Predator Code (Tales from Wildhearth #1)

Chapter 10 - Traps Don't Scare Me

The bag bumped heavily against her hip as she left the bar, a sick feeling settling in her stomach at the realisation that, in all likelihood, she'd never set foot in the place again. She'd never see Rapid again, either. For some reason, that only compounded the sense of hollowness yawning inside her. The albino might've been a sleazy, two-bit criminal, but he was a part of the life she now had to leave behind.

She loped through the growing crowds as the day slipped into late afternoon, the sun swooping past the top of its burning arc and lathering the rooftops with a honey glow. But she wasn't moving towards the tram-carrier station—not yet. True to her words to Rapid, Jett had every intention of leaving the district for a long time, but there were certain things she couldn't go without. The twenty-five thousand barkstamps she'd received upfront from the felkin sat squarely at the top of the list.

So she headed for the trade market, hoping to take advantage of the daylight hours to avoid any unwanted wolfkin attention. Jett wasn't the only person who skirted the bounds of the law in Palharr district, and the other citykin here didn't take kindly to the muscle of authority. The wolfkin couldn't just come in shooting. She knew they'd be watching her workshop in some fashion, but broad daylight would go some way to keeping her safe.

Or at least...safer.

The heft of the longclaw felt strangely comfortable, currently sheathed at the small of her back and concealed by her jacket, bumping gently just above her tail. Out-and-out violence wasn't normally her way, but right now, Jett felt a primeval urge to hurt someone, to make the murderers feel the pain she felt right now. Could she really do it? Could she just kill another kin in cold blood? Right now, she told herself, yes.

She tried not to dwell, moving through the familiar streets for what might well be the last time. When she reached the trade market, the place was perversely normal, just as it had been yesterday. Voices rattled the air and smells flooded the narrow avenues between bodies, no hint of the mayhem that Jett had been put through last night. Her sleep-lagged mind twisted with irrational anger, urging her to smash up the nearest stall, to start swinging the knife until every inch of this place felt the pain that she felt.

Pull yourself together!

Jett dug the claws of her free paw into her thigh, the pain focusing her mind. No one here had any culpability for what had happened to her. She just needed to get in, get her money, and get out. She did her best to avoid any stall-minders who might recognise her, not wanting to draw any undue attention right now as she stumbled her way through the throng. Step by step, breath by breath.

The familiar shovel-like structure of the workshop materialised as she cleared the crowds, a buoy of normal in the raging sea her life had turned into. Jett rolled her neck from side to side, easing away the stiffness that had set in there and veering away from the front entrance, knowing damn well that there would be wolfkin watching.

She smiled a hollow smile at the thought. They'd be watching the back entrance too—it's not as if she'd been subtle in her escape. Still, she figured it would be easier to get in that way, and if she were the wolfkin leader, she wouldn't be telling her minions to kill on sight anymore. No, she'd been at large for too long now. They'd want to know where she'd been and who she'd talked to. They would literally cut the information out of her if they caught her.

Sliding the longclaw from its sheath, Jett tucked the flat of the blade against her inner arm, the grip clamped in her paw, ready to carve up anyone who stood in her way. She'd never killed anyone before, but the cauldron of grief, anger, and exhaustion made her feel like today might well be the time to do it. She skittered around the flank of the workshop, eyes watching every nook and shadow for wolfkin, but if they were watching, they were keeping a low profile.