Captive - Cheryl Brooks Page 0,9

out in attack formation with their rifles at the ready.

Were they hunting him or one who had posed enough of a threat to their kind that a reward would be offered for her capture?

She would just have to take care of herself. Her continued survival was her business, after all, and she’d done well enough so far. But outnumbered three to one?

Maybe not.

Moe found himself on the horns of a dilemma. If he took a detour around the Nedwut pack, he was pretty much guaranteed to elude his captor for good. On the other hand, could he, in good conscience, leave Trag’s daughter to face the Nedwuts alone? Especially since, given the tightly knit Zetithian community, she would have been more like a cousin to him than a mere acquaintance if things had gone differently.

Except she wasn’t alone. She had her gang, and she’d already admitted to eliminating a large number of similar adversaries. Still, he should at least warn her—shout a warning from the rooftop of one of these rickety buildings or something of that nature.

Then again, Nedwuts probably had a bone to pick with any of the surviving Zetithians. The bounty paid on male Zetithians had to have made enough of them rich for them to keep at it with such dogged persistence. Trag had killed the golden goose paying that bounty. How much hatred would they feel for him and any of his offspring?

Moe didn’t owe her a damn thing. She’d been responsible for his capture and had shown no remorse for having done so. None.

His feet were moving before he was even aware of having made a decision. Circling the building, he was already on a heading that would take him away from all of them.

Let them fight it out among themselves.

Unless the Nedwuts weren’t after her. For all he knew, they could be after him.

He needed a better vantage point. His kidnapper’s lair had been on lower ground than his current position. Unfortunately, the buildings were too close together for him to see much beyond the immediate vicinity.

Turning left, he picked his way through an alley filled with even more trash and rubble than the main streets. Sickly looking vines had made a feeble attempt to smother the foul-smelling piles of refuse, but whatever was in those piles was apparently toxic enough to stunt the growth of even the hardiest plant life.

Another left turn brought him abreast of the Nedwut pack just as they stopped in the middle of the dusty street. Moe darted behind a pile of rotten timbers and held his breath.

“I smell a trap,” the largest of the group said.

The apparent leader swaggered forward and snarled. “What you smell is the scent of that Zetithian bitch, Gehrad. Soon we will have her and enough credits to never have to set foot on this stinking world again.”

“This is her turf, Botwan.” the one called Gehrad insisted. “She knows it far better than we, and we know what she can do when cornered.”

Another of the beasts spat in the dirt. “She cannot take on all of us. Someone will survive to claim the bounty on her murderous hide.”

“Are the rest of us are to be sacrificed?” Gehrad demanded. “I would rather be poor than dead.”

Moe winced as a breath of air stole across his cheek. In circling around, he’d placed himself upwind of the pack.

Twelve heads went up, their canine noses sniffing the air.

“A male Zetithian,” Botwan whispered. “Time was, a scent like that meant instant wealth.”

Gehrad snorted. “Those days are long past. We’re hunting a female now. Or can’t you tell the difference?”

“Of course I can,” Botwan shot back. He eyed his compatriots with disdain. “Unlike you fools who only claim to be hunters.”

Gehrad howled with derisive laughter. “Who’s the fool? You or us? But with a male Zetithian nearby, I smell a trap now more than ever.”

Moe thought they were all fools. At a time when silence and stealth were essential to the success of their quest, they were arguing in the middle of the street in a very quiet, albeit virtually deserted, section of the city. If he’d been a little closer, he could’ve taken them out with a wide stun beam. Unfortunately, his hearing had a better range than his pistol.

She would be able to hear them too. They should’ve known that. Unless this was a ploy to draw her out, which Moe doubted. Nedwuts might be vicious and cunning, but he had never heard them referred to as geniuses.

Never