fingered the rope at his hip, excitement humming beneath his skin. The first sensation besides rage he’d felt in a long time.
She was in his pit. Finally.
He’d been waiting for this moment since he and the others broke out of 223’s camp. He’d scoured the area, tracked down every potential lead, blistered his hands digging a hundred pits, and put up with a lot of worried looks from his teammate. It was all finally worth it.
It had taken longer than expected, but he’d run his prey to ground.
He gave the longer cable he’d attached to a nearby boulder a sharp tug. No give. Perfect.
Launching himself over the edge, he landed in a crouch by his quarry’s side. The line pulled tight against his knuckles, the extra length pooling in an S-shape by his boots.
The shapeless pelt that covered every inch of her was filthier and more ragged than before, but it was still as memorable as ever. No sign of the glowing spear, but he knew it was here somewhere.
He’d find it, deal with it, and eradicate the threat. Like always.
His orders were simple: interrogate the target, extract the intel, and put the hostile down. Clear. Straightforward. Uncomplicated. Just the way Grif liked his lines.
And, yes, this time there was a personal component to the mission. A little personal revenge and redemption added to the mix, but he wouldn’t let it get in his way.
He intended to prove to his commander that he was the right choice to take over as second-in-command.
He knew the chance of finding the missing females alive was grim at this point, but dead or alive, he was bringing them home.
Scanning for the weapon, he stalked closer, stepping over a pair of dirty small fur slippers, the ripped foil that had held the drugged food crinkling under his boot.
His captive didn’t even flinch. No surprise. It wouldn’t take much to knock out so small a predator and she had to have been starving.
Once he’d rediscovered her tracks, he’d stolen the prey from every trap he’d found. Then he dug up all the root and plant sources in the area. He’d tightened the noose until the hostile had no choice but to forage exactly where he wanted her to go. He’d made sure his pits, covered in debris and nearly impossible to see after dusk, were primed and ready.
Rubbing away the dirt on his right wrist, he traced the wound from their last run-in with his fingertips. A perfect human bite mark—except for the two small fang-like incisors. Thirty-two dents. Thirty-two savage red marks. Thirty-two reasons for revenge.
Payback was finally coming due.
He crouched down, hand outstretched to shove the covering aside. His stomach gave a little kick. After so much time picturing what was under that pelt, he was more than ready to see the bitch’s face.
Images of a hairy, hideous demon with fangs and fury tits had woken him up more than a few nights.
His fingers gripped the fur.
Without warning, his prey bolted upright, the hood slipping from her face and bringing them nose to nose.
He stilled. Everything shifted.
Of all the countenances he’d imagined, he would never have predicted this one.
Iridescent cobalt blue eyes fringed by thick, dark lashes flashed in a feline-like face caked in mud and grime. Her features were delicate and fine-boned, her wide eyes almost too big for her face, her hair a wild mane of tangled chocolate-colored strands mixed with tawny stripes.
Far from demonic and hideous, her nose was small and upturned with three faint ridges near the bridge and pointed ears that only enhanced that feline look. Humanoid, for sure, but not like any New Earther he’d ever seen before. She was young, gorgeous, and exotically other. Fucking pixie-like in appearance, except for that cupid-bowed, carnal mouth.
His dick stirred in interest.
In the next heartbeat, those lips stretched wide—revealing two tiny sharp incisors—no bigger than his teeth, but a hell of a lot pointier.
How the fuck had he forgotten those?
A piercing screech rent the air.
Something hard and thin—and oh-so-familiar—slammed toward his temple.
Except he was ready for her ambush this time. Ducking to avoid the spear tip, he seized the handle and wrenched it from her grasp. No damn way was he being brought low by the same weapon twice.
What he didn’t expect was the simultaneous strike from the other direction.
Fuck him, Furball was resourceful.
Thankfully, there was no energy surge this time. But the strike did carry the force of a regular punch. He rocked sideways.
His not-so-drugged quarry took immediate advantage.