Saved and Savaged

Chapter 7 - Keziah

Nausea unlike any I've ever experienced rolls through me, and even though my stomach is completely empty, I fear I'll throw up.

I've been around violence before—living in the villages of Gotawe guaranteed that, since poverty and hunger rule, but I've never been in the middle of such destruction.

I killed someone. Maybe more than one person.

I don't know how many people were in the vehicle I destroyed, but the whistle of power as it left the weapon in my hand, followed by the pressure in my wrist and the blast of sound as the energy hit its target replay in my mind.

What if there were other captives in the back of that transporter?

My abdominals tighten. I clamp my lips shut and fight back the urge to heave.

Gentle vibrations seep into my muscles and ease my strain. For a fleeting moment, the pain in my body stops and beautiful peace lifts my soul out of the chaos.

The euphoria fades as I realize what soothes me—the demon. He continues to purr, but I yank my frazzled brain out of the mix and force my attention to my predicament.

With my tunic hiked up by his tail, which weaves much too close to my intimates, my legs remain exposed to the elements. In the few moments of his absence, I moved my belt below my breasts to hold the torso of my tunic closed, but after the crazy events of the last few minutes, the fabric no longer covers me. Only my front pressed to his back keeps me hidden.

I want to pull my arm free of his hold and fix my clothes, but he doesn't relax his shoulder or lift his head.

"Finger off the trigger. Now."

His low words almost hypnotize me, but the warning edge tightens my gut further. I lift my finger and move it to rest along the outside of the weapon, hoping to ease the strain in my wrist.

"Good, tiny fierceling."

"My name is Keziah."

I could die of mortification.

He attacks me. Hurts me. Insults and leaves me, but I offer him my name at the first opportunity. Angry at myself, I dig my forehead into the delicious smelling wall until I remember it's his nape I'm pressed against.

"Keziah. Beautiful."

The deep timbre of his voice laced with dark promises is too much.

I jerk my head up, almost hitting his curved horn with my skull, and open my mouth to ask for freedom. The potent scent of blood forces me to clamp my lips shut so I don't vomit, despite wanting to coat my tongue with the overwhelming pheromones.

The vehicle slows but does not stop.

"I'm Gric."

A shiver wracks my spine, his guttural voice making my insides throb.

His chuckle hurts as my organs attempt to respond to his masculine strength, my nipples hardening into stiff peaks.

Embarrassment joins the fray.

"Put me down."

"No, I don't think I will."

An engine roars closer, so I look over his shoulder and tremble in fear at the view. These creatures shouldn't exist, yet here they are, riding the tops of transporters and hurting women.

Except, they haven't hurt any of the others, have they? And they just fought off a bunch of men to save us, right? This enormous beast, Gric, just used himself as a living shield to protect us, didn't he? But why?