Hunted: A Claiming Novella (The Claiming) (14 page)

And she transformed.

Skin stretched, like working in new
leather. Hair sprouted like fresh grass, as she grew in height until she
towered like the great Avagarian she was. Taller than 6’, muscles ripped with
sinewy strength, canines ready to pierce and rip flesh; venom in fangs prepared
to bite.

Penelope toppled backward at her
transformation, looking stunned.

“Y-you can’t be,” she was saying.
“You’re…one of them…”

Lysse smiled to reveal a row of canines.
Then she pounced.

Something stuck in her side—pain
erupting at the spot. Lysse landed on top of the dancer, slamming her back into
the ground so hard it made her lose her grip on the blade. She knocked the
breath clean out of the dancer, leaving her gasping and unable to breathe.

Looking down at herself, Lysse saw the
silver knife embedded deep into her lean, ebony chest. The pain shocked her
senses—her skin bubbled, boiled like acid at the touch of silver. She howled in
ungodly pain and tore the blade from her chest flinging it far away.

Blood dripped from the wound, saturating
the dancer’s white dress with angry red splotches. Growling in the back of her
throat, Lysse could
smell
the fear clinging to Penelope. It saturated
her like wet clothes, clinging sickeningly.

Lysse tossed back her snout and laughed,
or made some similar sound as close as she could.

Then she opened her mouth wide and
howled in victory. In victory of the kill—a moment before she readied her
strike.

*  *  *

Penelope must be close by. Or so Ryon
told himself. She
must
be.

With the help of King Lyle and his
guardsmen, they searched the perimeter of the arena inside and out. Some clue
must be around, but it was difficult to find them when more than
twenty-thousand people were screaming as they ran away, the war bells
scattering them like cattle. So far, no sign of Penelope, save for the disaster
of her dressing room.

“Maybe we should search further out,”
offered Reece, of the king’s personal guard.

Before Ryon could respond, a peculiar
cry caught their attention. A howling roar charged through the air. It came
from the isolated forest nearly a mile west from the arena which was further
from the chaos, the attack taking place on the eastern border.

“What was that?” a guard asked,
unnerved.

“That’s the sound of an Avagarian
howling,” Ryon said. “They took her.”

Ryon needn’t say another word. He merely
exchanged a look with his long-time friend, Lyle, before they both broke out in
a sprint toward the sound. 

Amazing that he’d been shot yesterday.
He could not feel the wound at all. Last night, the pain had kept him awake the
entire night. That, on top of worries over today, had left his mind fretting.
However, any pain he experienced vanished in the wake of adrenaline surging. He
knew he had to tap down inside him, push aside the pain, and fight for
Penelope. He never thought it’d happen like this.

“What do you suggest we do now?” Lyle
asked, raising his voice to be heard over their breathing.

“Kill the Avagarians who took Pen.”

Ryon was left-handed making his sword
arm opposite most of his opponents. The enemy he was about to face didn’t
bother with swords or pistols. Their weapons were different and more dangerous.
Avagarian strength was incomparable. As an opponent, you had to stay a clear
distance away. The physical strength and vicious bites could easily kill a
human. They’d been known during the war to crack people’s spines clear in half,
severing the life from them.

The forest grew sparse on the western
countryside, creating an open expanse where wheat flourished in chest-high
waves. The forest, normally alive with earthen-creatures scurrying to find food
and shelter, sat still and watchful. Even the ants had packed up at the sound
of the war bells and gone into hiding.

Another sound struck him—sending Ryon
into a charging run the likes of which he’d never felt. It was Penelope,
screaming in unholy terror. The scream abruptly stopped but, it didn’t matter;
he’d already pinpointed where the sound came from. Cutting a hard left, he
surged over fallen logs, leaping, feet sinking into squishy mud. Lyle’s
pounding steps beat right behind him.

They broke through the clearing, leaving
mere moments to make a decision.

He saw three Avagarians, one already
dead on the ground. Another had Penelope pinned beneath it. Ryon shook, a
switch being thrown he never knew he had. Like a snap of the fingers, he was
ready to kill. His first target: the Ava holding Penelope by the neck. In the
mere seconds he had to take in the situation, he saw his woman crying and
shaking but fighting fervently against the attack. He told himself he wasn’t
too late. That she hadn’t been bitten yet. He could still save her.

Some things in life made you simply
react. Your brain shut down, save for two thoughts:
kill or be killed.

And he wasn’t dying today.

The sound of his running steps garnered
the attention of the two agitated Avagarians pacing near Penelope. Ryon marked
the first one he saw as his primary target, mentally ticking the second as his
next. The Ava on top Penelope would die a painful death. He’d make sure of it.

Ryon leapt into the air with an almighty
roar. Three massive, yellowed-eyed heads turned to him in surprise. He raised
his elbow back, sharp point out, and used his voice to strike fear as he
roared.

The Ava he targeted jolted, stunned at
the surprise attack.

Lyle came in behind him, giving an
answering battle cry. “For Tarlè!” 

Ryon swung his blade as he landed within
distance of the creature. Snarling, it dodged and Ryon fell on the Ava’s chest
knee first. They collapsed to the ground locked in a physical embrace. Ryon’s
grip slipped on the blade during the wrestle as the beast wrapped its solid
arms around him in a bear hug.

 It squeezed him, the pressure
unbelievable, sending warnings of pain to his mind in constant flashes. Air
exploded from his lungs in sharp gasps, muscles creaked, bones cracking as the
Ava growled, pulling him tighter,
trying
to break him
in two pieces.

Ryon grunted and flexed his muscles,
every single part of himself using his own body’s force to push against the
pressure trying to squeeze him in half.

Penelope.
He
had to do this for her.

Suddenly, his mind cleared, a brand-new
pathway opening to him. He calmed, not hearing, not thinking—only reacting.

Ryon snapped his head forward in a
brutal blow, catching the creature on his snout and busting it open. Blood
gushed, bones crunched, broken. The grip on him loosened—just what he
needed—and Ryon sprang for his dropped sword.

Lyle, never particularly good at
swordplay, raised two silver pistols, decorated in gilded gold and designed
just for the hands of the king. They were loaded with silver bullets, the
highest level of protection one could carry.

Two gunshots blasted, loud and
ricocheting in the quiet woods.

Ka
-Pow!
Ka
-Pow!

The other Avagarian dropped in a heap,
two silver bullets ripping through it from rib to spine. Twitching, howling,
with bloody foam spewing from its mouth; then, stillness.

Ryon finally reached his sword handle,
latching on right-handed, not his strong arm. But that didn’t stop him, only
slowed him down.

As he wrapped his palm around the
familiar leather handle, the Ava bucked beneath him tossing him off sending
Ryon through the air like a catapult. The sword loosened from his hand for the
second time.
Damn!
Panic struck, and at the last moment, he fisted his
hand around the blade. Then he crashed into a tree, knocking the wind clean out
of him. His bullet wound, which he’d ordered his body to ignore, flared
violently, making him spasm in pain. He needed to dig down and push past the
pain.

Panting, he stood, wobbled unsteadily
then caught himself. Sweat poured from his body sticking his clothes to his
body like a wet glove. His vision blurred, but he blinked and realized it was
only sweat on his eyelashes. He swatted it away.

Lyle was reloading his pistol. It held
two rounds. The creature on Penelope had stood and was coming toward him. Ryon
noticed it was a female. It wasn’t every day you saw a female Ava. Usually they
kept their females protected back home.

The female Avagarian blocked the sight
of Pen from him.
She had better be alive.

“
Kekekekekekekekek
.”
The threat rolled and crackled in the back of the beast’s throat.

The beast lunged, its heavy paw covered
in black, bent talons. It made to scratch his face off, but Ryon ducked to the
left and sent a brutal front kick into its abdomen. The Ava was shoved back but
only a mere foot of space. It was too strong, even the female form, for him to
fight hand to hand and possibly win.

Its glowing eyes tracked him, blubbery
lips flapping in the wind while it growled.

The beast surprised them all.
Its
great, hulking head turned toward Lyle for the first
time—recognition flashing in its eyes.

This creature
knew
Lyle.

He didn’t have time to question. Taking
the beast’s surprise to advantage, Ryon deftly lunged to retrieve his sword
from the dead carcass he’d shoved it into.

The female Ava spotted the move which
snapped her out of her stupor. She jumped too fast for him to react and swung
her great big paw against the side of his head. Or so she attempted to.

“Drop down! Now!”

Ryon dropped and the Ava’s arm swiped
where his skull had been.

If not for Lyle’s shout, he might have
had his head taken clear off.

Gunshots fired.

They missed the mark.

The Ava reeled in panic and darted into
the forest.

“It’s going to run!” Ryon shouted, fury
driving him. It couldn’t get away, not after what it did to Penelope.

The Ava picked up speed; they were so
fast, too fast to catch by foot. She made it twenty feet away as Lyle lined up
the shot. Carefully, calmly.

He fired. The final explosive blast
echoed thrice before fading.

The bullet ripped through the creature’s
back. A cry sounded, then it toppled to the earth, its great body trembling and
bloody foam spewing from its mouth.

What happened next took them all
surprise.

The creature slowly started reverting
back to its human form. Ryon had only ever seen the Avagarians transform into
their natural form, not out of it. He’d heard that a dying Ava would naturally
morph into its lesser form for easier healing.

The creature’s human limbs became
apparent: long tresses of brunette hair, caked with blood, grime and mud, could
not hide the woman’s identity.

Lyle dropped the gun to his side, his
face a picture of shock. “Lysse?” The gun dropped to the dirt. “I can’t believe
it. An Ava?”

Ryon left Lyle to deal with the
devastating news about his mistress. He had bigger problems to worry about.

Ryon dropped to his knees to check on
Penelope.

Lyle spoke as if to himself in a daze.
“She’s an Ava.” His surprised voice said it all. “She’s the mole. Who knows
what she’s told them. She helped to plan their attack on us. Lysse…”

The guards finally caught up to them.
They began ensuring those who were dead were truly deceased, and checked on
Penelope.

Ryon was still stunned at what he found
with Penelope.

It was so much worse than he thought.
Far worse.

Her chest still rose and fell, but her
breathing was shallow. Her eyes were open, but glossy, like her soul had left
her body already. She stared sightlessly up at the sky, her face pinched in
agony.

The worst of it was her neck. Her chin
hung cocked at an angle as she panted through the pain. The wound was on the
right side of her neck—a nasty, gash exposing tendons and the raw meat of her
neck. The blood loss turned her naturally glowing skin a sickly parlor.

“Help her!”

Ryon snapped out of his shock.

She looked so close to death. Ryon tore
his shirt off, wadding the material and pressing it tight to the wound to
staunch the bleeding. “Get a medic here now!” he shouted.

The guards ran to do his bidding, Lyle
and Reece staying behind. Lysse was still alive, but they’d trussed her up so
she couldn’t escape.

“Reece, you know something to help?”
Lyle asked. “I know you’ve had some experience in combat healing.”

Reece knelt beside Penelope. He prodded
her wound, watched her pupils,
took
note of her heart
rate and the massive amount of blood loss.