He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. When he spoke again, his voice was harder.
“Watch your back, old friend. And watch your female.” His hand landed on Goraath’s shoulder. “These draanthic cowards won’t stop until someone makes them.”
“I’ll handle it,” Goraath said.
“I know you will.” The corners of Kaalden’s mouth twitched. “That’s what worries me.”
Movement at the edge of his vision made Goraath’s head turn. He scanned the crowd automatically, searching for auburn hair and a silver herb tucked behind one ear.
Nothing.
His chest seized. Where was she? He’d seen her near the til’vaash display not long ago, talking to the scarf vendor. Laughing at something. Now?—
“Problem?” Kaalden followed his gaze.
“Juni.” Goraath frowned as he scanned again, his gaze running over the sweet cake stall, the brazier with the central flame, and the cluster of human females near the food vendors… his eyes narrowed. Juni wasn’t with them. “I don’t see her.”
Before Kaalden could respond, movement caught his eye.
Tarex shoved through the crowd, heading straight for them. Running. His face was pale and he was wild-eyed.
Every muscle in Goraath’s body went rigid.
He moved before he could think. Crossed the distance between them in three strides and grabbed Tarex to slam him into the nearest wall hard enough to rattle his teeth.
His forearm pressed against Tarex’s throat, cutting off air.
“You,” he snarled. “You set those pyrotechnics. You almost killed her.”
Tarex’s hands scrabbled at Goraath’s arm. His mouth opened, closed but no sound came out.
“I should break your neck right here.” Goraath leaned closer, putting more pressure on the male’s windpipe. “Give me one reason not to.”
“Juni—” Tarex choked out the word. “Your female?—”
“Don’t say her name.”
“She’s in danger.” Tarex’s eyes bulged, face going purple. “The alley. They took her into the alley. Three of them. Purists?—”
Something cold and sharp slid into place behind his eyes.
Goraath dropped him. Didn’t wait to see if he hit the ground. Didn’t care.
He ran.
The crowd parted around him. People stumbled back, pressing against walls and stalls, getting out of his way.
The alley mouth gaped ahead. Dark. Narrow. The sounds of the festival faded behind him as he plunged into shadow.
Twenty years.
It fell away between one step and the next. The careful posture. The measured movements. The mask he’d worn so long he’d almost forgotten it was a mask.
What was left was older, and much darker. The thing he’d been before he’d walked away from the empire and tried to become someone who deserved peace.
Krin hunter.
The words surfaced from somewhere deep. A name he hadn’t let himself think in years. The empire’s term for males like him—the ones they sent into the nests when nuking from orbit wasn’t an option. The ones who came out covered in blood and ichor and pieces of things that used to be alive.
