Most hunters didn’t survive their first year. He’d served fifteen.
That kind of survival left marks. Not just on skin.
And right now, that thing inside him was the only thing that could save her.
The alley opened ahead. Dark. Stinking of piss and rotting garbage.
He took in everything in a single glance. Three males. Big. Armed. Juni’s ragged breathing echoed off the stone walls. One of them had her pinned with a blade at her throat. Blood on her neck—black in the dim light. Her face was wet with tears, pale with terror, but she was alive.
Rage unlocked in the center of his chest, surging outward.
Pure. Cold. Absolute.
Rage.
The male on the left saw him first. His eyes went wide and he opened his mouth?—
Goraath didn’t give him the chance to speak.
He moved as the male reached for his weapon. Too slow. Goraath’s hand closed around his throat and crushed brutally. Cartilage crumpled… tore, and the male dropped, choking on his own crushed windpipe.
The second one drew his blade and managed a swing. The edge caught Goraath’s arm, a line of fire he ignored. He caught the male’s wrist, twisted, felt bone snap as he used his opponent’s own momentum to spin him around.
One hand on the jaw. One on the back of the skull.
Twist.
The crack echoed off the alley walls.
Two down. Seconds. Maybe less.
The third male—the one with the blade at Juni’s throat—pressed the edge harder against her skin. More blood welled up. Juni whimpered, the sound cutting through Goraath like a hot knife.
“Stay back.” The male’s voice shook. “Stay back or I’ll?—”
“You’ll what?” He kept moving forward. Slow now. Deliberate. “Kill her? You’re going to do that, anyway.”
He had to ignore the tiny whimper of terror Juni made, his focus on her attacker.
“I mean it!” The blade trembled. “I’ll open her throat right?—”
“Then you’ll die.” Goraath smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “But not quickly. Not cleanly. I’ll take you apart piece by piece, like the Krin do to their enemies. And I’ve had a lot of practice… I’ll make it last for days. You’ll be begging me to end it.”
The male’s face went grey.
“Or.” Goraath stopped. Close enough to strike but not quite. Not yet. There was a rhythm to these things, like a dance. “You drop the blade and let her go, and I’ll make it quick. Painless. It’s a lot better death than you deserve and you know it.”
“You’re insane.” The male’s voice cracked. “You’re draanthing insane.”
“Yes. I’m a krin hunter.” The words felt strange in his mouth. He hadn’t said them in twenty years. “I’ve killed things that would eat you alive and enjoy it. I’ve walked into pod nests that would make you soil yourself and weep. And that female—” His voice dropped to something little more than a snarl. “That female is mine. So make your choice. Drop the blade or find out exactly what kind of monster you’re dealing with.”
The blade clattered to the ground as the male shoved Juni away from him, hands up, backing toward the alley wall. “Don’t… please! I was just following orders. They said?—”
Goraath moved.
His fist connected. Bone crunched. The male staggered, blood spraying from his ruined nose. He hit him again. And again. The rage was a living thing inside him, demanding blood, demanding payment for every moment of terror his female had suffered.
He grabbed the male by the throat and slammed him against the wall. Raised his fist?—
