Predator Code (Tales from Wildhearth #1)

Chapter 09 - Remember the Day You Created a Monster

Jett's heart slammed into her mouth as she hurled herself from the window, reaching out with both paws to catch the top of the metal perimeter fence as it came rushing up to meet her. She screamed as the barbs gashed her paws, but she clung on in desperation, ignoring the warm trickles of blood that spilled over her wrists. With a throat-rending shriek of exertion, she heaved herself up and over the top of the fence.

An arm bow bolt snapped off the metal just as she plummeted to the street. Despite the pain and the panic, she kept her senses, letting her legs fold beneath her to absorb the impact and tumbling into a roll.

She let out a yelp as her ankle twisted, but she surged upright nonetheless, sheer desperation helping her power through the pain. Startled citykin parted around her as she exploded to her feet and darted across the road, plunging into the refuge of a narrow side alley.

Stumbling along and gasping for breath, Jett didn't stop moving for several minutes, twisting and turning through every back street she could think of to make sure neither the wolfkin enforcers nor vulkin guards would be able to easily trace her steps. Eventually, she had to catch her breath, slumping against the nearest building wall and digging her paws into her hair as she tried to think.

The authorities couldn't help here—she knew that much. Fangs only knew what mess she might just have landed Bronco in with her escape, but she couldn't worry about that now. Whatever she would be doing, she would be colouring well outside the lines. Jett steadied her breathing, clenching her paws into tight fists to try and staunch the bleeding as she thought of her next move.

With unease twisting in her stomach, she realised there was only one person that could realistically help her now. Wincing, she set off in the direction of the nearest entertainment hub. Her ankle screamed in protest with every step, and her paws ached, slashed up by the upper section of the fence, but she did her best to look calm as she traversed the back alleys. She zig-zagged diagonally away from the lawhouse to the north.

Casting a glance over her shoulder to make sure none of the wolfkin or vulkin had tailed her, Jett forced herself to walk at an even pace, bringing her breathing back to normal levels and falling into step with the other citykin as she stepped out onto another street, a broader one thronging with citykin in the daylight hours. Lowering her head, she trudged on, bloody paws in her pockets and fury beginning to simmer in her heart.

Passing three spiralling clumps of residential dens, she emerged into a more open bowl-like clearing in the district, its rim studded with bars, restaurants, and a variety of shops selling expensive delicacies, clothes, and a much more legal array of tech gear.

At the far side of the bowl, nestled amid a cluster of other squat semi-underground buildings, stood a bar with a wonky sign over its door. Crimson letters laid down in thick paint spelled out the name: Tall Tails. A place where Jett had spent a lot of her leisure time, it stood there like a beacon, calling her back to normality.

But normal was long gone. The wolfkin had seen to that. She visited this establishment for a lot more than a stiff drink, and now it was time to cash in the favours she'd built up over the years. Rubbing her eyes and smoothing down the tangled mass of her headfur, Jett took a deep breath and shoved the heavy iron door open.

The noise of the bar came tumbling out over Jett as though she'd just opened a cupboard with too many things stacked inside it. Aromatic smoke engulfed her as she stepped across the threshold, thick coils of it winding through the air, caught by lurid prisms of red, green, and gold light. The sharp scent of citrus beer filled her aching chest with nostalgia—she and Tyr had enjoyed plenty of wild nights in this establishment.

Not anymore, though. The rage snarled in her chest at the thought. Steadying herself, Jett put on a facade of easy calm, not wanting to draw too much undue attention to the regular clientele. Most of them were borderline criminals like her; no need to set them all on edge.