“You can’t stop me.”

He bellowed as the needle tip slid deeper, deeper, past gristle and bone, impaling my victim inch by inch. He twitched and bucked, his fingers unable to snare as his nervous system shut down.

The wet squelch of my needle ripping another hole in his heart brought rushing nausea, but I didn’t falter. All masterful killers knew to make the result permanent, dedication and desire had to be invoked.

I was dedicated.

I desired freedom.

I would finish this.

Holding the base of the needle, I twisted it like a corkscrew.

“Ah!” Daniel jerked. His arms fell to his side, scrabbling at the needle, but it was too late. Adrenaline would keep him animated for another few seconds, but it was already done.

I took his life, not with horror or regret, but with no mercy and complete acceptance.

A life for a life.

He owed me that.

Watching him succumb iced my blood, turning me into a ruthless executioner. His golden eyes met mine, gasping for hope and help. His motions turned languid and dull, a broken pawn, never to live again.

“How does it feel, Daniel? To know you’ve lost?” I gasped, but my nerves remained calm. “How does it feel to know a Weaver took your soul?”

He never had the chance to answer. His face froze of vitality. His breath wheezed, his heart stopped, and in those final seconds before his soul leapt free, he snarled with sinister hate.

Then…emptiness.

There were no longer two people in my tent, only one. Just me.

Just me.

I killed him.

As if the universe rejoiced in one less monster breathing its air, a lion bayed on the dawn’s horizon. Daniel’s blood slowly seeped in an odd little trickle around my needle. Weeping wetly and warmly, staining his chest like spilled wine.

He twitched.

I rejoiced.

I’d killed my first Hawk.

Daniel…

…

was dead.

THE LUMINESCENT glow of imminent dawn welcomed me to Almasi Kipanga.

I knew the compound well and ordered the driver to wait a kilometre from the perimeter. He obeyed because he trusted my family’s name. And I trusted him because I hadn’t paid him yet. I had no intention until I found Nila and had her safe in my arms.

He was my ticket to freedom, and I would reward him handsomely for it.

Jogging through the long grass of the plain surrounding the encampment, I hoped the dried blood from my side wouldn’t attract unwelcome predators. I’d stepped into a world where teeth and fang were much more dangerous than bullet and gun.

The camp sat like a giant growth in the centre of nothing. Armed guards patrolled the fence line but I knew another way in that would go unnoticed. I’d used it when I was young, when hanging out with too many people overwhelmed me. Kes had found it—the unfortified entrance—kindly giving me an escape route to find silence and sanctuary.

Keeping low, I avoided the main entry and dashed to the service area and staff quarters. Keeping my footsteps light and breathing shallow, I pulled on the loose wooden panel and slipped into the latrines. Either the guards had never found the perimeter’s weakness or they had no intention of doing repairs while breathing in the stench of excrement.

Animals avoided the scent of human waste, and men who wanted to rob us didn’t think to follow the malodour for a way in.

Smoke from a dying bonfire crackled in the centre of the camp. Fast asleep tribesmen and their families slept in lean-tos while some preferred to dream in the elements beneath the stars. My lips curled, remembering the ceremony that’d almost incapacitated me emotionally.

I’d been fifteen.

I’d been an unwilling participant.

But that hadn’t stopped them from forcing me to ingest the drug-liquor, consuming me in their drumbeats and chanting.

It’d fucked me up worse than normal. I’d never felt so unhinged and aroused, turned on by the tiniest touch, overwhelmed by the simplest emotion. The entire camp had become an orgy, and I’d run far and fast.

I’d barricaded myself for twenty-four hours, remaining alone and far away from rutting sex-crazed humans. But it hadn’t stopped me from pleasuring myself or spilling orgasm after orgasm on the dusty African plains.

Holding my breath, I wrapped my arm around my painful side. Every heartbeat activated the wound, highlighting my lack of rest and fever. I wouldn’t have the strength to fight many men if they woke up.

Tiptoeing through the scattered sleeping forms, I calculated where Nila would be. The faster I could get in and out, the higher our chance of survival.

But at least we would be together again—regardless of what happened.

One particular woman moaned and rolled over in her sleep, hugging a black-skinned man beside her. The one blessing of the drug was insane lethargy. After the passion and demands of animalistic behaviours, they’d be out cold until the heat from the African sun forced them to move indoors or incinerate.

My heart remained in my mouth as I weaved around tents and shipping containers. Cut’s sleeping quarters were across the compound, upwind and in a prime location. Daniel’s rested four tents away which left the guest one beside it.

My gaze shot to the fabric A-frame in question.

Lights.

The only one with lights illuminating the inside like a trapped firefly in a jar.

It took a few minutes to skirt around the edge, stepping through shadows, avoiding open spaces. I listened for noises. I hoped to God Nila hadn’t been harmed. And I wished for a gun to protect her.