by Kyla Stone
But she saw the way he clenched his gun, the tenseness of his shoulders, the way his body was coiled, ready to spring, as alert as any predator. His eyes weren’t dull and dead now; they were blazing with bloodlust.
Luna’s heartbreaking, mournful howls echoed from the direction of the tiger house. The Headhunters must have locked her in Vlad’s chamber.
Raven couldn’t wait any longer, even though it wasn’t dark yet. The Headhunters would finish eating and drinking soon. Then they’d be in the mood for hunting, for killing. They’d butcher Luna; then they’d come for her.
She traced the perimeter fence line back to the maintenance shed. Slipping inside, she strained her ears for any change in the noise coming from the picnic area. She fumbled for a lighter from the dusty top shelf, stuffed it in her cargo pocket, and wiped her grimy fingers on her pants. She grabbed the two containers of gasoline and backed out of the shed.
She ignored the meat house and made her way to the food storage building. The stench of rotting fruit burned her nostrils. She drenched the weathered wooden siding in gasoline, then peeked in the single window to make sure no one was inside before entering.
She drenched the pallets and shelves, the bags and boxes and containers full of precious, life-sustaining food. Food that could feed her for over a year. Food the Headhunters desperately wanted.
The sickening, oily stench of the gas was nearly overwhelming. A wave of dizziness flushed through her. She fought it off.
Raven backed out, splashing a trail with the last of the gasoline. She tossed the container aside and pulled the lighter out of her pocket.
Twilight was falling now, the sky rapidly darkening to indigo. Bats whirled and darted above the treeline. The first stars winked to life. The wind had picked up, carrying with it the tang of ozone. Storm clouds glowered thick and low over the horizon.
In a couple of hours, the rain would come. The storm would ensure the fire didn’t spread further than it needed to.
She didn’t hesitate. She lit the lighter, dropped it to the saturated grass, and leaped back.
The flames whooshed to life.
The fire raced inside, licking the walls hungrily. Almost instantly, it flared into a blaze, consuming the old wood, eating through the boards like twigs, burning through the gas-soaked interior with a startling fury.
Heat seared her face. Her eyes watered. She blinked and coughed, smoke already worming into her throat.
The air went blurry, a crackling and popping filling the air. Wood splintered and heaved. An acrid stench stung her nostrils, her eyes. The air shimmered with heat, gray with ash.
The flames surged up the dry wood, first a crackle. Fire leapt at the sky, bathing everything in a flickering orange light.
Within moments, black smoke rose in a billowing column. A signal, a warning.
Panicked shouts rose over the crackling roar.
Time to go.
36
Her heart in her throat, Raven clambered over the wrought-iron fence again and raced around the perimeter of the park, this time along the shorter side—bypassing the lodge, the restaurant, the souvenir shop, entrance and parking lot, always keeping a fringe of trees between herself and the Headhunters.
The Headhunters yelled and shouted as they ran for the blazing building, smoke spiraling into the dark sky, blotting out the stars. Their ruckus hid her own noise as she rounded the rear of the tiger enclosure, climbed over the perimeter fence, and sprinted through the overgrown grass to the tiger house.
Scenting her, Luna’s whimpers and moans grew louder.
“I’m coming,” Raven said. “I’m here.”
The service door hung open. Raven ran inside and collapsed to her knees beside the mesh gate. Luna lay on her side, unable to rise due to the knotted ropes binding her legs. Other than the rope shackles, she seemed unharmed. She raised her head and pressed her nose against the mesh, whimpering frantically.
“I’m getting you out, I promise.” Raven slapped the button to raise the sliding gate as she pulled her whittling knife from her pocket and flicked it open. Luna writhed on the cement floor, so agitated that Raven had difficulty cutting the rope without accidentally hurting the wolf.
“Hold still!” she hissed.
Luna snapped. Her jaws closed inches from Raven’s wrist. Adrenaline shot through her veins. But she held her ground.
“No,” Raven growled, meeting her gaze and holding it.
Luna was scared and confused. She was the alpha; she’d never needed to be submissive a day of her adult life.
“Let me help you,” she said firmly.
They stared at each other for a moment—Luna’s yellow eyes wild, panicked, and full of distrust, Raven fighting down her own desperate fear. She kept her eyes fixed on Luna’s, willing her to understand. “We’re going to have to trust each other, you and I. You’re not going to bite me, and I’m not going to cut you. Understand?”
Luna’s ears pricked. She whined low in her throat, her lips still peeled back, but she didn’t growl. She didn’t snap.
It was a good sign. Or at least, Raven chose to take it as one.
She held Luna’s foreleg down with one hand, putting as much of her own weight on the wolf as she could manage, sawing at the rope with the other. She worked quickly but carefully. If she accidentally cut Luna, she’d lose whatever fragile trust they’d built between them.
She worked through the first rope. Luna tried to scramble to her feet, moaning when her hind legs collapsed. Raven pressed her down again. “Not yet. Let me work.”
She paused for half a second, listening for the Headhunters. She could still hear their shouts in the distance. It was night now, the shadows inside the tiger house so deep she could barely make out Luna’s pale form.
Feeling along the wolf’s muscled flank and coarse fur for the rope, she moved to Luna’s hind legs. She steadied herself and began to saw, the blade rasping as it sliced through the thick fibers with agonizing slowness.
“Come on, come on,” she whispered. Beads of sweat gathered at her hairline. Her heart hammered against her ribs. “Almost there.”
And then Luna was free. The wolf leapt to her feet and shot out of the chamber, through the service door, and out into the park.
Raven stumbled after her, blinking to readjust her eyes.
The sky was a glossy black. The bank of thunderclouds towering in the east roiled closer, closer, but for now, the moon was a bright silver against a canvas studded with stars. Everything—the trees, the buildings, the habitats, the flagstone path—was limned in a soft, pearlescent glow.
As were the three Headhunters sprinting directly toward them.
Luna stiffened, glanced back at Raven. As if to ask, do we fight, or do we flee?
They were maybe thirty yards away. Scorpio was shouting. Cerberus and Ryker both held rifles, Ryker’s pointed at Raven, Cerberus already swinging toward Luna. Whooping and hollering, their faces hungry, drunk on blood and vengeance.
“Go!” Raven screamed. “Run!”
Luna streaked across the grounds. Cerberus fired at her.
But she was already fading away, vanishing into the mist like a white ghost.
Raven turned to flee.
She wasn’t fast enough. A gunshot exploded in her ears. The bullet whizzed past her ear and struck the tiger house wall above her head with a metallic thunk.
“Next time, I won’t miss,” Ryker said.
She went rigid, her pulse thudding in her throat. Slowly, dread pooling in her gut, icing her veins, she turned and faced them.
“You burned our food stores.” Scorpio scowled. His hands and face were covered in soot. “You’ll regret that.”
“You owe me a wolf,” Cerberus growled savagely. “Not just any wolf. That one.”
Raven lifted her chin. She said nothing.
“This little witch murdered Jagger.” Ryker’s long hands clenched into fists. “You kill Gomez, too?”
She refused to give them
the dignity of an answer. Let them think what they wanted. Jagger’s death had sealed her fate. But she’d chosen to come back for Luna. She’d made that decision herself.
“Tight-lipped, are you?” Ryker snarled.
She clenched her jaw.
Ryker sneered. “Tiger got your tongue? I can get you to talk, you know. Get you to squeal like a stuck pig.”
He strode up to her, coal-black eyes blazing. She could smell his sweat, could see the pores in his skin, the knife-sharp angles of his face.
Treacherous tears burned the backs of her eyes. She blinked them back furiously. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Ryker leaned in and spoke softly, his breath on her ear. “When I’m through with you, you’ll be begging for your life.”
Raven repressed a shudder. She raised her chin, afraid but defiant.
Ryker smiled, an ugly, dead thing. His eyes held no mercy. He punched her in the mouth.
Pain ruptured in her jaw, her lips. She tried to keep her balance, but the force of his blow knocked her to her knees.
“Little lost girl has been found.” Ryker bent over her, his lip curling. “And we didn’t even have to hunt her down. Shame. I was looking forward to that.”
Ryker struck her again, this time across the cheek. Lights exploded across her vision. Her ears rang. Nausea clenched her gut. Dizziness washed over her in waves.
“Normally, we don’t hit women,” Cerberus said. He sounded very far away. “But we do make exceptions now and then.”
Ryker kicked her in the stomach. She toppled, crashing backward. Cement cracked against her skull. She coughed and shuddered, gasping. She clawed at the ground, trying to rise. Pain gnawed at the edges of her mind.
Ryker delivered a savage kick to her ribs, knocking her over. Agony lanced her, slicing through her ribs like a razor-tipped spear. She licked blood from her split lip. She tried to crawl to her hands and knees.
Cerberus and Scorpio watched impassively, their faces in shadow.
Raven groaned and rolled onto her stomach. She tried again to rise. Ryker pushed her over easily, as if she were nothing more than a sack of grain. He lifted his steel-toed boot and slammed it down on her left ankle.
Something gave with a sickening crunch.
Raven writhed, groaning in agony. Her eyes stung, pain blinding her. Pain so deep and wide it engulfed her whole body. Pain without beginning, without end.
The world glimmered in and out of focus. Blackness hovered at the corners of her vision. The stars were hidden now, the sky a turbulent, churning mass of dark clouds. A gust of wind swept over her. She tasted ozone mingled with blood. The storm was coming.
Distantly, she heard footsteps.
“Is that really necessary?” Damien’s voice, sharp with disgust.
“After what she did?” Scorpio scoffed. “She’ll be lucky if we don’t flay her—alive.”
“But she’s a—”
“A what?” Ryker asked, his voice dripping with derision. “A girl? Or a murderer?”
She waited, agony everywhere—her ribs burning like molten lava, her ankle throbbing, white-hot knives prying apart her bones. She clung to consciousness, waiting for Damien to say something, to defend her.
He was silent. And his silence said everything. In the end, despite his noble words, he was nothing but a coward. When it really counted, he was no better than the rest of the murderous thugs he called friends. She’d get no help from him.
She’d get no help from anyone. She had no parents. There were no police anymore. No soldiers. No one to rush in and rescue her.
An ugly, wrenching despair filled her. She was utterly and completely alone.
Her eyes burned. She didn’t cry. She refused to cry, refused to give this monster an ounce of satisfaction.
Ryker leaned in close. Lightning clawed the sky above her, the pulse of white light sharpening his cheekbones to blades, hollowing his eyes to deep black pits.
He seized a handful of her hair and yanked her head up. “You killed my brother,” Ryker spat. “For that, I’m going to kill you.”
37
Raven awoke with a jolt.
For an instant, she didn’t know where she was, why she wasn’t in bed, why she didn’t hear the wolves howling outside her window and her father snoring down the hall.
And then the agony crashed into her with the force of a charging bull. With the pain came the fear—and the memories. She gasped, nearly sinking back into unconsciousness again, but the terrible memories flashing through her pain-stricken brain brought her up, up, up into the world.
Whether she wanted to be here or not.
Thunder rumbled ominously. Rain pelted the roof of the tiger house. The branches of the maple scraped against the exterior wall like fingernails.
Inside, it was almost pitch black. By the pulses of lightning flickering through the open service door, she could make out the barest outline of metal walls, the sheen of the bars in the sliding gate leading to the enclosure, the reinforced mesh of the opposite gate that opened to the square concrete box of the tiger house.
Groaning, she reached out and jerked hard on the mesh. It didn’t give an inch. The Headhunters had locked her inside, caging her like an animal.
She was trapped here until they decided to kill her. Dread and panic rose within her like deep, dark waters, threatening to consume her, to swallow her whole.
They wouldn’t do it quickly, or she’d already be dead. Ryker wanted her to suffer. He’d promised in the end, she would be the one begging them for death.
Outside the mesh gate, the shadows shifted, coalesced. A monstrous thing loomed, a demon, a beast.
Her lungs constricted. The room blurred. She blinked rapidly. The shadows solidified into the shape of a man.
Damien.
But no, the dark shape was too bulky, too huge. The figure leaned forward to peer at her. She caught the gleam of the whites of his eyes. She smelled smoke and the bitter, burnt stench of charred meat.
Outside, lightning streaked the sky, highlighting the hard planes of his face, the square, stubbled jaw, the twisting tattoo snaking up his thick neck, the shine of his teeth as he smiled that cruel, dangerous smile.
“It doesn’t have to be this way, you know,” Cerberus said.
She longed to rear up and strike him, stab him with the knife still hidden in her pocket. But the pain was too great. Everything ached. Her ankle throbbed, the sickening pain coming in pulses like a second ragged heartbeat. She licked her swollen lip and spit out the blood caked between her teeth.
Cerberus sat back against the wall outside her cage. He held a hunting knife, the long blade gleaming as he flicked it back and forth between his large hands. “I’m a reasonable man, you’ll find. One of the more reasonable ones left in this world.”
She tried to move. The darkness lurched. She sucked in her breath, her jaw stiff as a rusted hinge.
“When it all goes to hell, it’s not the strong who survive,” Cerberus continued. “It’s not the prepared, not even the ones who saw it coming. It’s the ones willing to do anything, to anyone, who survive. There is no moral code in the jungle. No mercy on the savanna. There are only predators and prey.”
In the dark, she fumbled along her jaw, cheek, and nose with her fingers, gently pressed her ribs, wincing at the tender spots, spasms jolting through her torso.
Clenching her teeth, she tried to straighten her wounded ankle. Throbbing, fiery needles stabbed through flesh and muscle and bone. She hissed through the pain. But she could move it.
“We are going to break you in ways you cannot even imagine,” Cerberus said. “The gentleman in me would rather not contemplate such a fate for you, but it is out of my hands. You killed Ryker’s brother. He has the right to retribution, however he sees fit.”
Cerberus paused, letting his words sink in, letting the horrors of her imagination take root, the terror digging in deep. She thought of all the ways a person could hurt and kill another.
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br /> There were other species who killed their own kind, in battles for dominance, territory, the right to mate.
When Raven was seven, before Gizmo and Zephyr and the other bonobos, the refuge took in several chimps. Six months later, two of the chimps conspired to assassinate their alpha. They waited until Zachariah and the other keepers had gone for the night, then attacked, biting off their target’s fingers and testicles and leaving him to bleed to death.
The next morning, Raven had discovered the dead chimp when she went with her father to clean out their night house. She still remembered the damp chill of horror, the way her father had stepped back with an involuntary gasp, his face closing like a door.
Her father had liked to believe animals were elevated, special, above the horrors and atrocities of humankind. And maybe for the most part, they were. But not always. Animals weren’t free of the stigma of brutality. They were as capable of cruelty as anyone.
In the wild, groups of chimps waged war on other troops, hunting, terrorizing, and murdering their adversaries, several holding down an enemy while others dismembered him. When male lions joined a new pride, they killed the cubs sired by another lion. Juvenile foxes, owls, and hyenas sometimes killed and ate their siblings. Dolphins and orangutans were capable of rape; orcas, of sadistically killing for entertainment.
But only humans had turned the murder of other humans into an art form—en masse, by the hundreds of millions, by the billions. Terrorists had just destroyed the world with the Hydra virus, intentionally annihilating their own kind. At the intimate, personal level, one man butchered another for greed, jealousy, power, or for no other reason than perverse pleasure, because they could.
“There is an alternative,” Cerberus said softly, “if you will consider it.”
Thunder crashed. The rain pounded harder. She swallowed and stared blindly up at the ceiling until her vision blurred. She was thirsty, parched, her mouth caked with sand. She hadn’t had anything to drink since that morning.
The tense silence grew thick between them. He was waiting for her to respond. He was going to make her speak. This was a game to him, like a cat toying with a mouse before it settles down to the business of dinner. The way wolves ran a bison to exhaustion, wearing down its hope, its desperate will to live, step by despairing step.