Trapped (The Condemned Series #1) - Alison Aimes Page 0,50

long snout as it prodded at something beneath one of the rocks, its tail twitching back and forth.

“It’s a pythile.”

Seemed like there might be more he needed to say. “Is it dangerous?”

“Yes. They move fast. Faster than we can run. And those teeth are not for show, though their usual method is to wrap round their food and squeeze it to death before tearing it apart.”

Maybe he’d been right to try and only offer its name. “Let’s head back down the path.” She kept her voice low. “It hasn’t noticed us yet.”

“Thanks to the wind. It’s kicking up and, thankfully, sending our scent downwind.” He started backwards, his gaze locked on the creature. “We’ll wait in a nearby cave on the ridge. We can ride out the night there if we have to. Won’t be luxurious, but we’ll live.”

She was all for that.

They’d backtracked several metrals when a low snarl at her back raised goose bumps on her arms. Behind her, less than a shuttle’s length away, was a tigos. Worse, unlike the snake-like creature, this predator’s gaze was locked on her.

Chapter Seventeen

Caine’s low curse snapped Bella into action.

“Go,” she pushed him toward home.

He snatched her arm, pulling him with her. “Stay close.” He was sprinting so fast her boots barely touched the ground. Another snarl sounded even closer, as loud as thunder.

“Don’t look back,” he shouted. “When I tell you to drop, do it.”

“What are you going to do?”

But he was already swiveling around. “Drop!” He pushed her down, bounding over her, spear raised.

Her heart slammed into her throat.

It had been terrifying the first time he’d taken on a tigos. Now that she cared for him, it was excruciating.

She held her breath, her feet frozen to the ground, her hands outstretched as if she could hold him to her. The space was so narrow there was no way he could use the same killing technique he’d employed before. And still, man and beast ran at each other head on.

She opened her mouth to cry out his name—and then snapped it shut. He couldn’t afford the distraction. His name emerged as a whispered plea instead. Her hands dropped to her side.

In the next instant, Caine stunned her by running up the side of the cliff in a gravity-defying acrobatic move that she would have sworn was next to impossible. He hovered for a second above the creature. Then, before gravity could win, launched himself forward—her cry strangling in her throat—before flipping in midair to land on the animal’s back, his legs locking around its thick neck.

On instinct, her eyes slammed shut. Then she forced them wide, not wanting to take her eyes off him for an instant. As if the force of her stare alone could keep him safe.

The creature reared back, trying to shake him off.

With a roar, Caine drove his spear into its neck, but the hide was tougher than its belly. Blood trickled from the wound, but it didn’t go down. Enraged, the creature swung its head, raking its fang down Caine’s leg.

Nausea burned the back of her throat. Streaks of crimson appeared all too vivid against Caine’s flesh.

“No.” Shaking off her stupor, she ran toward them, the gourd clutched in her hand. It wasn’t much, but if she aimed it just right, it might buy Caine a few critical seconds.

“Stay back,” he shouted, burying his spear in the tigos’ thick neck a second time.

She wouldn’t have listened, but another sound—one that couldn’t be ignored—had her swiveling around.

From the other direction, closing in fast, was the pythile, drawn by the scent of blood. Its body so wide it rubbed against both sides of the canyon path, its eyes glittering with hunger as it locked on the bleeding man and creature.

Her mouth went dry.

Caine was in trouble. Her, too.

Everything seemed to slow. The hammer of her heart against her ribs. The shallow rasp of her breath. Even the undulating slither of the pythile as it thundered toward her.

She knew what she had to do.

Leaping frantically at the canyon wall, she searched for a handhold. A crack. Anything she could use to heave herself up. Her nails ripped. Sharp points tore at the pads of her fingers. But thanks to Caine’s training, she’d grown tougher. Stronger. Her shoulder still might burn, the old ache from the crash suddenly coming back to haunt her, but it wasn’t enough to stop her. She kept searching.

Almost screaming with relief when her fingers found a crevice and she pulled herself upward. Her feet