PRETA
Even the space squirrels have gone quiet as we wait to see what's snapping twigs and crushing leaves.
Other humans materialize from the trees.
Somehow, it's no less threatening to be hunted by people than it is creatures. With the creatures, at least it's not personal. "Any chance these guards are your friends?"
"Negative."
"The boss-guards weren't your friends, the asshole-guard wasn't your friend, the hur-hur 'I'll take her to solitary' guard wasn't your friend. Stars above, man—did you have any friends?"
He spares me a look.
"Oh."
He turns his attention back to the group advancing on us.
"I can't feel it," I whisper.
"Can't feel what?" His fingers sweep down my back, reaching into the pocket of my suit for the handgun tucked there. Quickly, I snake my hand around his hips, and go for the gun in his holster. From this distance, it must look enough like we're hugging, because nobody shoots us for moving.
"I don't have my super powers," I explain, and one of the assholes in front of us is close enough to hear me, and he laughs—a short, surprised sound that seems magnified in the clearing's quiet. Guess he thinks I've gone crazy. I risk a haughty look at Drogan. Seems that's going around.
He rolls his eyes at me before we both swing our gazes back to the guy who laughed. This dude could almost be forgiven for thinking that an inmate that survives the Concord Treatment is going to be screwed up, but he's not a good guy, so who's going to be in a forgiving mood? Judging by the way he and his friends are eyeing us, we sure as heck won't be.
"I don't care if a bitch is crazy in the head, it don't change her snatch," the chuckler informs us.
His standards are charming. Truly.
"Preta," Drogan says, and in his tone I hear both warning, and regret, and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. "I'm sorry."
I do not like the way he says this.
"Do you see the antlers on these stags?"
Just like that, my wiring is back online. The group in front of us pauses, confusion plain on their faces as they glance around, looking for said stags.
I take out three in rapid succession, Drogan takes out another, and as if we choreographed it, we swing to fire on the last two. The sound of strikers hitting nothing but chamber is about as terrifying as it can get when the opposition has you, quite literally, in their sights. We could have cleared this field by now if we'd had the bullets.
A bellow of terrifying proportions splits the air. It's different from the shrieker call, this one so deep the ground under our feet shakes, and it makes everyone hesitate.
I whip my now-useless handgun at them.
I was never good at throwing—well, not good at aiming either, really, but it strikes my target smack in the forehead and he goes down.
But it's too little, too late. The last man aims, just before something rushes him from the trees.
Drogan's already leaping to tackle me, twisting us, and I think his plan was for him not to land on me. On account of a bullet grazing his leg, he isn't able to execute it as smoothly as he planned. I end up under him, and he is heavy. I didn't know I should have counted myself lucky we always banged against a wall—this brute is crushing me. My face smashes into a rock, making my eyes water and my nose bleed.
When his body lifts off of me with a pained shout, I roll over, my hand going to my nose now that his weight isn't pinning my limbs in place, and I ask, "Are you okay..."
I hadn't been sure what was attacking the last shooter, and with Drogan going full bodyguard on me, I hadn't had the millisecond to worry about it yet.
That millisecond opening is happening right now.
Suspended above me is Drogan, and he's being held aloft by a very alive dragon-tree. Twisting branches, clinging plant life, and now I see the eyes; how did we miss these before? They project light like they've got halogen lamps in their sockets. But the surface is shiny and glistens like a normal eye. A living tree-creature.
Movement has me panning my gaze around to see that there are three of them.
One of them holds his foot—his hand?—up in front of me, spreading his claws. I scramble to my feet, my mind a jumble of useless commands in this instance. There is no protocol for this.
I don't see the tree-dragon's other hand until it scoops me up from behind.
YOU ARE READING
Alluvial. Valos of Sonhadra Book 1
Фэнтези.Someone's using me as leverage against my family. I was your average citizen, innocent of any crime worth going to prison for, and yet here I am. But this isn't a regular prison ship. *Torture.* Experiments. They alter me. And when the ship crashes...
