Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
But he could smell another strain entwined with it–fear sharpened it and made it more brittle somehow–more urgent. And beneath it was the chemical taint of whatever Higgs had used to render her helpless and take her.
Brux’s hands clenched into fists. If that fucking bastard had hurt her…
He followed the scent a few steps and found where she had struggled in the grass. One of her footprints had scuffed deep into the dirt. The silver—threaded ground cover was crushed there too, the delicate strands bent and broken. He could almost see it—the huge hand, the cloth over her face, her trying to fight, her body going limp.
A low, dangerous sound rose in his chest as another scent hit him–sour, rotten, sweaty–the unmistakable stench of Higgs.
It lay over Kiera’s trail like filth smeared over silk. Body odor and snack chips and something fouler beneath that now—old death, old blood, old cruelty.
Brux’s lip curled back from his teeth. The growl that came out of him this time was deeper–more primal. It rolled out across the grass like distant thunder.
Rage flared hot and fast inside him, and he wanted to let it take him…wanted to stop being Brux for a little while and become only the beast. Wanted claws and fangs and blood and fur and the exquisite tearing satisfaction of ripping that stinking male apart with his teeth.
But he couldn’t give in–not yet. Not while Kiera still needed him alive in his own mind.
If he went fully primal now, the trail might as well be lost. He would chase blood and fury and whatever moved first, but Kiera needed more than an enraged beast. She needed a male who could track her and think and choose and act.
So Brux swallowed the Rage down–forced it into chains and held on tight to his reason.
Then, orienting himself on the scent trail, he began to run.
The trail led over the rolling hills behind the sanctuary and toward the neighboring ranch, just as he had feared it would. The red—stained earth here was harder–baked by sun and trampled by canthors and machinery. Kiera’s scent clung less easily to it, but Brux could still follow where Higgs had dragged or carried her.
The farther he went, the stronger the bad smells became. Animal dung…machine oil…old blood.
And everywhere, Higgs.
Brux’s breath grew harsher and his stride lengthened. The hills blurred around him, chiming trees flashing past on either side as he ran toward the ranch structures clustered in the shallow valley beyond.
“There,” whispered a feminine voice in his head. “There is your woman, warrior and she is in grave danger.”
Brux looked in the direction the voice pointed him and saw several things…a long low slaughter shed, a holding barn and fuel tank.
And beyond them–bigger and uglier than the rest–a vast metal warehouse rimed with white along its seams. There—she was in there, he knew it.
Even before he got close, the thing offended every sense he had–it smelled wrong.
Cold in a way nothing on Plo’nix should smell. Not the clean crisp scent of mountain air or night frost, but an artificial cold—dead and mechanical and steeped in blood. The metallic tang of slaughter rolled out of it in waves. Beneath that was old meat, old fear, and the ghost—smell of things that had died badly.
Kiera’s scent led straight to it.
Brux slowed for the first time since leaving the shuttle. The warehouse crouched before him like something waiting with its mouth open.
He could hear the low industrial hum of refrigeration units inside. A faint vibration came through the metal walls. White vapor ghosted from a seam near the back loading hatch and dissolved into the afternoon air.
The scent of Kiera was stronger here—gods–she was somewhere inside this monstrosity. Brux put one hand on the door and felt frozen metal under his palm. Even through his body heat, it burned cold.
He opened it.
A blast of deep—freeze air struck him full in the face, carrying with it an overwhelming assault of stench. Blood…frozen flesh…canthor shit and industrial cleanser and assaulted his nose.
And under all of that, in bright sharp terrified lines, Kiera. Alive–still alive. At least she had been, not too long ago.
Relief hit him so hard his knees almost weakened—but it lasted less than a second, because from somewhere deep inside the warehouse came the metallic clink of metal striking metal. Was it a chain? A hook?
Then he heard footsteps–heavy and male.
And then a scream–Kiera!
Brux didn’t remember deciding to move–he was simply in motion all at once, surging into the freezing dark of the warehouse with every instinct he possessed exploding to the forefront.
Nothing mattered but her–he had to find her–had to reach her. Had to save her before that fucking Higgs hurt her.
“Kiera!” he roared into the cold maze of hanging carcasses and steel.
Somewhere ahead, metal clanged against metal again.
Then Higgs laughed…and Brux felt the chains on his Rage begin to break.