Page 4 of Bought by the Broken Beast

VOTOI

T he blood on my thumb is a minor sting, a familiar pain that grounds me in the cold reality of my new purpose. The pact is sealed. Vengeance has a name, and survival has a face—the pale, determined face of the human woman who now holds my leash, and my only hope.

I take the lead without a word, turning from the foul-smelling alley and plunging deeper into the city’s shadowed veins.

Above us, the grand marble colonnades and stately manors of the Vakkak and wealthy Zotkak districts rise toward the moon, a world I once called my own.

Down here, in the warren of streets that service the capital, the air is ripe with the scent of coal smoke, cheap ale, and desperation.

This is the realm of the Fiepakak, the laborers and freedmen, a place a Saru would never walk.

The irony is a bitter taste in my mouth; to reclaim my honor, I must crawl through the very dishonor I once disdained.

The human—Bella—follows close behind, her steps surprisingly quiet for one not trained in stealth.

She clutches the satchel of coin to her chest like a shield, her head on a constant swivel.

Her fear is a palpable scent in the air, sharp and clean, but it is tempered by a rigid control that I am beginning to recognize.

She is a creature of intellect, not instinct, and I wonder if her sharp mind will be enough to keep her alive.

“Stay in my shadow,” I grunt, the first words spoken between us since the oath. “Do not speak. Do not stop. If I run, you run.”

She simply nods, her dark eyes wide but focused.

We move through the city like ghosts. I know these backways not from experience, but from strategy.

As a Vakkak noble, I was required to study the capital’s layout, to know its weaknesses, its escape routes, its arteries and its dead ends.

Knowledge I thought was for leading soldiers in the defense of Milthar, I now use to sneak through its guts like a common criminal.

As we near the merchant district where Kairen’s estate stands, the scent of the sea grows stronger, mingling with the smell of night-blooming jasmine from the walled gardens of the wealthy.

The patrols become more frequent. City guards, their horned helms gleaming in the moonlight, walk their predictable routes.

But there are others. Shadows that detach themselves from doorways, figures on rooftops that are too still, too watchful.

Malacc’s men. The serpent’s poison is already spreading through the city’s watch.

We take refuge in the deep shadow of a blacksmith’s awning, the air still warm from the day’s forge. Across the wide, moonlit plaza stands Kairen’s estate, a formidable structure of white stone and dark timber. Its windows are all lit, a hive of activity when it should be settling into slumber.

“He has already reported you,” I murmur, my voice a low rumble.

Bella presses herself against the wall beside me, her breathing shallow. “I expected as much.”

As we watch, a squadron of a dozen city guards marches up to the main gate. They are led by a Minotaur whose armor is finer than the rest, his helmet crested with the obsidian sigil of a wolf’s head. My blood runs cold.

“That is Captain Vorlag,” I breathe, the name a curse on my tongue. “He is Malacc’s dog. I saw him at my trial, whispering in Malacc’s ear.”

The confirmation is a physical blow. This is not a simple matter of a merchant reporting a theft. This is a lord’s agent taking control of the scene. They are not here to investigate a runaway slave. They are here to hunt for a witness and bury a secret.

Vorlag pounds on the gate. It swings open, and the guards storm the estate. We are too late. The house is a fortress now, crawling with the enemy.

“We cannot get in,” Bella whispers, her voice tight with despair.

“Not yet,” I correct.

A shout from the far side of the plaza draws my attention. A lone guard, positioned as a lookout, has spotted us. He points, his bellow echoing across the stones. “There! In the shadows!”

Instinct takes over. I grab Bella’s arm, my grip like iron, and pull her with me, back into the labyrinth of alleys. “Run!”

The hunt is on. The sound of heavy, armored footfalls and furious shouts echoes behind us.

We plunge into the darkness, the world becoming a blur of stone walls and overflowing refuse bins.

I am faster, stronger, but I am tethered to the human.

Her lungs burn, I can hear her ragged gasps, but she does not falter, her small legs pumping furiously to keep up.

We round a corner and come face to face with two more guards, their swords drawn. They have cut us off.

There is no time for finesse. I shove Bella behind me and charge.

I meet the first guard with the intense force of a battering ram, my shoulder crashing into his chestplate.

I hear his ribs crack as he flies backward, slamming into his companion.

I do not stop. I grab a heavy wooden market cart laden with unsold cabbages and, with a roar, heave it at them.

The cart splinters against the wall, burying the two guards under an avalanche of wood and vegetables.

“This way!” Bella cries, pointing down a narrow side-passage I had overlooked. Her mind is working even in the midst of chaos.

We scramble down the passage, the shouts of our pursuers growing closer again. We emerge into a small, enclosed courtyard, the back of a textile dyer’s workshop. The air smells of acrid chemicals. And there is no other exit. A dead end.

Heavy, armored bodies block the entrance to the passage we have just exited. Vorlag himself stands at the forefront, a cruel smile twisting his lips.

“Nowhere left to run, disgraced one,” he sneers, his sword scraping against the cobblestones. “Lord Malacc sends his regards.”

They advance slowly, savoring the moment.

I push Bella behind me, my body a solid wall of muscle and defiance.

I have no weapon but my fists and my fury.

It will not be enough. I scan the walls around us, my mind racing.

Brick, stone, timber… and a section of wall to my left that looks older, the mortar crumbling, stained dark with moisture from a leaking gutter. A weakness.

“When I move, you follow,” I grunt to Bella, my voice low. “Do not hesitate.”

Vorlag is only a few feet away now, his sword raised. “Your honor died in the arena, Saru. Now, you die in the dirt.”

I let out a roar, the sound of pure, primal rage, and charge—not at him, but at the wall. I put every ounce of my Vakkak strength, every bit of my shame and fury, into the impact. My shoulder hits the crumbling brick like a siege engine.

The wall explodes outward in a shower of dust and rotten mortar. Pain, sharp and blinding, shoots through my shoulder, but I ignore it. Beyond the gaping hole is darkness. A passage. One of the city’s old, forgotten sewer tunnels.

The guards stare, momentarily stunned by the impossible act. It is the only opening I need.

I spin, grabbing Bella’s arm, and haul her through the jagged opening with me. “This way,” I grunt, pulling her into the suffocating, pitch-black darkness as the sounds of the city watch erupt in fury behind us.