“Go. Now.”
She ran.
Maelic watched until she disappeared behind the tree. Until the shimmer of the cloak flickered to life.
Then he turned to face the descending ship.
His wings spread. His fangs descended, venom pooling hot and ready. He reached for his phaser, then swallowed as he realized he didn’t have a weapon. He was glad he still had claws on his left hand.
Come then, Barvarti.
I have been waiting for this.
The ship touched down in the clearing. Snow melted beneath its thrusters, scorching the earth black.
The ramp lowered with a hiss.
Three males emerged first. Armed. Spreading out to flank the clearing. Maelic recognized two of them from his short time undercover. Krel and Voss. Brutal but stupid.
The third was new. Younger. Eager.
Then Barvarti descended.
Tall, even for a Suilide. His big body a deep crimson—the color of dried blood. His eyes were black pits that reflected nothing. He moved with the lazy confidence of a predator who had never met anything he couldn’t break.
Maelic remembered those eyes. Remembered them watching as his Papeer fell. As his Mamir screamed.
“Well, well.” Barvarti’s voice was smooth. Amused. “The little orphan survived after all.”
Maelic said nothing.
“I thought that shot finished you. Imagine my surprise when your signal reappeared on this miserable little planet.” Barvarti tilted his head. “Hiding among the primitives. How fitting for the son of a coward.”
Do not react. Wait.
“My Papeer was not a coward.”
“No?” Barvarti smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “He died screaming for mercy. Begging me to spare his pathetic mate and whelp.” He took a step closer.
Lies. Papeer had begged them to run—begged his mate and son to save themselves. Not mercy. He'd never have begged for mercy from this vrekker.
Something cracked inside Maelic’s chest as the memory of that day flooded him. He gritted his teeth.
“You talk too much,” Maelic said quietly. “Especially for a male about to die, you should save those sounds for your final words.”
Barvarti laughed. “And you are too soft. Tell me, little Axiom—” He spread his arms wide. “What will you do? You have no weapon. No Mamir to shield you this time.”
Maelic moved.
He hit Krel first.
The male barely had time to raise his weapon before Maelic’s claws tore through his throat. There was no hesitation—just the wet snap of cartilage giving way and the hot spray of bloodacross the snow. Krel gurgled, hands clutching at the ruin of his neck, and dropped.
Voss fired. The bolt seared past Maelic’s shoulder—close enough to singe fur and flesh. The acrid smell of ozone stung his nose, fueling the rage. He pivoted, caught the male’s weapon arm, and snapped it backward.
The crunch of bone was loud, sickeningly audible over the hum of the ship. Voss screamed, a high, thin sound that cut off abruptly as Maelic silenced him with a strike to the chest that caved his ribs inward.
Two down.
