buzzing between them like an unanswered question.
Whereas she recognized them easily. Three prominent hunters in their prime. They had never spoken to her, though she’d seen them swaggering around the village often enough.
It was no surprise they were less sure about her identity. None but Talg and Ramm had seen her without her anazi since she was a child. Most rotations, these hunters had passed her by as if she was part of the scenery.
Now, she had their full attention.
At one time, that was all she’d coveted. Now it was the last thing she wanted.
She landed on the hard dirt. Her palms caught her just before her face hit the ground, the covering they’d wrapped her in absorbing the worst of the impact. She yanked it off, and found herself in the middle of the pack gathering circle, the setting suns casting everything in a soft glow.
Cam’s lifeless body rested beside her.
Sharluff had been easily subdued, as well. One lavrish treat and a few grunted commands from the guards and her pet had followed them happily. They’d penned him with the others of his kind, out of sight.
She didn’t blame Sharluff. Like all pack creatures, he responded to the inherent dominance of a stronger force. She’d been like that once. Now, there was only one male whose commands she willingly followed.
She pushed herself up to get a better view of where she was.
To her right were the pens crowded with the Other females. Twelve in all. The same number as when she’d brought them here. It drew a flare of relief. At least all were still alive, including Melody and Hope’s mother. She sent a prayer of thanks to the Ancients.
They were draped in anazis like hers. Hidden, because Talg likely hated the sight of them. They’d pressed their covered faces to the bars as they sobbed and shrieked, their gazes locked on Cam lying still and silent in the dirt.
The Other females’ behavior was in stark contrast to the quiet solemnity of the pack. Females and children had gathered in a semicircle on the border of the fire rocks, their worried faces digging just as big a pit in Nayla’s stomach as the Other females’ cries.
Her pack looked hungrier than before, their faces gaunt. With her gone, there would have been no more food deliveries and Talg was so focused on his war and weapons, he was not taking the proper time to get the food they needed. Her people were even closer to starvation than before.
War would only make things worse.
“What is this?” The familiar pack voice stole her breath, her brain translating it easily to Grif’s New English and back to her own familiar language.
Ramm. She was blocked by the legs of the guards, but she caught a glimpse of the hunter as he jogged forward to speak with the guards surrounding her.
After so much time with the Others, it was strange to hear her native dialect spoken by so many as the guards explained their version of what had happened.
It was even stranger to look at Ramm without the slits of her anazi to distort her vision.
He was still a handsome pack male. His rectangular jaw, huge tusks, sharp upper fangs, and the abundant kill records carved into his flesh all testament to his worth as a good hunter. He’d be an excellent provider to any pack-mate. Except he struck her as not nearly ferocious enough now. And oddly hairless, without the dark intensity and beautiful green eyes of the male she now craved above all others.
When she thought of what she had once sought so desperately, to be the mate of someone like Ramm and live her life in dutiful acceptance, grateful to just be on the margins, she wanted to be sick.
To think she had almost never known what it was to be free. To recognize her worth. Most of all, to be loved fiercely and wildly and ruthlessly by someone as amazing as Grif.