Rowan blanched bone white. ‘Wee bit is scared. I wanted to show her turbulence is no something to fear.’
Watching them stumble, untethered, afraid, Beowyn struggled to draw air.
They were attempting a hard landing into the moon surface and not being secured into a reinforced seat with a harness meant death.
Sìne stumbled into the room. ‘What in the name of God is happening?’
The ship was hit again, its shield flaring until the bright green bubble was visible to the naked eye. It dissipated. Wildly blinking control panels died. Warping then spitting incomprehensible values, the viewfinder bracketing the screen vanished, as did the external views, entombing the deck in a solid darkness broken only by faint lines of illumination from the emergency glow-strips highlighting the evacuation route and pod chamber.
Though the warning sirens had silenced, Beowyn’s eardrums pulsed with its lingering noise. ‘What happened?’
‘Molecular core disrupter. They have one. Shields are down, the moon’s gravitational field has locked on, and we are as buoyant as a boulder in a river.’
He slapped the glass control screen with a guttural curse.
‘But disrupters are illegal!’
Éorik flayed him with an aggravated look. His pupils twinkled like cut crystal as they reflected the minuscule light available. ‘Illegal or not, temporary drain or not, we are going to crash, and now, we have no control.’
Movement slowed as if pushing through water, Beowyn rebounded from his horror induced fugue at the clink of a buckle and whoosh of retracting belts.
‘What happened to the viewing screens?’ Patrick came up behind them, fumbling in the suffocating darkness.
Without the air filtration and cooling systems, they would overheat. Luckily, they would asphyxiate long before that happened should the gods have abandoned them in completeness and the escape pods have malfunctioned.
All the humans now clustered at the back of the command deck.
Quiet fright rolled from them in waves.
‘The alarms stopped but we’re falling, aye? Are we trying to land?’ Patrick clung to the back of their seats, slotting himself in-between and lowering to his knees to brace himself. ‘We can no take much more of this.’ His eyes fixed on the lightless console. He swallowed. ‘That can no be good.’
As he left his seat, Éorik shot Beowyn a look so stark, it near stopped the thudding organ beating against his chest. ‘Come,’ Éorik said to Patrick. ‘We must evacuate and hope our pursuers are distracted by the ship long enough our life pods evade notice.’ They staggered across the bridge to help the rest of the humans into the escape pods.
Beowyn twisted back to the controls.
He slammed a white-knuckled fist onto the panels.
Nothing happened.
No chime of sound nor a flicker of light. The illegal weapons of their enemies had siphoned everything, draining even the auxiliary power cells.
Buckling under the increasing gravitational pull on its nose and rear, the Dragonfly cracked down its middle as it plummeted into the upper atmosphere of the quarantined planet.
With a shrill whistle, the air from inside was sucked out.
Loose equipment flew towards the fissure, embedding into the interior deck-head, unintentionally offering them a delay to reach the escape pods before being sucked out themselves.
Beowyn fought free of his harness.
He stumbled towards the group his Commander shoved into the tubes.
Éorik took Fergie from Rowan and the seamless metal door slid down to encapsulate the man then shoot him out into a free-fall that would eventually–hopefully–end with him landing somewhere safe enough to emerge unscathed, granted rattled and bruised.
Anticipating the occurrence of a loss of power, escape pods designed and configured to intergalactic code standards ran on energy cells independent of the vessel harbouring them, and were insulated by non-conductive mineral harvested from a border world void of sentient life.
Recessed into the interior wall, so as to be close to the exterior shell, it took only the breaking of the pressurised seals to eject the pods into space.
The slender capsules were better suited to space retrieval, but some chance of survival with a ground landing was better than no chance.
The ship shuddered, and the floor bucked hard beneath Beowyn’s boots.
He collided with the ceiling; was pounded against the floor. His mouth filled with the taste of salt and metal as his fangs bit into his tongue. The room about him spun, and he could hear the distant screams of the female and cub he’d sworn would be safe, that he had sworn to protect with his last breath.
Gaining his feet, he lunged, grabbing onto Sìne’s arm.
Air pressure in the cabin dropped.
Power surged into the control panel as the effects of the disruptor wore off.
Pitched, puttering chugs vibrated through the ship as the engine core tried to restart, but it was far too late to attempt corrective flight measures at their current velocity. Gravity had snared its prey. It would relinquish its hold only once the ship met with a greater opposing force–solid terrain.
Another barrage of laser fire slammed into the rear of the ship and pushed them into a turn that increased until they were pressed down and sliding sidewards. The twirling sensation coupled with the apparent lack of motion seen by his eyes made Beowyn’s gorge rise. He dug his claws into the deck to anchor himself.
He watched with undiluted relief as Éorik hurled himself into a pod and the door closed over his back.
Manhandling Sìne into the strained curve of his front, Beowyn crawled towards the last pod.
‘Fergie,’ she screeched.
‘Orik had her.’ His shout was subsumed by the burst of freezing wind that rushed over their backs as the hole tore wider and the suction accelerated the pace of their lateral slide.
Their hair writhed like coiled serpents around them, a curtain of ebon darkness streaked with rust, whipping cruelly at their eyes and mouths.
Sìne scrabbled for a grip on his tunic. He adjusted his hold on her waist, pressed his mouth to the rounded shell of her cold ear. ‘Hold on to me.’
Sqwarks of the alarm turned deafening as a tremendous judder rippled through the craft.
He was jerked hard.
His claws slid into flesh and he recoiled, relaxing his grip lest he shred his One’s middle.
At that precise moment, another shimmy poppled through the ship.
Sìne was wrenched from the protection of his embrace.
The back of the ship ripped asunder exposing open sky.
Light flooded through the breach.
A bloodcurdling scream erupted from Sìne as she was dragged across the floor, legs kicking, arms flailing, and yanked out the rent in the hull, a whiplash of tangled limbs.
‘No.’ He reached towards the rupture as if his will alone would bring her back. Yellow and orange, the blur of a tree canopy and the roiling black contrail from the damaged thrusters consumed her. ‘My One.’
The last of the torn ship fell away.
Escape pod destroyed, his One taken, Beowyn lay alone on the remains of his ship. At the last moment, tucked his head and pulled up his knees as it bellyflopped onto the ground. Skull-bashing, bone-breaking, spine-snapping impact. Dislodging a great cloud of flaxen earth, the nose of the cockpit husk crumpled under, the back end rebounding upwards. He rolled, twisted and slid, and was catapulted out the hole and into the air. A jagged edge of what was once a partition raked across the side of his body, ramming a spear of metal inside him. Pain. There was a void behind his eyes, a sensation of floating, dropping. Muffled thumping and cracking. Blinding light spangled his vision and there was too much air to breathe, a solid mass of it, then too little to gasp as his nervous system was too shocked to function.
His body absorbed hit after hit as it plummeted to whatever end.
White-hot pain, and then came nothingness.
Birds chi
rruped. Heat baked his furrowed brow, but cool patches dappled his skin. Leaves rustled in a breeze that chilled sweat sliding down his nape.
At the sound of dipping water, Beowyn’s dry tongue dabbed his lip.
He stiffened when the facial twitch made his entire body throb. He keened as memories of before unconsciousness barrelled into him. His eyelids sprang open, and his senses expanded, moving out in ever increasing circles, soaking in the environment. ‘Sìne?’ The call was scarcely a wheeze. Still, the lack of response made his heart pound. ‘Orik?’
His Defender was always close. Always. He had been since they were cubs restricted to the den.
They are alive, he told himself.
He curled his torso to sit up, and a burning ripped through his middle.
Cursing the delinquent ancestors who were supposed to be looking out for him, he craned his head.
Metal jutted from his side.
Sucking in a series of breaths, Beowyn bared his teeth and yanked the shard from his flesh. Pain radiating from the injury was vicious, but bearable.
He needed to staunch the bleeding. He eyed a mossy plant. ‘Sìne.’ He shouted for her as he dug a hole with his spare hand, claws making easy work of the packed earth. He buried the bloodied shard. Though not a master huntsman like his Defender, Beowyn knew enough to cloak his trail.
Leaving spoor would be suicide.
The planet carried a high threat status in the Intergalactic Registration. Sentient life had yet to evolve, but the wildlife posed a credible threat to the unprepared. Or the unaware. Those like his beloved One, her vulnerable young and kin. If not picked off and eaten by the pirates, or kidnapped and tortured by the L’Odo, they were stranded, likely bleeding and defenceless.
Glancing up, he startled, seeing the dense tree canopy bore violent evidence of his crashing spacecraft in the form of an open swathe of sky. Following its path, he noted a smoke plume drifting on the wind, wafting from the final resting place of the wreckage.
Dread mingled with panic as the reality of the situation filtered through the ringing in his ears.
Éorik was likely alive. As long as his pod landed somewhere relatively safe, his battle leathers would protect him from all but decapitation, and the cub had been with him, he was sure.
Sìne and her family wore no such armour nor had a Verakan protector.
They were dead or dying; unless the pods landed well and Sìne’s fall was broken by enough plant life she survived the drop as he had.
Exhaling, face blanking, the Great Alpha suppressed his emotions into a void. Fear would cloud his judgement, terror distort his senses.
His ears twitched at a scream.
Silence, and then another, stronger screech. ‘Sìne,’ he hollered and pushed onto his feet. Human hearing was weak. He needed to get closer.
Ripping a handful of springy moss from the loose soil, he stuffed the citrusy smelling plant into the gash at his side.
He hobbled towards the noise.
His ankle swelled, and his back ached, but his flesh would heal sooner than the damage to his soul if he lost his humans. A painful stretch of slow progress passed. The light overhead dimmed in intensity and the shadows shifted. He heard nothing but the common sounds of nature. Cawing birds of prey, chirring and buzzing insects, leaves tossed in the breeze. It would have enthralled him had he not been consumed with the need to find his people. Visions of their painful demise had his breath quickening.
Needing guidance, he bellowed, ‘Sìne.’ His name was shouted in reply.
He adjusted course and sped up.
Beowyn panted, both at the sweltering heat and muggy air. There was shade from the oblong leaves, but the space between the mammoth white trunks felt close. Yellow soil under his boots radiated warmth. Even the breeze felt hot. Eye watering scents of animal scat, and the harsh bite of rotting vegetation was thick in his nose, mixed with the mineral taste of blood.
His saliva was thick as bitter paste on his tongue.
He stumbled into a patch of blooms the shape of sucking mouths, and the sounds they made were so obscene, he almost didn’t hear the low sobbing and grunts of frustration from the dark grey spokes above. Beowyn craned his neck. He felt lightheaded with relief when he spotted a wagging leg.
He shuffled aside, now able to track the movement down the giant bole.
Arms clamped around the branch in front of her, Sìne sobbed. With a curse damning gods he’d never heard of, a curse so colourful, it made even his brows rise, she looked this way and that. She crawled backwards down the trunk. Stilling, sensing she was watched, she glanced down to plant her bleeding foot on a surer surface and caught his gaze. ‘Oh God.’ She went to let go of the branches, but swayed, yelped, and clung to them. ‘Are the others close? Is Fergie crying? My cousins? Are you hurt?’ Eyes puffy, her nose bore bright red webs, yet appeared unbroken. Clothes he’d given her as part of the traditional bridal gift were torn. Her mylky skin was leached of its rosy sheen, ashen, and lines of stress bracketed her lips. Bruises formed on her jaw, and another of darker pigment surrounded her bloodshot eyes and spread over her temple.
To Beowyn she was a beautiful sight.
‘Éorik?’ She carried on, heedless of his silence of their companions whereabouts. Her movements took on a sense of urgency. Her hair had doubled in size in the humidity, but did not seem to impede her sight. ‘Is he injured? I’ve been climbing down that tree for hours.’
When she was close enough to the ground, she lowered herself as far as her arms could. She let go. She landed on both feet then staggered a step before launching herself at him.
Beowyn’s arms snapped around her like iron bands. His eyes closed, and only then did he acknowledge he’d been on the brink of going feral.
Did she realise it was the first time she’d placed herself into his arms of her own volition?
‘You’re alive!’ Her cry blew against his sweaty neck. Her arms hugged his middle. ‘I thought you were gone.’
Heart sinking, Beowyn braced. ‘My One, I fear we–.’
Fingers pressed into his back. Her chest heaved against his. ‘All we have is hope. Don’t take it away.’
‘There was a better chance they would reach terra in one piece than we had.’ His voice was gruff. It wasn’t a lie, but it was unlikely all of the rest escaped death, but yes, there was hope to keep their spirits high. ‘We will find them.’ His hold tightened, and his side throbbed. ‘Together.’
He curled around her, and tucked her head beneath his chin.
Under the searing sun of a distant planet, Beowyn gave away his heart.
It might take the rest of his life cycle to make her feel for him what he did her, but he was prepared to wait and fight for her all the while.
He buried his face into the tangled mass of her hair and breathed deep. She smelt like smoke, musky sweat and sap. A hint of her crisp essence underlay the odour, and he smiled. The scent was already emblazoned upon his senses.
‘We’ll find them.’ Her voice was thick. ‘We will. I know it.’
Beowyn opened his mouth to spew promises he had no right to make, nor true ability to keep, when his ears pricked and swivelled. He stopped his breath. He strained to hear and there it was–the soft fall of a paw, a gentle disturbance in the grass.
His nostrils flared.
The wind shifted, bringing with it the primal scent of musty fur and putrefied breath. Another controlled creep forward, and the rancid stench strengthened to eye-watering intensity.
Beowyn had no weapons, nothing to defend them with but his flesh.
Whatever approached was large enough to pose a serious threat, agile and adept at stalking prey, as it had come very close, and he’d not seen a glimpse of it. His eyes darted about the space where his senses warned him the creature lay in wait. He saw nothing in the strange foliage. He relied on his ears and nose to keep abreast of its movement, and hoped Sìne trusted him enough in the next moments to do what he said, when he said it. His
lips brushed her ear. He ignored her delicate shiver and shut down the instinctive surge of lust that roared through his body.
‘You must run,’ he breathed.
Sìne’s quiet sobs turned into sniffles. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Downwind comes a beast.’
Her snuffles quieted. A shudder wracked her frame. ‘It’s watching?’
‘Hunting.’
Her hands fisted his sark.
‘Run,’ he whispered.
‘O-Owyn.’ She pulled back until he saw the curve of her chin. A teardrop wet trembling lips. ‘Running ranks low on things I do passably well.’
‘I will shield you with my body.’
‘I’m telling you there are things I simply cannot do and running is one of them. I have two left feet. Last time I ran, I fell off a mountain.’
The creature recognised the fearful tenor of her voice, slinking towards them at greater speed.
Eyes narrowing, Beowyn glimpsed it.
Its hide was a varicoloured camouflage, blending it with the environment. It abandoned stealth in fear of losing its quarry and revealed itself as a shadowy blur.
Ordering himself to release his One, he reached for his sword only to jerk when it was not there. ‘Run.’
Jumping in fright, she shoved past the same time he twirled around her in a move that left him facing the enemy.
Sìne tripped and landed on her face.
Beowyn opened his stance to cover her. He loosed a warning snarl that ripped from his throat with such force, his whole body shook.
Surrounding wildlife silenced.
The long, sinuous creature bounded to a stop. Its spiked tail lashed then lowered into a stiff pole.
Predator locked eyes with predator.
Flattened nose to narrowed snout, they remained blocking each other’s path, swaying and rocking, testing the penetrability of the other’s defence.
Sìne huddled under Beowyn’s legs. When he felt her trying to creep away, he squeezed his knees into her shoulders. ‘Stay.’ His concentration was narrowed on the deadly beast.
Its movements hinted it had decided the small female was a better target. If it could get past Beowyn, it would grab her in its maw and drag her up a tree.