this isn’t the time for hand-holding. You need to head to the largest cliff.” He gestured toward the highest set of towering jagged rocks. If she’d been resourceful enough to cover herself, he was confident she could make her way to the hideout while he searched for Ryker. “There’s a cave at the bottom. Hide there. My teammate and I will come for you.”
Not even a grunt of acknowledgment.
If not for the heavy rush of breath beneath the pelt, he might have been talking to a fur coat.
The helpless ones were always the worst.
“I don’t have time for this.” Old memories roughened his voice, cracking his façade. “You can’t stay here.” He reached for her, intending to give her a nudge in the right direction.
The ball of fluff and fur exploded, a small hand wrapping around his forearm as small, sharp needles sank into his flesh.
No, not needles. Teeth. She was biting the shit out of his wrist—with what felt like little fangs.
Had he been wrong about her being human?
He swung his arm upward, shaking his forearm in an attempt to throw her off. “I am not the threat.”
She clamped on tighter, a tiny furry body wriggling like a fish on the line, her fur boots kicking in the air as she left the ground. The hood covering her face still in place as she bit him through a small slit that served as a mouth hole.
Dropping his weapon, he grabbed for her with his other hand, intent on flinging her from him—and got his second surprise.
His palm didn’t close around fuzz. Instead, it gripped soft skin. Something lush, warm and more than a handful. The pebbled point of a nipple poked hard against his calloused palm. Definitely human. Definitely female.
His cock twitched.
She screeched.
A move which, for better or worse, unlocked her jaw—and sent her dropping to the ground, stumbling back as she tried to stay upright.
Not exactly how he’d planned it, but mission accomplished.
“Calm the fuck down.” So much for Mr. Nice guy. Wrist stinging, palm tingling, he noted the trail of blood snaking from wrist to elbow and the definite puncture wounds.
What in the hells was she?
She flinched as if expecting a blow.
The stomp of boots sent him spinning around.
Three gang members barreled toward him, their axes and shovels raised. At least four more hurried behind in a second wave of attack. One of whom was the giant with the bushy eyebrows. His face purple with rage.
Now, this Grif could handle. Bad guys. Violence. Aggression. The simple purity of combat without any mess of emotions was where he did his best work.
“Run!” He raised his ax while uncoiling his rope in the other hand.
Something tapped the back of his head.
A shock of electricity slammed through him.
Ears ringing, hands twitching, he stumbled forward, his body no longer under his command.
He fought to think through the haze. Except for the rare blaster, all the weapons on Dragath25 were primitive and old-school. So what the fuck was that?
Blinking hard, he shook off disorientation. Only to be rocked by another brutal surge.
His head wrenched sideways. His body twitched like a busted engine wire. He willed his hands to rise. They didn’t.
His attackers reached him.
The giant’s punch hammered his chin. Another male’s boot connected with his knee.
Grif jerked his ax upward, finally regaining some control, but it was too little, too late.
A pipe swooped up and under his jaw, lifting his body upright. Agony streaked down his spine. He lost his balance and ate dirt as his cheek slammed into the hard ground. Heavy boots came at him from all sides, pummeling his ribs, his spine, his kidneys.
He tried to see if the covered female made it away at least, but the gang members obscured his view.
He rolled onto his back and kicked out. One of his attackers crashed to the ground. He might be going down, but he was taking as many with him as he could.
Blood and dirt caked his tongue, the taste of failure, the taste of his youth. One of his eyes no longer worked quite right. Same with one arm. Downed bodies piled up around him. He punched out with his one good arm and his boots, but they were like fucking locusts. More bodies, more fists, more heavy heels, their shrieks of bloodlust mixing with the stirred-up dust to paint everything red.
Through the thrashing legs of his attackers, he finally caught sight of the cloaked female. As he’d feared, she was still frozen, standing where he’d last