brushed her mind. An image of the cracked street overlaid her vision. Her eyes watered from the acrid scent of urine. “Elvis.”
“Perhaps you should wait here until I return.” He looked back at her and sent her his thoughts.
She saw herself, a creature in black with a swollen head. Not something she’d want to see on a postcard. “We should stick together.”
Bad things happened when people split up in horror movies. And this abandoned place had “horror movie” practically engraved on the peeling adobe walls.
“I wish to check something out.” He switched his focus back to the ground. The scenery flew by as he increased his pace, left her further and further behind.
“No.” Her denial echoed down the deserted streets. She clamped her lips together. Great. Standing on the corner, she listened to her racing heart.
Okay, she had two choices. She could stand here and wait for the crazies to jump out of the glassless windows and grab her, or she could try to catch up with Elvis.
She cracked her knuckles and shivered. The skin between her shoulder blades itched. Was that motion in the window? Did that shadow move? She couldn’t stay here.
The caprinae bleated.
She nearly jumped out of her skin. That settled it. “I’m coming after you, Elvis.”
His excitement coursed through her veins.
Nell sprinted down the street. Her boots played staccato on the pavement. One block, then two. By the third, the squat adobe buildings gave way to ghostly marble facades. Skaperian sculptures lounged in curved niches. Spindly bannisters lined floating balconies, and gold veins climbed white spires.
Small patches of lush grass broke up entryways. Blue flowers climbed delicate archways. Purple fruit decorated green trees. Potted urns and statuary stood sentinel near carved wooden doors.
Her heart rate kicked up. Either someone still lived here or time had stopped, preserving the neighborhood.
She turned the corner.
Aliens lined the street. Tall and scaly, furry and round, cute and scary. A dozen or more, all carrying weapons.
All looked at her.
Chapter 8
Bei grabbed the arm of the closest man and spun him into the charging group.
Five men went down.
More swarmed over the mud and rock hovels on the sides of the cavern, rushing toward him.
Bei dodged a fist, caught another attacker and swung him into a group of four. He resisted the urge to snap bones, cave-in skulls and crush windpipes. He didn’t want to hurt these people. They were scared. Of him.
The very idea.
A man on the right swung the handle of his shovel at Bei’s head.
He raised an arm, blocking the strike. Wood snapped in half when it hit him, spraying shards on the mob. He flipped someone over his shoulder. Tossed another aside. Blocked. Ducked. Shoved.
He felt no pain, wasn’t even winded.
Maybe they were right to fear him.
Bruised, dusty, and bloody, his attackers fell back, circled him like vultures.
“I mean you no harm.” Bei eyed the leader, who wielded a sledge hammer with a broken handle.
Blood drizzled down the older man’s scraggly beard, roping the long strands. “Then you shouldn’t have come here.”
A rock sailed through the air.
Bei feinted left. Another rock cut his cheek. Warmth trickled down his skin. Obviously, they had no problems hurting him. “I just wanted to return the girl.”
“Why? You ain’t Deutche?” The leader twisted the head off the sledge hammer. “No clan helps another.”
Grim faces nodded. Dirty hands adjusted their hold on their weapons.
Bei’s clan helped others. It was their purpose, why he didn’t kill his attackers. But they would not believe him. Hatred ran deeper than the mine they lived in. He raised his hands. “Let me pass, and I shall leave.”
The leader flipped the broken handle around. “No.”
The crowd charged.
Shit. Bei lashed out, hitting flesh, shoved and kicked. A few went down. More took their place. If he kept this up, they would end up hurt, maybe
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