“Get your hands off my female—Now!”
9
The two Ma’shorkan policemen seemed taken aback and for the first time, her attacker, Brakus, looked worried as well.
“Your female?” he demanded, glaring at the big Kindred. “What are you speaking of, foreigner? I claimed her first!”
“You cannot claim what does not belong to you,” the Kindred snapped, striding forward. He turned to the two Ma’shorkan policemen. “Officers, this is my female. We just came into the spaceport on the same shuttle from the Kindred Mother Ship together.”
“He lies!” Brakus protested, tightening his grip on Selena’s bleeding arm until she felt the small bones of her wrist grinding together. “She is mine!”
But though the policeman had been perfectly willing to ignore Selena’s protests that she didn’t belong to the greasy Ma’shorkan kidnapper, they seemed to take the big Kindred much more seriously.
“What is your name please, Sir?” the first one said. “We’ll need it to verify your claim.”
“I am Valen, a Defender of the Kindred. I brought my female with me for relaxation and pleasure during my stay on Ma’shorka Centra,” he said coolly. “As you can see, she is a rare beauty—what we Kindred call an ‘Elite’—a female the Goddess has blessed with extra generous curves. Her care and upkeep are quite expensive and I’ve already put a lot of money into her—money which I don’t intend to lose just so this lowlife can turn a profit selling her to the nearest bimbap whorehouse!”
Selena just gaped at him. Why was he talking this way and pretending like she was his property? Why not just tell the truth—the same truth she’d been telling—that she was an Independent Female and Brakus was trying to kidnap her?
But the policemen were looking at the big Kindred thoughtfully, as though they were really considering this fiction he was spinning.
“I see,” said the second one. “And how can we verify your words, Sir? Verification is important in a contested claim,” he added importantly.
“You can go and check the passenger manifest of the last shuttle from the Mother Ship, if you like,” the Kindred said, frowning. “Or if you’re prefer, I can take you to the High Court. As I said, I’m a Defender and I also happen to be personal friends with Magistrate Riigor, who does not look kindly on peacekeepers failing to do their duty.”
“Magistrate Riigor?” The two policemen both paled at this name. “You know him?” the first one asked.
“Extremely well,” the big Kindred, who had called himself “Valen,” growled. He raised his eyebrows at them. “Would you like to get to know him, too? I can promise you, it won’t be a very amiable first meeting, especially if I’m bringing you up on charges for failing to protect my lawful property from thieves and slavers!”
“No, Sir! No, that won’t be necessary!” the second policeman exclaimed. “Brakus, let go of the female—she belongs to this gentleman here,” he added, turning to Selena’s attacker.
But Brakus still had his grimy fingers locked around her wrist and a stubborn expression on his face.
“I tell you, he is lying!” he exclaimed. “I claimed this female first! I went to great trouble and expense to do so—I paid the youngling gang twenty annahs apiece to get her here! I will not let her go!”
“Oh yes, you will.”
The big Kindred was suddenly looming over him. In the dark hallway, Selena thought he seemed to grow somehow even bigger and had his eyes turned red? They glowed like burning coals in the dimness and his voice had dropped to an almost animalistic growl.
“You’ll let her go or I’ll wring your miserable neck!” he snarled at Brakus, who had turned as pale as the policeman, when the Kindred had threatened them with legal problems. Selena thought faintly that his posh, slightly British accent somehow made him sound all the more menacing.
But though he looked frightened, the Ma’shorkan kept his grip on her wrist.
“She is mine!” he exclaimed and whipped out the knife again, which he had hidden in his long, stained robes when the policemen appeared. He brandished it in the Kindred’s face. “Mine, I say—mine!”
“Watch out—he’s got a knife!” Selena gasped, rather unnecessarily.
But before the Ma’shorkan kidnapper had a chance to use his weapon, the big Kindred gripped the wrist holding the knife and bent it sharply to one side.
There was a sickening cracking sound and the knife clattered to the floor. Brakus at last let go of her wrist in order to cradle his own as he howled in pain.
“He assaulted me! Look what he did, Your Honors—he hurt me!” he blubbered to the policemen, holding out his wrist, which was already swelling. His knife hand flopped uselessly from side to side, making it clear the bones were broken.
But this time, at least, the Ma’shorkan police were unsympathetic.
“You got what you deserved—trying to claim another man’s property, Brakus,” one said severely.