Page 100 of The Huntmaster

High up on the scaffolding planks, completely shrouded in thick, rising steam, a figure was crouching.

Mara.

Part of me wanted to scream that none of this would have happened if she had trusted me. But as I looked at her now, perched high above the killing floor, I didn't see an enemy. I saw a woman being crushed beneath the weight of her own choices.

As if sensing my gaze, Mara’s eyes snapped down, locking directly onto mine through the haze.

Her expression was fractured, her lips parted as the sickly red light caught the tears of guilt and panic tracking through the soot on her cheeks. She was entirely torn, paralysed by the realisation of what her actions had actually wrought.

I held her gaze, forcing my chin up against Sila's knife. I didn't yell. I didn't curse her. I just looked at her, letting the raw agony of my flayed hand and the terror in my chest lay completely bare. It was a silent, desperate plea. Fix this. Do something to make up for what you did.

Mara's knuckles turned white around the grip of her bow, her chest heaving as she stared at me, the internal war raging behind her eyes.

Then, something hardened. The guilt remained. But the hesitation died.

Slowly, she drew the bowstring to its fullest length, the tip of the arrow catching a glint of the green fire below. Except the arrow wasn't aimed at Geth. It wasn't aimed at the Vakra guards closing in on Toren. With terrifying, cold precision, Mara lined up the shot, aiming the lethal tip of the arrowhead directly towards me.

The skymetal arrow tore from the bowstring with a sharp, lethal hiss.

I didn't try to dodge. I couldn't. I simply closed my eyes, drawing in one last ragged breath of sulfur and soot, waiting for the cold impact of the metal to pierce my skull.

SHHH-THUMPH.

A violent rush of displaced air whipped across my face, snapping my hair wildly against my cheeks. In the exact same microsecond, a razor-sharp sting grazed the skin of my throat as the rusted blade Sila held vanished.

A choked, muffled shriek erupted from directly behind me.

I opened my eyes just in time to see Sila’s entire frame being violently thrown backwards by the sheer kinetic force of the projectile. The impact slammed her hard against the edge of the humming console before she collapsed onto the grated decking, her skull striking the reinforced iron trim with a sickening, hollow crack.

I whipped my head up. High above, Mara didn't pause to celebrate. She was already moving with fluid, predatory speed, leaping across the upper shelves and tracking a swift path down toward the main platform. I gave her a single, tight nod through the rising steam, the phantom heat of the arrow still burning against my cheek.

Turning back, my breath caught. Sila wasn't dead, but she was entirely incapacitated. She lay slumped in a heap, her chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged hitches as unconsciousness claimed her from the brutal blow to her head. Dark Vakra fluid was only slowly weeping from the wound where the arrow had struck her neck, staining the floor beneath her.

A heavy, dust-covered shadow dropped from the air and landed with a muted thud directly in front of me.

Mara straightened from her crouch, her bow already slung over her shoulder, her twin short blades drawn. She stepped past Sila’s motionless form and extended a calloused, soot-stained hand down to me. Her gaze was fierce, carrying the heavy, unbroken weight of her guilt, but the betrayal was gone.

"Zha-lo," she whispered, her voice a low, urgent rasp of absolute apology.

I didn't have the breath to question the ancient vanguard word. I just nodded, reaching up with my good hand and letting her violently wrench me to my feet, ignoring the blinding flash of pain that shot through my flayed knuckles.

But our small victory vanished before we could even take a step.

Across the cavern, the brutal rhythm of the fighting suddenly ground to a catastrophic halt. Geth had registered Sila being taken down. His massive head snapped toward the console, his scarlet eyes widening into pure, unadulterated madness as he saw her body sprawled on the floor.

Kaelen lunged forward to capitalise on the distraction, his daggers flashing, but his own exhaustion caught up to him. Geth, fueled by a sudden, demonic surge of fury, anticipated the move. He didn't parry. He let Kaelen’s blade bury itself into his shoulder, using the proximity to drive his massive, iron-reinforced gauntlet straight into the side of Kaelen’s ribs.

A sickening crack echoed through the chamber.

Kaelen was thrown sideways, his body crashing violently into a jagged stone pillar before he collapsed heavily onto the dirt floor, his twin blades slipping from his fingers as he gasped for air, unable to find his feet.

"Kaelen!" I screamed, a raw, primal terror tearing from my throat as the mate bond behind my ribs flared with an agonising, sympathetic pain. I tried to lunge toward him, but the guard pinning Toren back intercepted my view.

Toren had managed to brutally subdue the two warriors closest to him, his skymetal sword dripping with dark fluid, his chest heaving as he kept his body anchored in front of Tyler. The remaining Vakra guards on the perimeter stood ready for slaughter, their pikes levelled, but they held back—their terrified, eager eyes entirely fixed on their leader to see what the High Scavenger would do next.

Geth didn't look back at Kaelen. He turned his massive, bloodied torso entirely toward the console, his jaw locking so tight the skin over his scales threatened to tear.

"Fucking filthy, worthless human!" Geth roared, his voice a deafening wave of hatred that shook the dust from the ceiling.