The first scavenger breaks from the treeline before I'm ready. Five feet of low-slung predator, scales shimmering sickly green, mouth open to show serrated teeth. The sound it makes splits the difference between a hiss and a scream.
Three more emerge behind it. Then two flanking.
Six total. Circling.
"Hold." Horgox's voice is flat, calm, the voice of someone who has faced worse and survived it. "Let them commit first."
The largest lunges. Straight at me, not him, because I'm the smaller target, the weaker link, the obvious prey.
The torch arcs across its snout. Molecular edge meets scale and flesh, and the scavenger shrieks, smoking, stumbling back. The others hesitate.
"Again. Show them."
A second comes from my left. Horgox is already there, intercepting with a speed that doesn't match his size, redirecting the thing's momentum into a tree trunk with a crack that echoes through the clearing. It doesn't get up.
"Back to back."
My spine finds his. Solid, hot, vibrating with a low frequency I feel in my teeth. Our breathing syncs without discussion, and the part of my brain that isn't terrified notes how naturally mybody reads his, how my movements adjust to his rhythm the way circuits align when the wiring's right.
A third darts for the gap between us. My torch cuts low while Horgox strikes high. The combination drops it.
Three down. Three circling, reassessing.
The pack leader, scarred and calculating, takes a step forward. Testing.
Horgox makes a sound.
Not a word, not a growl. Something deeper, something that bypasses my ears and lands directly in my bones. Low, resonant, harmonic, carrying frequencies that make my vision blur and my hindbrain flood with the pure animal conviction that I am standing next to the most dangerous thing in this jungle and nothing, nothing should challenge it.
The scavenger freezes. Scales flatten. Belly drops.
Then Horgox speaks. Not English, not any language I recognise. Guttural, commanding, layered with those same bone-deep harmonics. The words don't need translation. The meaning is in the frequency:territory claimed, threat absolute, leave or die.
The pack leader backs away. Slowly, deliberately, belly to the ground. The other two follow.
Silence settles over the clearing. My pulse is pounding so hard I can taste it.
"What—" My voice comes out scraped. "What was that?"
"Varkaani." He's scanning the treeline, making sure they're gone. "Predator dialect. Infrasonic frequencies that most species recognise as a dominant threat display." A pause. "One of the reasons ApexCorp found my species useful. Intimidation was part of the… entertainment value."
The way he saysentertainment. Like the word has a taste, and the taste is blood.
"It's terrifying," I say. Then, because my mouth has never once consulted my brain before speaking: "And unfairly attractive. For the record."
The silence that follows is a different kind of charged.
"We should keep—" I start, stepping back, needing distance before I say something worse.
My boot catches on a root hidden under the scavenger's body. The ankle that was already protesting the four-hour hike turns under my full weight, and the ground comes up fast.
Horgox catches me. One arm around my waist, the other bracing my shoulder, but my momentum carries us both off balance. He twists as we fall, taking the impact across his back so I land on his chest instead of the stone-scattered ground.
"Your ankle." Already assessing, hands finding the joint through my boot. Professional, clinical, the same efficient evaluation he applies to every tactical problem. "You've strained it. Weight off. Now."
"It's fine—"
"It's not fine. Injuries compound. Push through this and by the canyon you won't be able to walk." He's unlacing my boot before I've agreed to anything, fingers precise and careful despite their size. When he probes the swelling, I hiss. "Tender. Not a full sprain. You need to rest it."
