Page 66 of Infala: The Alien's Bond
Darla felt the dull ache between her legs return at the sight of his pulsating runes slowly moving across his body. He locked eyes with her, quickly scanning her, assessing her status. She was uninjured, at least for now, but his concern was clear.
Darla wanted to run to him, to talk to him, but all she could do was watch helplessly. But even that moment of revelry was cut short when his opponent, a hulking beast of an alien with boulder-like shoulders and thick, meaty hands, was led into the arena to the joy of his supporters.
His skin was deep red, almost like brick, and his hair was jet black, just like his eyes. He held his arms up wide, reveling in the cheers. Clearly, he had been through this more than once before and was a crowd favorite. And by the look of him, Heydar would have his work cut out for him.
He sized up the enormous red alien and took a nervous step back. The crowd howled with laughter. Heydar’s darting eyes seemed uneasy as they looked every which way.
The Dohrags laughed even harder, though those who had bet on him were less amused. It seemed their hopeful to defeat the champion was not quite what they’d hoped he was.
“Begin!” the general bellowed without further pomp or ceremony.
The red menace lunged forward, sending Heydar scurrying away, slamming into a table before redirecting to the other side of the ring.
“Don’t run! Fight, you coward!” the man whose drink he’d just knocked over yelled.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” the crowd chimed in.
Heydar was having none of that, running away as best he could, but he slipped on a patch of blood, and his opponent seized the opportunity, grabbing him by the arm and throwing him across the ring.
The crowd cheered but Heydar rolled up to his feet unharmed. That is, until the fist already heading his way connected with his ribs, followed by another to the jaw. Somehow, he stayed on his feet, but only just. He fell onto another table, wild-eyed as he looked at the Dohrags cheering his eventual defeat. It was clear to all the outcome was all but a given.
Darla didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t look away as he absorbed blow after blow, falling into tables, knocking over dishes and heavy mugs as he tried to scramble away from his attacker.
Heydar took a hard shot to the jaw, driving him to his knees, and the crowd cheered. What they didn’t see, however, was the smile creasing his lips. Darla did, but she had no idea what it could possibly mean.
She found out soon enough.
Heydar’s powerful legs pistoned him up from the ground, his massive fist catching his adversary under the chin, throwing his head back with a sickening crack and driving him onto the general’s table, unconscious, if not dead.
Heydar didn’t hesitate.
In a flash, moving much, much faster than anyone would have thought a man his size could move, he was on top of the fallen alien, but while the Dohrag cheered him on assuming he was going to deliver the coup de grace, Heydar had other plans in mind.
Before he could react, the Dohrag at the table and his comrade beside him, suddenly found their throats slit, their blood gushing out in a torrent. Heydar was in motion flinging the knife into the eye of the nearest armed guard as he took down two more spectators then disarming and disabling the other guards in the room before they could even react.
It was a stunning whirlwind of violence, but so long as no weapons were fired, any who heard the commotion would just assume it was the evening’s fights going on as usual. And only the guards were carrying guns. And most were bleeding out on the floor.
A moment later all of them would be.
Heydar increased his speed, knives flying, taken from the tables and belts of the fallen, each of them finding its target and ensuring no one would get off a shot.
Darla was stunned as the realization set in. Heydar hadn’t been wide-eyed and scared. He had been assessing every last Dohrag in the joint, sizing them up, noting their weapons and levels of inebriation, forming a plan of attack, all while pretending to be losing to his sizeable adversary.
The general reacted once his personal guards had fallen, grabbing the nearest person he could lay hands on to act as a human shield. In this case, aliteralhuman shield, as Darla wound up in his clutches.
“Stay back! Don’t even think of—”
Heydar snatched up a heavy mug and whipped it hard across the arena without hesitation. It hit the general’s head hard enough for Darla to hear a sickening crack. The general went limp, hitting the deck, unconscious or worse. Heydar rushed to her side.
“Are you harmed?” he asked, his hands resting on her shoulders, concern bright in his eyes, along with something even more visceral.
“I’m fine,” she said, but Heydar heard the tone in her voice.
Darla was okay, but she waspissed.
He nodded and hurried to finish off the guards, just in case they had any hopes of rising. He then returned to her and handed her one of their guns.
“You and the other women remain here. Bind the ones who still draw breath but are merely unconscious. Be sure to gag them.”
