Ten meters from the top. Nine.
Her grip slipped. She scrabbled for purchase on the rock.
Fuck it.
I broke cover, moving fast and low through the undergrowth, closing the distance to the rocks in seconds.
"Hey," I hissed, keeping my voice low but sharp enough to carry.
She froze. Didn't look down, didn't move. Smart. Looking down while climbing was a good way to fall.
"Pressure sensors at the top," I warned. "You touch those, and you're done."
For a long moment, she didn't respond. Then, slowly, she turned her head. Even in the darkness, I could see her eyes—wide, calculating, trying to figure out if I posed a threat or an opportunity.
Beautiful.
Goddess, she was beautiful. Hair the color of sunlight, even matted with sweat and dirt, caught what little moonlight filtered through the trees. The gossamer robes they'd dressed her in—typical Kwado shit, treating humans like decorative pets—clung to her frame, doing nothing to hide her curves. The fabric was ripped in places, streaked with grime, and somehow that made it worse. Made it clearer what they'd intended her to be.
I forced my eyes back to her face.
She stared at me, her eyes unfocused, pupils dilated. Something was wrong. The way she swayed against the rock, the glassy sheen to her stare—this was more than exhaustion.
"Hey," I said, sharper this time. "Stay with me."
Her lips parted, but no words came out. Just a soft moan, barely audible, and then her fingers slipped.
I moved on instinct, closing the remaining distance and catching her before she hit the ground. She was lighter than I expected, her body slack in my arms. The gossamer fabric slidagainst my fur as I adjusted my grip, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back.
Her head lolled against my chest, another weak sound escaping her throat.
They'd drugged her. The Kwado were known to keep their guests compliant with substances in the food or water. Whatever they'd dosed her with was hitting her now, adrenaline no longer enough to keep it at bay.
Fuck!
I couldn't leave her here. Even if I wanted to—and something in my chest twisted at the idea—the guards would find her. She'd be dragged back inside and punished. Or worse.
I shifted her weight, settling her more securely against my chest, and moved back through the garden, keeping to the shadows, avoiding the open paths. Her breathing was shallow but steady, her body warm against mine. Too warm, maybe. Fever? Or just the drugs working through her system?
My hiding spot was tucked behind a maintenance shed near the eastern wall. A gap between the structure and an overgrown hedge that the gardeners had apparently forgotten existed. I'd stashed my gear there: weapons, pack, emergency supplies.
I laid her down carefully, propping her against the trunk of a small tree. Her head lolled to the side, a soft whimper escaping her lips. I grabbed my jacket and draped it over her shoulders. The gossamer thing she wore wouldn't keep her warm.
"Stay quiet," I murmured, though I doubted she could understand me in her drugged state. "I'll get you out." I spoke the words in English, not knowing if the Kwado had fitted her with a translator. My cousin Siemba was mated to a human female who'd insisted that all operatives within AsadIntelligence learn the language. I was particularly fond of Earth curses.
I worked quickly, checking my ammunition, water supply, and medi-kit. Basic field supplies, nothing sophisticated, but it would have to do. She needed real medical attention. A healer who could identify whatever cocktail of drugs was moving through her system.
My cousin Tarrick was in cloaked orbit above the planet, waiting for my call. His ship had a full medi-bay. Most of the humans we rescued needed it. But I couldn't call him from here. The compound's surveillance would pick up the transmission and triangulate my position within seconds.
I needed distance. At least three kilometers before I'd be outside their monitoring range.
I shouldered my pack, then crouched and scooped the female back into my arms. She made another soft sound, her head settling against my shoulder. Her hair brushed my neck, and I caught her scent—something sweet beneath the garish perfume they'd doused her with.
I moved through the darkness, keeping low, my steps careful and measured. She proved a slight weight in my arms. I'd carried much heavier loads over longer distances. The real challenge was staying quiet, staying invisible.
The perimeter wall loomed ahead, two meters of reinforced composite. But I wasn't going over the wall. There was a drainage culvert on the eastern side, where runoff from the gardens flowed into the surrounding scrubland. Narrow, barely wide enough for a body, but it would work for escape just as it had for my entrance.
The culvert was dark and damp, smelling of stagnant water and rotting vegetation. Perfect.
