In no time at all, the ghoul’s translucent skin turns even more ashen. The lively limbs of the creature that had started to claw at the noctis, fall limp at its sides. Not a single drop of blood falls from the ghoul’s neck, every ounce of it lapped up by the other monster gnawing on its neck.
If the ghoul is dead—or close enough to it—I might be able to finish the noctis. After all, my sights have already been set. My shot aimed and ready. I could kill the noctis with a single bolt to the skull just as he’s finishing his meal and walk away victorious with new notches on my belt to boast whenever I make it back to town.
Once again, my shot is thwarted, and not a moment too late.
Another noctis steps out from the shadows from an alleyway below. He approaches the first noctis greedily, eyes hazed over with hunger. For a moment, I’m not sure if I’m about to witness the two predators fight to the death for their perceived entitlement on the kill, which would be foolish of the second considering he’s about half of the other’s stature. My wishful thinking is proven wrong when the first noctis tosses the half-drained ghoul to his friend, who wastes no time slurping up his sloppy seconds.
Sable and I are a prolific team, but we can only fire one bolt at a time. If I pull the trigger now, only one noctis would go down, and the other would disappear into the shadows before I could get another shot off. I’d blow my cover. I’d risk my life for no reason.
Killing them isn’t an option. Either I can remain hidden and hope that they leave as soon as they’re done sharing their meal, or I can run now, get a head start, and hope that by the time they notice my scent or tracks, I’m already long gone.
The larger noctis wipes the leftover blood dribbling down his chin. Licking his fingers, he grimaces and glares at the ghoul. “Fucking filth.”
The second noctis finishes his grotesquely wet slurping and tosses the dead creature aside with a pucker of his own. “You could say that again. But hey, food is food.”
“They’re pests,” the first noctis snarls.
Nervous laughter jostles the scrawny one’s shoulders. “Yeah, well, the way I see it, it’s like nature’s looking out for us. This guy fed one of us when he was still human and was left alive to turn so that now he gets to feed one of us again—or in his case, two. He’s a three-for-one.” There’s something about his voice that makes my skin crawl, and I’m grateful when he pauses, turning thoughtful. A shy hint of pride glints behind his wide, murderous pupils. “Come to think of it, that might not be such a bad way of doing things.”
The other noctis sounds unconvinced. “They’re the reason there aren’t enough humans anymore. You can’t honestly think that—”
He stops short, something catching his interest at his feet.
With swelling dread, I realize what it is.
Mytrap.
The large noctis assesses the compound, and I slide silently down to pin myself against the small wall of the rooftop’s ledge, my neck torqued at an awkward angle.
“What’s caught your eye, Gregor?” The scrawny one’s voice is distinct in its nasally tone.
The other noctis responds with a grizzled grunt. “Look.” He doesn’t elaborate, but I know he’s toeing my trap. “No signs of rust on the metal.”
“Well, I’ll be blighted. Would you look at that? There’s a gift for us too.” There’s a brief pause, and it’s not until I hear the metal chain of my trap clanking that I realize he’s knelt beside it for a better look. “This rat looks like it’s still fresh.”
No one should ever sound so jubilant to utter such a sentence. And though I can’t see him, the way I’m imagining the both of them licking their lips and salivating over the rat’s corpse ties my stomach in knots.
There’s a commotion below, more chains rattling.
“Fuck the rat,” Gregor says, voice as harsh as a storm. He sniffs and my chest tightens. “You smell that? Fresh blood.”
Fuck.
If I stay here, they’ll find me. I know they will. Now that they’ve caught the scent of blood in the air, and they’ve found a trap—one clearly set by human hands—they’ll stop at nothing to find whoever’s responsible for its handiwork.
“You think someone set this recently?”
“Mmm,” Gregor grunts. “Might even live near here.”
I need a plan, and fast. One that doesn’t involve me being seen. But that seems impossible until they leave the marketplace.
There’s another hint of pride in the scrawny one’s voice as the two of them start skulking around the compound. “Who knew someone could live in this disgusting dung heap, eh?” When Gregor doesn’t respond, there’s a thudding sound. “Me. I thought it. Looks like I was right to suggest we come this far. The others—”
“Boris, that’s enough. We should alert the others.”
Others?How many more could there be?
“Aye-aye, captain”—I hear the ruffling of clothes and assume he’s lifting his arm in salute, but I don’t understand the disappointment that follows— “Well ain’t that just the piss-end of a horse.”
