Checkmate

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

 

Blows swing to me.  Arms tangle in mine, struggling to hold me back.  It’s a battle of strength and cunning as much as a scuffle.  In their eyes, I am a ravaging beast, held back from the dead body lying motionless on the steps.  In my eyes, they are the devils keeping me from Gay. 

Tears blur my eyesight.  The lack of clarified vision occasionally sends my fists astray, but each time my knuckles make contact with male flesh, it caves around me.  Barbed nails sink into flesh, warm liquid pooling beneath the ragged ledges.  The braid that binds my hair slaps against their faces when I whip my head around.  I can come with no explanation for the snarl-laced screams ruling the air other than that are issued from my lips. 

I swing my leg up, slamming it between one man’s legs.  My foot collides heavily what with his manhood, sole of my boot brutal to the soft flesh.  He crumples pathetically, hands flying to his groin.  An opening is created in the grapple, the space between a burly officer and a wiry one. 

A hand closes around my forearm, and another grabs at the braid I’d been using as a whip only moments before.  Yanking back cruelly, the man drags me back by my plait.  Pain sears my scalp as my hairs are bitterly hauled backwards.  A different sort of scream leaves my mouth, but even the cry of fallacious pain is tainted with hatred.  Such a facile attack is low, but his actions only prompt lower from me. 

My head whips about, wind stinging my eyes.  I sink my teeth into the first thing they come in contact with – the man’s forearm.  Sour heat invades my mouth, wet over my tongue.  Blood laps at my gums.  The tendons in my nape strain and I rip backwards without releasing my grip, and his jiggling flesh comes loose in my mouth.  I am not the sole one screaming, and the hand around my hair vanishes. 

Humanity has a natural aversion of the flesh of another being.  Swallowing my own repulsion, I swing the meaty chunk around, flinging it as best I can in the direction of the man with a hold on my arm.  I do not know how close I am to smiting him in the face as I’d planned, but I do know that his grip around my arm loosens and then slips away. 

Seizing the opportunity, I escape from the inextricable lock of limbs and dash towards Gay.  Blood makes the tiles slick.  The lump in my throat is irritating and the tears fringing my eyelashes are hindering.  The strangled choke that rasps from my lips might’ve been his name as I draw closer. 

Out of the blue, something jars my dash.  Two adamant arms slam around me, pinning my limbs to my sides.  The muscles flexing in the thick arms practically lift me from the ground, nulling my greatest asset: the use of my powerful legs.  A rabid snarl thunders from the pit of my chest, gnarled and bitter. 

The figure is undoubtedly male.  He holds me against him, keeping my arms carefully useless and avoiding the skeletal snap of my teeth gnawing at the air.  The concave of his stomach curving into his pectorals is a convenient place for him to dismantle me.  Making mental note of my current vulnerability, my raging instincts drive me to slam the barbed tip of my elbow into the man’s firm stomach. 

The gasp for breath is alarmingly familiar.  My primal brain scatters, clutching the thought and inspecting it with confusion.  Rigid tension claims my limbs.  Only feet away from the still body leaking blood onto the morning dirt, and yet I have paused, frozen by the man gripping me. 

“Omega!” wheezes the Prince in my ear.  His voice is shocked, latent empathy not found in the breathy tone.  “What is wrong – oh.” 

I can feel the attention of Nathiel shift, locking onto the still body of Gay.  His muscles freeze, motionless as a panther before it lethally pounces.  The rasp of a sob throbbing in my throat seems to jar him back to reality.