Saved and Savaged

Chapter 4 - Gric

"Quit playing, Gric. Make it quick."

Steil's interruption pulls a snarl from me, but I shrug and punch the driver again, his moan and slight shift engaging my alpha instincts.

"Ah, well, I guess their entertainment value has decreased significantly. Suppose they taste good?"

The two men in the back seat, who both leak copious amounts of crimson, freeze in terror.

My roar of laughter makes them urinate all over themselves.

Steil's arm darts into view, slicing the lacerated male's throat faster than the blink of an eye. I snarl at the audacity and yank two knives free of my belt. With one in each hand, I jab both backseat men in the same motion, burying the blades high into their chests, just under their collarbones, and severing the connection between their hearts and the rest of their bodies.

Their faces lose all emotion. Within two seconds they die, their deaths nowhere near clean, but quicker than I would have preferred.

I extract my knives with a vicious tug before repeating the movement on the driver, wishing I could gouge him with my horns instead.

Climbing out of the destroyed vehicle, I roll my eyes at Steil's fierce expression and retrieve the chair containing the last male. He dies in his sleep before I jam the seat back into the transporter.

"Happy now?"

"Not in the slightest. Light it."

Grumpy gator stomps off toward our vehicle, his tail leaving an indent in the sand before the wind blows it away.

I pull a tiny round disc from the back of my belt and slap it to the side of the engine compartment before jogging up the dune. As I grab the handhold on the back of our vehicle, the driver hits the gas and heads down the other side of the dune before pointing the nose of the craft north.

We'll travel a few more hours until we hit the mountains, then we'll turn east and make a big loop and meander our way back to base, covering our tracks in case any scouts escaped our notice.

Big black plumes of smoke rise behind us, my recent kills catching fire and warning any lingering ISC of our skills.

I shift my grip and place my foot inside the transporter, intending to duck in and prepare to suffer for a few hours, but my tail tingles and horns itch, something dark writhing to life in my soul.

No. I'm not meant to be here. My eyes dart to the west, the setting sun almost making me turn away, but my heart clamors and demands I look harder.

My body moves before I register the motions, hot air brushing against my face as I launch off the transporter. Faster than I've pushed myself in years, I dart through the dunes, rage and bloodlust snapping to inconceivable heights as I near the two vehicles driving atop the tallest hill.

My teammates trail behind me on foot while our transporter struggles to follow, the communicator blasting sound into my ear, but I don't hear it. One goal stretches before me: reach the first vehicle in this two-car caravan.

I ram against the driver's door full force with my shoulder, denting the reinforced metal and changing the vehicle's path. As it dips downhill, I grab the roof and wedge the toes of my boots onto the ledge under the door and swing my arm. The glass shatters before bone crunches in my grasp, the man behind the wheel dying a gruesome, gurgling death. Thrusting my gore-filled hand deeper into the vehicle, I release the carcass, flinging it at the passenger and roaring in both satisfaction and fury when the coward snaps open his door and pushes himself out.

With no one else to take my rage out on, I rip the door from its hinges and toss it away before slamming my foot down on the brake. My horn pierces the low ceiling during the jostling, but when the vehicle slides to a stop at the bottom of the hill, I jerk my head free and stomp to the back bumper.

Snapping the handle off the rear hatch in my fury, I punch the center of the wide door until it caves inward and loses its connection with the frame of the transporter. Digging my fingers into the gaps, I wrench the scrap of metal loose and hurl it into the desert.

Terrified eyes peer at me, the sunset reflecting orange light off horrified faces as they huddle together in shock.

Females. Tiny, fragile omegas.

Locked in the back of a transporter like cattle on the way to slaughter.

A beacon in the darkness. My gaze lands on fierce light brown irises.

"Mine."

The word bounces off the walls, making the females within cringe as though hit, and even with my chest vibrating from the sound, my mind insists I cannot have been the one to speak. The voice sounds nothing like my own, too thick with desperation and deep with desire.

I step into the cramped space and lean toward my target, intending to snatch up the exotic creature with dark flesh and midnight hair.

Her scent invades my nostrils, sending streaks of lust and power into my veins, the raw perfume of sweet omega too tempting to ignore.

A youngling clutches her midsection, but my intended target hasn't lived enough years to have mothered a child of that age, so it didn't come from her womb. As my hand nears the human, her lush lips tighten and eyes harden.

She pushes the younger woman behind her and turns her body to face mine, revealing her swollen cheek and bleeding lip.

"No."

A red haze covers my vision, her denial of my advances snapping what little control I have over my instincts.

"Yes. Mine."