by L. E. Horn
The work was painstaking and difficult. Lianndra trembled by the time she gave his cells the final push to seal the wound. She sat back from him and closed her eyes, raising an arm to wipe sweat from her forehead.
He caught her by surprise. One moment she sat on her heels, the next he’d pinned her against him before sinking his teeth into the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
Fear and revulsion filled her. She raked her claws along his healed skin. Whipping from behind her, her tail cracked the commando across the face . . . to no avail. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sean, one of Drake’s soldiers, level his laser rifle at the Fang, growling something indecipherable.
No! Lianndra screamed in her mind, they’ll kill you!
She saw Drake grab the rifle by the barrel, shoving it skyward. Then he yelled for the Fang commander. His voice sounded strange, an unusual combination of anger and desperation. As the teeth chewed deeper, Lianndra realized Drake lacked the authority to stop the commando. The Blooddance rules did not bind this Fang. He could kill her and Drake couldn’t do anything about it.
The commander snarled something in the heavy Fang language. The teeth hesitated in their progress toward her jugular. Lianndra took the initiative, tearing herself free, her shoulder soaked in blood. She pushed herself away, stumbling backward. The blond soldier dropped his rifle to catch her as she swayed. Hanging limp in his arms, Lianndra went within to stop the bleeding.
The Farr stared at her. His long, thick, pointed tongue licked her blood from his lips as he stood to his full height, his eyes red with bloodlust. Behind him, his commander glared at Sean before shrugging and turning back to clean his weapon.
Just another day at the office for them, she thought, and a near death experience for me.
The blond soldier cursed under his breath as he helped her to where Hannah stood, face pale with shock.
“Thanks, Sean.” The smaller Healer ushered Lianndra to the far side of the human camp where she could tend to her friend’s gashed neck.
Lianndra heard Drake talking to the commander. The Fang pointed to the commandos still requiring the Healers.
Whatever the discussion, Drake bought them enough time for Hannah to heal Lianndra before they had to venture back among the Fang.
As Lianndra worked on a Fang commando with a torn leg, Drake passed by, pressing a ration bar into her hand. It was one of the kindest things he’d ever done for her.
Other than saving my life.
IF WORKING ON FANG CAUSED Lianndra to fear, working on slaves often filled her with despair.
The typical fighting unit contained a Fang commander and at least fifty human slave soldiers, with a ragtag mixture of aliens thrown in for good measure. Units like this were now the norm. During his rare conversations, Drake spoke of his earlier days in the war. He’d heard the Fang lost many Farr, forcing them to fortify the front line with humans. The first slave fighting units comprised phalanxes of elite human soldiers, often up to two hundred in a single unit. Now, things seemed more desperate, and if a slave could lift a sword, the Fang recruited them to fight. Drake’s information revealed that at the peak of the war, the Fang used the genetically modified Tier-5 humans to create elite units of slaves. These men possessed a consistency of fighting ability and appearance, which showed the effects of five generations of genetic meddling by the Fang. The naturally athletic Tier-5 elite soldiers were long-limbed, muscular, and over six feet tall. Lianndra couldn’t help but think Drake was describing Michael. Was he an elite Fang slave?
The staggering number of humans in the fighting units amazed Lianndra. How could so many be taken from Earth? It’s no wonder the slave ring back home was so well established. A few humans were getting wealthy by providing slaves to the Fang. Her thoughts returned to the here and now. What on this planet is worth so much to the Fang? The scope and scale of this war is significant. It must be costing them a fortune.
Although the elite soldiers received weapons training to enhance their natural skill, not all the slave recruits were the same caliber. Many slaves possessed a ragged mixture of physical and mental traits. Lianndra noticed some slaves hadn’t received the same level of training and got injured more often. Both Healers observed signs of strain. Soldiers adopted strange mental quirks to cope with their situation.
Every time a new unit reported to the FHR division, Lianndra’s pulse raced. She scanned the face of each soldier, looking for familiar features. Hannah commented on it.
“I’m looking for a man enslaved with me. I think he might fight in one of these units,” Lianndra told her.
As the days slid into weeks, and then months, Lianndra wondered if she would still even recognize Michael after all this time. Is he still alive? Would he know me if he saw me under this hair?
The fighting unit that staggered in on them one afternoon was in rough shape. The slaves in this unit possessed injuries they’d been carrying with them for days. Repairing half-healed, infected wounds could be challenging and demanded a lot from the Healers.
Both women called on the new talents they’d developed and reopened the improperly healed tissues by tearing the cells apart and flushing the wound clean before healing. Lianndra had learned to use the body’s natural drainage systems to help flush the cellular debris away. They telekinetically pushed the infected residue out of the injury, an energy-intensive process. This kind of healing wouldn’t have been possible if it weren’t for the pain control methods the Healers developed. It would have been intolerable for even the most stoic slave.
As Lianndra crouched beside a young human male with a torn shoulder, he reached to grab her. Her first frightened instinct was to yank her arm away. The look in his eyes stopped her cold. They were wild, the pupils shrunk to mere pinpoints. She did a quick internal assessment. He didn’t have a fever. The man prattled incoherently to her, at first softly, but then rising in volume.
“We’re damned.” Those were the first words she could understand. “Damned. They’ve made us into killers. There’s no going back for us now. We’re going to Hell.” He laughed—the sound rising until it trailed off as a wail. “Doesn’t matter if you heal me. I’m in Hell already. I’m a killer.”
Lianndra grabbed his flailing hand, but he wrenched it away. Despair filled her. I can heal their physical injuries, but I can’t do a thing for their mental wounds. Out of the corner of her eye, Lianndra saw the unit’s Fang commander turn to stare at the slave beneath her hands.
“Shhh.” She tried soothing him, stroking his forehead.
The grip on her arm intensified as he babbled on about Hell, his voice becoming shriller as he did so. Desperate to stop him, she reached within, pinching off the blood supply to his brain to send him sliding into unconsciousness.
At least it will be easy to heal him now, she thought.
The man’s rant hadn’t escaped the Fang commander’s notice. As Lianndra pulled back to reposition herself, she felt something crackle under her fingers. A massive shock of electricity sparked from the soldier’s collar, stabbing into his brain, leaving scorched, useless tissue in its wake. Lianndra caught the backlash, enough of a jolt to send her flying. Dazed, she moved back toward him, but wisps of smoke drifted from the spot where his collar penetrated his brain.
“Lianndra! Are you all right?” Drake strode across the clearing toward her.
She nodded to Drake and glanced over her shoulder. The Farr’s orange eyes met her own for a second before the leathery alien looked away in dismissal. Just another defective slave cull to the commander. Another eye opener for me. Like I need any more of those.
Lianndra looked into Drake’s concerned gaze. “I’m okay captain.” For a moment, she saw his piercing eyes smolder and the muscles of his jaw clench as he examined the soldier’s body. Drake never showed emotion, and as Lianndra watched, she saw his coping process revealed: the dark-haired man stifled his emotions, locking them down.
In seconds, he’d schooled his face into his usual stoic,
confident self. He glanced at her and gave a brisk nod before turning away.
Too late captain, I saw you. Lianndra witnessed the flash of anger; she hadn’t imagined it. Her estimation of the man rose another notch.
She stood to move on to the next slave. The slave’s gaze met hers, and in them she read a world of pain. This one wasn’t babbling out loud but his eyes spoke volumes.
“He was my friend.” The slave said in a hoarse voice.
Lianndra’s vision blurred with tears. I might live in a nightmare, but these guys are living the nightmare. How many of these men could have been doctors, or world leaders, or teachers? The Fang ripped the men from their civilized, structured world and forced them to fight a brutal war on an alien planet.
Some might have chosen the life of a soldier. Back on Earth, there are support systems, but here—here if you fall below optimum performance level, you pay for it with your life. Lianndra wiped her tears away. How many no longer care? How many would rather die than live one more day like this? This is why the rebellion matters, she reminded herself while probing the chest wound of the slave under her fingers. This is why it is worth whatever risk we take. We must free these men while there is still something left to free.
Chapter Eleven
SOUND FILLED THE NIGHT: the hisses, screeches, clicks, and hums representing alien life in the jungle.
Lianndra walked through the undergrowth, letting nature surround her, each step taking her farther from the firelight. The captain allowed them freedom in the area around the camp. Lianndra started toward the privy pit but veered off as soon as she moved clear of prying eyes. Tonight, she needed breathing room.
The Fang’s murder of the slave soldier had left Lianndra drained. To top it off, the soldiers had been too busy today to gather any fresh meat or fruit, so supper consisted of dehydrated travel rations. Not tempting at even the best of times.
Lianndra heard the men lounging around the fire, laughing and trading stories with the unit she and Hannah healed today. She moved deeper, leaving the voices behind as the jungle folded around her, enriching her enhanced senses. Lianndra could smell warm-bodied animals, and it made her mouth water. She craved meat, the rich protein necessary to replenish her reserves after intense healing. Large predators made night foraging too dangerous, at least for any normal human. I’m willing to take the risk.
A scurrying sound drew her attention to an enormous trunk festooned with vines. Without conscious thought, Lianndra scaled the tree in pursuit. Her claws dug into the furry creepers while her tail hooked any available protrusions.
Whatever scurried away sensed her presence, increasing its speed. The frantic sounds spurred on the predator within her. She lunged upward in huge bounds, her claws leaving torn furrows in the bark. As the scent wafted back to her in the creature’s wake, she recognized a rodent-like tree dweller they often hunted. Lianndra’s pupils widened like a cat’s, taking in the ambient light. In mid-leap her vision changed, enabling her to read the thermal signatures of the jungle. The large rodent now registered in brilliant reds and oranges as it disappeared behind the trunk only a few feet beyond her. She twisted to land in the other direction, pushed off with all four limbs, caught the edge of a vine with her tail, and swung around the tree.
The move surprised the rodent. Lianndra sank her fangs into its throat.
Warm fluid flooded her mouth and snapped her out of her hunger-induced frenzy. She spat out the blood and hair in disgust, wiping the gore off her face with the back of her hand while pinning the twitching animal beneath one arm. Her claws made loud scraping sounds as she descended to the ground, but she remained too unsettled to use her usual graceful silence.
Once on terra firma, Lianndra dropped the rodent as she contemplated what she’d done. Seems there is more animal in me than I might want to admit. Still, here’s supper. Now if I can just convince those soldiers to share and not steal it for themselves.
Distracted by her thoughts, Lianndra didn’t hear the approaching footsteps. Something tackled her hard, knocking her into the thick underbrush. Rolling in a daze through the foliage, she pushed ineffectively at hands grabbing her wrists. The person—human and male, she identified the pungent smell—tried to force her legs apart while using his body weight to hold her down.
A scream she didn’t recognize as her own ripped through the night air. Not a sound of fear, but of rage. She twisted toward her attacker’s arm. Her fangs sank deep, and the man howled. She managed to lift a hip, which freed her tail. It sliced around to whip him across the temple.
His recoil from the blow lifted his torso off her, freeing one of her arms. Lianndra’s head blazed with static as she heaved him off her just enough to reach between them.
Through her rage-induced haze, she heard voices and the crashing of foliage. The fact rescue seemed imminent no longer mattered. Bloodsucking Fang are bad enough. This was one of her own!
Her strike connected, swift and sure. The man above her stiffened in shock. His shock turned to panic. His panic gave way to screaming as she struck not with her claws, but with her mind.
This time, she didn’t stitch flesh together. She tore it apart.
The screams had drawn an audience. The jungle filled with shouts and tramping feet. Drake’s voice rose above the ruckus, shouting something in an irate tone.
By the time Drake activated the pain nodes attached to her assailant’s collar, she’d finished with him. Lianndra shoved hard to get the contorted form off her. She rose in an instant although her surroundings tilted and heaved. Muscles jumping in his clenched jaw and hands folded into fists, Drake stood over her writhing attacker. He signaled two soldiers to lift the man. Lianndra recognized her assailant as the soldier who’d made lewd advances to Hannah and her.
“Lianndra! Are you okay?” Hannah pushed past the wall of men to run up and grab her arm.
The rage drained from Lianndra as she trembled. Attacked many times since becoming a slave, she’d never experienced such violence by another human. More a matter of luck than anything else. She’d heard stories of these kinds of attacks being common among the slaves.
She stepped back into Hannah’s comforting arms, trembling. Healing exhausted her, but it couldn’t compare to the physical drain of what she’d just done to her attacker. Combined with the lack of food, she swayed on her feet.
Hanging from the arms of two soldiers, the groaning man tried to curl around himself. Drake looked from him to Lianndra, his eyes flooded with questions.
“He won’t be siring children. Ever.” Lianndra’s voice shook. In truth, as the rage subsided, what she’d done sickened her.
Drake looked at the attacker. Other than the teeth marks in his shoulder, there wasn’t a drop of blood on him, not even seeping from between fingers clutched around his crotch.
The captain shook his head before turning to Hannah. “Get her out of here,” he said in a surprisingly soft voice. “Make sure she’s okay.”
“Come on.” With an arm around her waist, Hannah guided Lianndra.
“Wait.” Lianndra extricated herself from Hannah to weave her way past Drake, who stared at her with an unreadable expression. She went to where the rodent lay hidden in trampled foliage and hoisted it by its hind legs. Lianndra turned to stare at the captain who frowned at the animal before meeting her gaze. Lianndra moved past him, returning to where Hannah waited.
“Supper,” she said, the S slurred by her exposed fangs.
Drake said nothing as she headed back to camp.
THE FIGHTING UNIT CLEARED OUT before dawn, heading back to the front lines. Lianndra and Hannah awakened while they decamped. Drake watched as the other unit packed their gear. The Healers didn’t fall back asleep until the last soldier left.
Lianndra woke a second time when a form loomed over the leafy hollow where she and Hannah slept curled together. Before her eyes opened, she recognized Drake’s distinctive scent. The captain said nothing. Both women rose to follow him to the far side of t
he clearing.
The soldier that attacked Lianndra last night sat behind a mammoth tree, tied hand and foot. As the three approached, two of his fellow soldiers cut his ankle ties before hauling him to his feet.
Lianndra knew this man had no friends among the soldiers. His unpleasant behavior ensured he spent most of his time alone. Still, with such a small group and a good captain, they’d worked together smoothly. Lianndra wondered how Drake would punish him when they needed all the manpower they had.
Drake stopped in front of the surly slave. The captain might not be a particularly tall man, but his commanding presence towered over the soldier. Lianndra’s attacker stood with lowered eyes, but he wore a resentful expression.
“By now, you all know what this bloke tried to do last night.” Drake’s lightly accented voice sounded low and full of disgust. “This was despite my direct order to leave the Healers alone.” He stared at the men assembled around the captive. “We’re in a lousy situation. I know how hard it is to resist our baser instincts when the Fang treat us as little more than animals. But the last thing we should do is prove their point for them.”
Lianndra noticed two men dropped their eyes, their skin flushing.
A ray of sunlight reflected off the object in Drake’s hand, and everyone noted the knife he’d drawn from a sheath at his hip. The soldiers restraining the man—known as Jake—tightened their grip as he struggled. Grimacing in disgust, Drake closed a fist to activate the pain nodes on the man’s collar until he collapsed to the dirt.
“I spent the night thinking about Jake’s punishment. We need the strength of every bloke in this division, and I will not put us at risk due to the actions of one whacker acting like a bloody animal.” He crouched beside the prone captive as he signaled the confused soldiers on each side to pin him down. “I will show you how attacking a Healer will meet rather unique resistance.”