She tilted her head, and her tail flicked forward, brushing his leg. “We’ll talk soon. I’m sure you don’t want to be here any longer than I do.”
“Should’ve killed you already,” Drakkal rasped. The words were raw and abrasive in his throat, as harsh as his festering regret.
Her grin receded into an almost wistful smile more genuine than he’d thought her capable of. “But you didn’t. And that was always the difference between us, wasn’t it? You may be big and strong, but you’re soft on the inside. You’re weak. Even now. Your terran ji’tas is a prime example of it.”
“Don’t talk about her!” Drakkal lunged forward again. This time, the transport rocked, and the cuffs lifted away from the wall, albeit for a fraction of a second and barely a few millimeters.
This time, Vanya did flinch back, surprise flashing over her features. She recovered quickly, and her expression fell into something dark and dangerous. Her voice was low but had a sharp edge when she spoke again. “She’s gone, and you’re mine now. You’ll learn to put that ugly little terran behind you soon enough. Once you accept that you’re never going to see her again, you’ll start thinking clearly. You’ll see that having me back really is the best thing for you. It’s what you always wanted.”
She took a step closer and leaned her face as near as possible without entering his reach. “Either you can reach that conclusion on your own, or I can break you and force you to it. You may be bigger and stronger, Drakkal, but you’re just as weak as your ji’tas at heart.”
“If I’m even half as strong as her at heart, zhe’gaash, you should be afraid right now.”
“Do not speak to me that way again,” Vanya warned.
“You’re a disgrace to our people,” Drakkal snarled. His entire body tensed as he pulled against the bindings again. “An honorless, cowardly traitor.”
Vanya scowled and swung her arm, slamming her fist into Drakkal’s mouth. The flare of pain it caused came with a metallic tang of blood.
She raised a clawed finger and pointed it at Drakkal’s face. “You don’t call me that. Everything I’ve done was to survive. That is the true way of our people, not your inflated sense of honor and overvalued courage.”
“Truth sting, zhe’gaash?” Drakkal forced his lips into a grin, displaying his bloody fangs.
“You’re the one who picked a fucking terran,” Vanya roared. “And you’re the one who’s locked up. You’re a failure, Drakkal. You couldn’t fulfill me when we were young, and you couldn’t protect your ji’tas and her ugly little beast now. You couldn’t even succeed at dying like your blind honor dictated. But you’ll learn soon enough. I’m going to shape you into something better.”
Drakkal tugged violently against the cuffs around his wrists, making the transport shake. “Release me and let’s test your confidence, you fucking zhe’gaash!”
“I suppose that’s another difference between us. You always were stupid, Drakkal. Never knew when to give up. Now shut your mouth, or I’ll knock you out again.”
“Kraasz ka’val, killing you once will not be enough,” he growled.
Vanya tugged something off her belt and flicked her arm to the side. The object extended and clicked as it locked at its full length, and a pulse of energy crackled on its tip. A stun baton.
Without a word—and without breaking eye contact with Drakkal—she jabbed him in the chest with the tip of the baton.
The flash of white that overcame Drakkal’s vision caused all his muscles to seize and made thunder boom in his ears. The pain of it was gone so quickly that he barely registered it; instead, it was his battle against the aftereffects that occupied his focus.
But his willpower was not quite enough; oblivion rose over him, dark and foreboding, and crashed down on Drakkal like a tidal wave.
When he sucked in a sharp breath and returned to awareness, he had no idea how much time he’d lost. He was sagged forward, shoulders sore, arms stiff, head bowed, and right hand numb. His eyes were closed, and the dull throbbing of his split lip was only one of the many aches and pains throughout his body.
After the pain, he was next aware of the slight swaying of the floor, which carried up through his body, exaggerated by his hanging posture. Panic burst inside him, speeding his heart and constricting his lungs. Had they already left Foltham’s? How long had he been out? How far had they traveled?
How far away were Shay and Leah?
He forced his eyes open. His eyelids did their best to resist the command, but he won the fight.
Drakkal’s neck protested as he lifted his head and turned it toward the front of the transport. The entryway was still open, allowing that pale blue light to spill through. His angle prevented him from seeing Vanya, who was presumably at the controls, but he could see through a section of the windshield.
Even from that limited view, he knew they were somewhere in the Undercity by the ambient neon glow contrasting the otherwise dominant darkness.
He gritted his teeth and reached internally for that still-burning rage, but he stopped himself.
Need to think clearly for a minute, Drakkal… You’re banged up already, and all you’re going to do like this is wear yourself out. Can’t rely solely on instinct here.
He needed a different approach, a more direct approach, and he needed it quickly. So far, he hadn’t been able to move the manacles more than a few millimeters away from the wall; he didn’t have enough leverage to pull beyond that. Hell, he didn’t have enough leverage to even maintain that tiny gap. But if that wouldn’t work…then what?
Drakkal turned his head toward his left hand. He curled the fingers slightly and formed long, red hardlight claws at their tips. This was his sleeker prosthesis, the model he could easily conceal beneath his clothing, and he didn’t have quite the same degree of control over its claws that he did with the armored prosthesis Samantha had designed for him. He couldn’t control their length or shape—there was only on or off.
He bent his left wrist as sharply as possible, but the thick manacle blocked the angle he’d hoped to achieve. When he bent his fingers, only the claw of the smallest one could touch the manacle. He could only generate enough force to etch a small gouge in the metal—not nearly enough damage to deactivate it, much less cut it off. The small hardlight blades could penetrate the material, but they’d need a bit more strength behind them.
Dismissing the hardlight claws, Drakkal let his gaze fall as he desperately sought a fresh idea, a better way, anything that had a chance of producing results. His eyes stopped on the portion of his prosthesis that connected it to the socket on his bicep.
It took him several seconds to realize what he was staring at, but once he understood, his heart leapt.
Freedom. Vanya. Back to the manor. Murgen and Nostrus.
Those were the priorities; he had to deal with them in that order if he wanted Shay and Leah safely in his arms again. This time, he would eliminate every threat to his family. The time for mercy had long since passed. The time to be passive, if there’d ever been one, was gone.
Drakkal bent his left arm at a sharper angle and leaned toward it, his right arm straining as it straightened and stretched. The ache from his shoulder pulsed all the way up the side of his neck. He grunted and bent farther, ignoring the pain and discomfort, until his cheek touched his bicep. He’d done this countless times with his hands. How hard could it be with his mouth?
He felt with his lips and tongue for the latch, and when he finally found the little lip that marked the outer release, he had to strain even more—to the point of restricting the flow of air through his throat—to hook a fang beneath it. He paused for a moment to release a harsh breath through his nostrils before jerking his chin up and wrenching it to the side.
The latch offered a bit of resistance, but popped open, nonetheless. Drakkal relaxed his body, allowing his countless aches to lose some of their immediacy, before dipping his head to his arm again. He shoved his nose into the open groove, seeking the right
angle to press the release. He felt like an animal rooting through the dirt in search of some elusive buried morsel, snorting and snuffling quietly. The tip of his nose pressed over the release button, but the groove was too narrow and his nose too short and soft to trigger the release.
He angled his chin upward again and extended his tongue, forcing it into the groove. The muscles along the underside of his jaw tensed and cramped as he pushed as hard as he could with his tongue. He would not relent to pain. He would not lose his family today.
A low growl rumbled in his chest. He eased his head slightly away from his arm, maintaining contact between it and his tongue, and swung it back hard.
The release button sank inward. There was an audible click and a soft hiss as the prosthesis disconnected from its socket. Drakkal forced himself to straighten, pushing past the stiffness in his neck, and turned his head toward the front of the transport.
“Everything all right back there?” Vanya asked, leaning into the entryway to look back at Drakkal. Her features were obscured by shadow save for the faint blue reflections glowing in her eyes.
“I hope you piss yourself right before I kill you, zhe’gaash,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed, and she stared at him for another second or two before disappearing behind the wall again.
Drakkal took in a few slow, deep breaths. On his third exhalation, the collar around his neck activated. He snarled in pain as an electric current coursed through his body. The snarl died when the current ceased, diminishing to a slow, hissing release of air through his teeth.
“You’ll learn some manners,” Vanya called without looking back again. “You’ll learn to show me the respect I deserve.”
I’ll show you the respect you deserve when I spit on your lifeless body.
Despite knowing better, Drakkal nearly responded to her aloud. But giving voice to his hatred would only make it more difficult for him to accomplish his objectives. Provoking her further would only bring more pain. Though he’d not reached the limit of what he could endure, he could not say the same of Shay. Foltham had indicated that he’d held back on punishing her during her prior captivity only because of her pregnancy. What would stop him now?
And regardless, Drakkal couldn’t afford to lose any more time to unconsciousness.
Hold on Shay, hold on Leah. I am coming for you.
“I’m going to give you a break this one time, Drakkal,” Vanya said, “and make it easy on you—because I’m not in the mood to hear more of your disrespect.”
A moment later, loud music with heavy drums and base came on in the cab, sweeping back to echo through the holding area.
I’m making an offering of thanks to my ancestors when this is all done.
Drakkal waited until his breathing had steadied and his heartbeat had eased before he let himself act. He agreed with Vanya’s self-assessment—she wasn’t stupid. But neither was Drakkal. Everyone had a flaw, and hers had been the same for as long as he’d known her, even if he’d been too close to realize it early on. The music was just another demonstration of it.
She was overconfident, and it seemed that overconfidence had blossomed into something closer to outright arrogance over the years.
Keeping his gaze on the cab’s entryway, Drakkal forced his breathing to slow further still. This was his chance. If it didn’t work, he doubted he’d have another anytime soon. It relied entirely too much upon luck for his liking, but the realist in him said he had to take whatever he could get.
Carefully, he withdrew his stump from his prosthesis, bending his legs to alter the angle of the elbow and slide off the metal limb. Once the prosthesis was freely dangling from the wall, Drakkal glanced to his flesh and blood arm. He pressed his lips together and slowly turned his right wrist within the manacle, shifting his body around with it. The metal pulled his fur and scraped his flesh, offering more resistance than he’d hoped to encounter, but it wasn’t enough to stop him.
He paused once he was facing the wall fully with his palm toward him. He could see the right edge of Vanya’s body from his new angle; the movement had taken him a step or two closer to the cab. Her attention was fixed on the traffic around the vehicle—they were traveling along one of the many lanes of traffic that cut through the air over the streets and walkways of the Undercity.
Drakkal looked at the manacle around his right wrist and flexed his fingers. Their tips were tingling, resulting from a combination of the exertion, his position, and the manacle’s tightness. Once some of their feeling had returned, he offered a fleeting glance to the cab to ensure Vanya was still otherwise occupied and clenched his fist.
Sliding his feet forward, he braced them against the place where the wall and floor met. He drew in a deep breath and threw his strength into moving his right arm toward his prosthesis.
The muscles of his legs, arm, chest, and abdomen bunched, trembling with the strain. The cuff held firm for a second, two seconds, three. With a light shake, it slid a centimeter to the right.
Drakkal snapped his head toward the front again. Vanya was facing forward.
He returned his attention to the manacle and repeated the process, leaning more of his weight back this time. Each time he took in a heavy breath, he tugged the manacle aside another centimeter or two, moving it at a crawl toward his inert prosthesis. He dared not try for more with each movement; though the music drowned out many of the sounds in the vehicle, Vanya had sharp senses. The smallest out of place sound could alert her.
The already intense heat in his body increased rapidly with his exertion, but he couldn’t spare the time to cool down. Eventually—it might only have been a minute or two later, but it felt like years—he’d maneuvered his right arm to the opposite side of his prosthesis, with the manacles set about twenty centimeters apart. He leaned forward, opening his jaws wide enough that they felt close to unhinging, and clamped his teeth around the metal arm. Slowly, he turned the prosthesis so the pin would be better aligned to his new position.
He brushed his thumb across the external sensor on the cybernetic wrist. A small holographic screen rose from the projector; the holocom was the only component of the artificial limb that didn’t require an active neural link to operate. He flicked through the options quickly, eyes constantly darting toward the cab to check for Vanya, and attempted to send a quick message to Arcanthus after ensuring the holocom was silenced.
The holocom displayed an error message—connection failed. Drakkal wasn’t surprised, and he wouldn’t allow himself to be frustrated. Vanya likely had a signal blocker somewhere in the vehicle to prevent this very thing. He dismissed the holocom screen.
Releasing his hold on the prosthesis, he shifted his body, lifted his stump, and slid it up to the metal arm. He stopped the instant he sensed that neural link with the prosthetic; it was far enough to allow him to control the arm, but not so much to lock it into the socket. It would be foolish to lock in while he had no means of releasing the arm from its restraint.
He formed his hardlight claws. Eyes flicking between his hand and the cab—Vanya was out of his line of sight again—he extended his metal fingers and swept the claws down. The hardlight blades bit into the metal of his right manacle, slicing through it cleanly—and causing a faint pain on his wrist.
The manacle deactivated, and his arm fell away from the wall—along with a couple chunks of metal that had been separated from the whole. Drakkal sucked in a sharp breath and flattened his chest and arm against the wall, catching the loose bits on the inside of his elbow. He stared wide-eyed toward the cab, not daring to breathe again. The thunderous pounding of his heart filled his ears. Were it any louder, he swore Vanya would’ve heard it despite the music.
But she didn’t look back, didn’t speak. The heat that had built within Drakkal spread beneath the surface of his skin, crackling, tingling, consuming. He finally released the breath he’d been holding; the air stung his damaged lips as it passed between them.
Soon, Shay. On my way soon.
Carefully, he turned his head to his right and bent his neck to move his mouth down. He raised his arm at the same time. Lowering his lips over his fur, he took the metal bits into his mouth.
Once that was done, he took a firm hold of his prosthesis and pulled it down along the wall so his fingers could comfortably reach his neck. He tilted his head back, watching the cab from the corner of his eye, and set his hardlight claws to the shock collar. Their tips bit into his flesh more than once as he worked, but the cuts seemed shallow enough to ignore for now.
He tugged his stump away from the prosthesis as he reached up with his right hand and pried off the damaged shock collar. The hardlight claws vanished with the severing of his neural connection with the limb.
One item down. On to the next…Vanya.
Drakkal willed his rage back to the surface as he moved to the opposite side of the transport—which would keep him directly behind Vanya—and stalked forward. That inner heat intensified, and his chest tightened, but his mind was clear, just as it always was leading up to a fight. He’d faced worse odds, had been in situations he considered more dangerous—as though there could really be many more degrees of danger once you reached life-threatening—but this, more than anything, felt like the fight for his life. Not just to determine whether he lived or died, but whether he could reclaim the life he’d made with Shay and Leah.
He reached the wall separating the cab from the hold. He’d only have a fraction of a second to act; Vanya was fast, and he was in bad shape.
For Shay and Leah. For my family.
Drakkal charged through the entryway.
His arm was already mid-swing when Vanya turned her head toward him. Her eyes widened, and she leaned away, throwing up her own arms to shield herself. Two of Drakkal’s claws sank into her right forearm.
She hissed in pain and tugged on her arm, but Drakkal spat out the metal chunks in his mouth, curled his fingers to hook his claws deeper, and pulled her toward him. Vanya tipped to her right and ducked, narrowly avoiding Drakkal’s snapping jaws. She jerked her head backward. The back of her skull smashed into Drakkal’s chin. It wasn’t enough to knock him away, but it gave her enough time to tear her arm free of his hold. The smell of her blood filled the air.
Untamed Hunger Page 34
