Trapped (The Condemned Series #1) - Alison Aimes Page 0,51

pedaled furiously against the rock wall as she reached for another handhold. And another. And another. Refusing to look down, refusing to contemplate failure.

Until the snake-like beast streaked passed, a rush of wind against her calves, not even giving her perch a second look. Success!

The second it was past, she let go. Exactly as planned.

Only instead of landing gracefully on her feet, she scraped along the wall as she went down, each sharp rock taking its pound of flesh, crash landing on one foot while the other buckled. An agonizing pain shot through her ankle.

“No! What are you doing?” roared Caine. “Get back up there.”

She really wished he’d worry for himself.

Hopping on her one good leg, she dug for the gourd in her pocket, took a deep breath to steady herself, and hurled it as hard as she could at the pythile’s retreating form.

The gourd pinged against the creature’s hide. But there was no sound. No gash. Not even a damn scrape. Turn, you bastard, turn!

As if hearing her prayers, the animal swung its head around. Its nostrils twitching, keen to determine if what had happened signaled a threat.

Wasting no time, she pulled the reflective arrowhead from her pocket. She only had seconds before the pythile lost interest and continued following the scent of blood straight to Caine.

Hands shaking, she tilted the mineral this way and that, muttering to herself until—thankfully—it worked. The sun glinted off the mineral, shining right into the creature’s slitted eyes.

It hissed and shook its head, a forked tongue the length of a human leg flickering out.

“That’s right, big guy.” Voice trembling, she shook the mineral back and forth as she limped backward up the trail. “Don’t you want to follow me? Don’t you want to know what this is?”

Hissing, flicking its tongue, the pythile rippled after her. Its narrow red eyes blinked rapidly as it tried to dodge the light.

Below her on the path, she could hear Caine shouting, but she couldn’t hear what. She had every confidence, though, that with the pythile out of his way, he’d be able to finish off the tigos in no time flat. In fact, she was counting on it.

She’d gone a good twenty steps when she realized her distraction tactic was coming to an end.

The hair at the back of her neck prickled. The pythile was growing bored. Or maybe it had simply adjusted to the light. Whatever the case, its pupils, which had been big and wide at the start, had narrowed to pinpricks, making its eyes an even creepier red. At the same time, its tail twitched faster and faster.

She didn’t have to be a pythile expert to conclude it was shifting back into hunt mode.

With a shout, she took off running, her ankle protesting with every frantic stride. Sweat dripped down the curve of her back. Stung her eyes. Still, she didn’t stop. And she didn’t look back.

The cave was a shining beacon of hope less than fifty paces away.

Caine had another spear placed right inside the door. If she could get it, there was a chance she could stab the beast and help Caine. Or she would die fighting.

Either way, she wanted the chance to try.

The ground shook beneath her boots, proof the pythile was closing the gap.

And then it was so close its warm breath blasted against her back. So close its wild, feral stench flooded her lungs.

Her hands curled into fists. Her eyes sank closed. She wasn’t going to make it. All her plans….Caine….Her throat grew tight.

Then suddenly, the pythile shrieked.

Bella flinched, her head swiveling around. In the settling dust, Caine loomed right behind, his expression fierce as he struck the pythile’s tail over and over while the creature writhed in pain.

“Go,” he urged. “Get inside. Barricade the door.”

On autopilot, she scrambled forward. Her side screaming at her, her ankle a constant pain. It seemed to take a million hours to cover the last leg to the cave.

Then, thankfully, she was wrenching open the door, her gaze searching frantically in the dark for the spear.

Her hand closed over smooth wood. Relief slammed through her. Just hold on one more minute, Caine.

She turned to run outside.

Only to crash into an immoveable object.

Caine. He stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his beautiful body covered in scratches and blood. But he was alive.

Her spear clattered to the ground.

“Thank God. You did it. You saved us both.” She stared up at him, too exhausted to move, too relieved to do anything but shoot him a