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Lynx felt a surge of despair. If only they hadn’t answered the beacon! If only they had stayed in the ship and Bonded Mirabella to them instead. If she was Bonded to them now, they might have a chance because they could both risk a Full-Shift and be certain she could call them back from the mindless animal state it caused. But without a Soul Bond, that was impossible.
“So Mistress Bloodmuch planned this? Planned to trap me somehow?” Mirabella demanded, still sounding defiant though she clearly didn’t dare to try and get away.
Furx still had his beefy arm around her throat and was holding her to the right side of his ridiculously broad chest. The silver breast plate he wore must be digging into her back and bruising her, Lynx thought randomly, hating the big bastard even more.
“She did—said it was worth gutting her second-best Space Yacht to use as a trap,” Furx said. “Adding the AI distress call and making it be from a female was my idea,” he added proudly. “I knew you fucking Kindred couldn’t resist helping out a damsel in distress.”
Saxon cursed under his breath and Lynx was inclined to agree with his sentiment. The Honey Pot had been damn near perfect. If it had been a male begging for rescue, they would have been much more cautious, but a female alone with only her maid, well…Furx was right. No Kindred or Monstrum could ignore such a cry for help. Their kind valued female life too much to leave a woman in distress.
“Now then, little Mistress,” Furx said, speaking to Mirabella. “You’re going to record a message saying that you want Mistress Bloodmuch to be your successor as the Ruling Member of the Sacred Seven, effective immediately.”
“No, I won’t!” Mirabella exclaimed. “She’s a horrible woman—she’ll kill the whole planet for her personal profit if I put her in charge!” She half twisted in Furx’s arms. “Don’t you care if the planet dies?”
The hugely muscular mercenary shrugged.
“Don’t much care since it’s not my planet. Besides, Mistress Bloodmuch pays well. So you’re going to record the vid-message or I’m going to make sure you’re in a world of hurt, little Mistress.” He glared at her menacingly and waved the knife in her face to illustrate his point.
“And after you’re done, we’re going to take turns with you,” one of the other muscle-heads said, grinning nastily at Mirabella, whose eyes got very large and frightened.
A snarl rose in Lynx’s throat and he heard an answering growl rumbling from his Bond-Brother’s chest.
“No, we’re fucking not, you idiot!” Furx snarled at his subordinate. “Don’t you know that if we violate a Yonnite Mistress we’ll be painting a target on all our backs? Whether we bring her in dead or alive, she’ll be examined by a doctor at some point. If they find she’s been violated, we’ll all go to the incineration chamber or at very best the Poison Mines—they don’t play with that shit on Yonnie Six.”
“I ain’t never had no high-born lady, though,” the other male protested sullenly.
“And you’re not having one now,” Furx growled. “You’re going to…going to…”
But what the muscle-head was going to do was never to be known. Because Furx had stopped talking and started gurgling instead. There was a line of dark red blood running from the corner of his mouth, Lynx saw. And then he saw something else.
Some kind of long, curving, black blade had entered through Furx’s back and a good foot of it was currently poking out of the left side of his chest. It had cut through the thick silver breastplate he wore like a knife punching through paper and a foot of it was protruding from his body. In fact, if Mirabella had been just a few inches to the left, it would have skewered her too!
“What the fuck?” Saxon muttered and the other two males on either side of Furx were beginning to look bewildered too. They couldn’t figure out why their Captain had stopped talking and was now sagging like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Then Lynx saw what had happened. Rising from behind the limp form of Furx was a strangely elongated skull. Tiny red eyes like drops of blood stared from its bony depths and a double row of razor-sharp teeth appeared as it spread its lipless mouth.
The curving blade wasn’t a blade at all, Lynx saw with horror—it was part of the creature’s body—the razor-sharp serrated tip of its tail, in fact. The bloody tip withdrew from Furx’s chest and he slumped to the floor, almost taking Mirabella with him.
Luckily, she was able to step aside just as Furx fell, though it looked like his blade nicked her again on his way down. The scent of fresh blood filled the room as she cried out.
“Here—over here, my Lady!” Lynx called to her hoarsely. “Hurry—hurry!”
