We Walk As Wolves

Chapter 15

Dells

Jesus, I don't have time for this.

Dells studied the bundle of ropes tying his hands and ankles together, trying to figure out where it ended and where it began. It twisted over his shoulders, ran across his stomach, tightened around his chest every time he took a breath.

Abandoning the tactic of trying to outsmart the trap, he started scooting toward the entrance on his back, inching through the tunnel like a goddamn earthworm. But with each scoot of his body, the rope seemed to tighten its grip and press him further into the floor, until he was wheezing for air.

It was a good trap. He hated admitting it, had actually refused to within the first five minutes of staring at it. He had, instead, told himself to shut up and get a grip, then wondered promptly if the savages had somehow drugged him. But as he slowed his breaths and reluctantly buckled the dusty collar and leash around the anger churning in his chest, he noted how they'd tracked him down, circling from different heights, the way they'd tied the net so it restricted by itself if any movement was detected, and he determined that it wasn't completely awful.

Not great, not spectacular. Just not awful. He could do better, of course.

He heaved out a sigh, loud enough he hoped the savages could hear, then craned his neck until he found the ties around his wrists. He rolled his shoulder, hissed as the rope tightened on his ribs until he saw stars, then tried to reach for the wooden pommel at the back of his shoulder with his teeth.

He snapped at it, a horse teased by the shiny red apple held just outside the window of its stall. He could feel the pommel against the ridges of his top teeth, but each time he shifted his head closer, his shoulder dropped and the wood slipped out. With a mouthful of swears, he braced a boot against the tunnel's wall, arched his back, and stretched his neck until he could feel veins popping below his jaw. The knife slipped further behind his shoulder blade.

He groaned and allowed his body a break. He wouldn't be very useful to Cass if the rope continued to tighten and ended up slicing him in half. His head thumped against the sooty floor, his muscles unhooking themselves like lodged anchors. Short breaths whistled through his teeth, trying not to aggravate the strangling rope further.

A quick escape wasn't essential. The savages weren't known for traveling fast, and he could find their village if he lost their trail. They had Cass, but he doubted they'd kill him. They were holding him for something and -

A voice buried itself into the walls of the tunnel. "Let's scram, boys. Wilder's waiting for him."

Well shit.

Dells ground his teeth, cursed out each savage, aloud, one by one, then wrenched his body to the side, against the taut rope, and knocked his shoulder out of its socket.

He slammed his heel into the wall, pain rocketing up to his ear. Without a sound, he twisted his neck and snagged onto the wooden handle with sharp teeth, wrestling the knife out of the leather strap. He untwisted his body, then puffed his cheeks and pushed at the end of the pommel with his tongue. It slipped from his lips and into his palm, settling between the crook in his thumb.

He tossed his wrist backward, and the blade caught on the rope around his stomach. With two quick rocks of his hand, the rope gave away, loosening around his ribs and untangling from his chest.

His wrists and ankles were still looped in rope, but it no longer restricted him, the ends just dangling on the ground like dirty entrails from the stomach of a half-slaughtered cow. He returned the knife to the strap lining his back, then twisted until he could roll himself onto his stomach. His ruined shoulder followed behind more slowly, as if it was no longer attached to the rest of his body.