Hunter (The Hero Rebellion 0.5) by Belinda Crawford (ebook e reader .txt) 📗

Subria backed away, first one sidelong step and then another, her back to the wall.

The beast kept pace, one giant paw following the other. Silent but for the gentle snick of its claws, hidden within the golden hair of its toes.

One step. Another paw lifted and laid down.

Another.

A shape leaped between them, blue-grey and muscular, with a long hairless tail lashing from side to side.

The ruc-pard.

Fear turned cold and hard in her gut.

Subria fell as her feet caught something warm, soft and moving, landing hard on her butt, hands slamming into the hard floor, eyes stuck on the twin mountains of muscles, fur and fangs. Nightmares knocked on the back of her brain, bleeding through the walls she'd worked long and hard to erect against them. Crawling into her ears, into her eyes, feeding off the screech, off the click, and suddenly, the body under her legs, the one she'd stumbled over, wasn't warm and breathing, didn't have Canavan's sandy hair, but her dad's black buzz.

A thick tail slapped Subria back to reality, and suddenly she had an up-close-and-personal view of the 'pard's belly, the fur white. For a second her heart rose in her throat, threatening to choke her. Subria's lungs burned, shock overriding adrenalin, switching off her brain, leaving only the strange mix of wonder and fear behind. Another snarl ripped through the stable, low and ugly, the kind of sound made by something with big teeth and longer claws. Subria's heart dropped, letting oxygen back in, self-preservation with it. She scuttled backwards on hands and bum. For some reason her attention remained fix on the belly above, the way the pale grey narrowed, the fur becoming thicker and longer as she crab-walked back and back and back... And then she was on the other side of the stable, or the companion moved again, or she blacked out, because one moment there was a strider above her and the next... the next yowls and snarls rode the air, the sounds full of blood and violence.

Sternard and ruc-pard rolled across the stable, blue-grey mixing with honey, breaking apart, snarling, clashing again. Around and around, Yaara dancing amongst the bodies, the ruc-pard pushing her out of their reach. A bright red arch, erupting from the tangle, the hot, coppery stench of blood mixing with the musk and dirt of the striders.

Again and again they broke apart and clashed, stalking each other in endless circles.

Blood flew, a bright red arc. Yaara roared. The 'pard lunged, its muzzle stained red, jaws open, claws the size of Subria's face flashing on the end of four of its six legs, all of it reaching for the sternard, a blue-grey wall of muscle and fury. Of death and blood.

For a second, as the 'pard flew through the air and Yaara braced herself for the attack, Subria froze, fascinated. In that second, the world slowed, and the two great beasts – muscles bunching, teeth bared – came together in a slow-motion dance of violence. The 'pard's claws sank into Yaara's sides, one paw skidding over the thick scales of her chest, the others finding flesh, the 'pard's teeth doing the same.

Instead of evading, Yaara leapt into the attack, her own jaws – twice as heavy – open wide.

The two beasts met, chest to chest. More blood, the coppery scent of it saturating the air.

Even with the other animal's jaws clamped onto its neck, Yaara forced the 'pard backwards, her powerful hide-quarters bunching and releasing, forelegs grappling with the 'pard.

The screech of claws over the steelcrete broke Subria out of her trance.

She surged to her feet as, with a twist and a push, Yaara threw the 'pard into a wall and came for her.

She was sprinting for the lift before her heart had time to squeeze.

The sternard was faster.

One second Yaara was behind her, the next the companion was between her and safety, massive blocky head lowered, lips pulled back from red gums, the hot stink of violence on her breath.

Subria's daddy's words rang in her memory, not that last pain-filled scream, but the steady calm, guiding her out of danger. 'Prey is fast and jerky, predators are slow and smooth. Don't be prey, no matter how hard your heart beats or adrenalin runs in your body. Never be the prey.'

Slowly, her gaze steady on the space between the sternard's eyes, she backed up.

Yaara kept pace.

Madness swam in her eyes, the deep, soulful, caramel gaze washed away under… what? The screech?

Behind the sternard were the lifts and escape. But if she left, what was to stop Yaara from tearing into her classmates and the handlers?

The handlers. Her memory flicked back, recalling the weapons strapped to their waists. She backed up another step, her foot colliding with something small and black, sending it skidding across the floor. Subria took her eyes off Yaara, just a split second, just long enough to identify the pistol, but it was enough for Yaara's posture to change, for her muscles to bunch.

Smooth and steady wasn't going to cut it.

She dived for the pistol, arms out, every fibre reaching.

Belly hitting the ground, air leaving her lungs, a dark honey-coloured shadow rising over her back. Sliding on her stomach, fingers closing over plasform, the electric hum as the pistol reacted to her touch, barrel forming out of the grip. Rolling, energy gathering at the end of the weapon. No need to aim, not with those jaws coming for her head. The snap as she fired.

Yaara collapsed.

There was a split-second, time enough for realisation to dawn, for Subria to tense, before the mountain of muscle and fur came down.

She tried to roll, got halfway onto her side, arm flung out as if she could grab at the air, when several hundred kilos of sternard buried her.

Nose flattened against steelcrete, Yaara crushing her lungs. Subria struggled to breathe, struggled to lift her head, to wriggle, to move. Black was taking over her vision, her chest burned, and—

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