Gabriel Hunt - Hunt Beyond the Frozen Fire

She reared up, raised herself half a foot in the air using her knees for leverage, and plunged down, taking him deep inside her. “Now,” she said, “you shall fill me with your strong, vital American seed.”

He watched her lift the stone knife from where it lay beside the fifth stake. He strained to resist the climax he felt building in him. But it was hopeless. She held him clenched tight with muscles as thoroughly developed as those of her powerful arms and legs; he felt them squeeze rhythmically as she rocked upon him.

She threw her arms wide and he saw the blade stroke against the taut rope, fibers parting as it passed. He shot a glance over her shoulder, toward where Rue hung by her wrists in one chute and in the other, Velda—

But Velda wasn’t in the other.

The rope that had held her wrists dangled empty.

Had that one swipe of the blade been enough to release her into the maw of the machine? But no—he’d have heard it if she’d fallen, would have smelled the ozone stench.

“Now, Gabriel Hunt!” the queen shouted, raising the knife with one hand and pressing down on his belly with the other. “Now!”

And she would have gotten what she wanted, had not a pair of hands hauled her off him by the throat at that very instant.

The queen’s headdress tumbled from her head as Velda hurled her to the ground.

For just a moment, Velda locked eyes with Gabriel. He saw the depths of pain in them, the inconsolable rage contorting her features. “Get me loose,” he said quickly. “We have to free Rue before that rope breaks.” A glance to the side showed that the rope was fraying rapidly, the twined strands snapping one by one as fewer and fewer remained to bear her weight.

But Velda didn’t look at the rope or stoop to untie him. She strode the other way, away from Gabriel and toward Uta.

The queen was trying to rise to her knees. “That old man,” Velda growled, her voice low and savage, “was my father .” Velda laid her out with a vicious kick to the throat. Then she drew back her leg for another, but the queen snagged her ankle and pulled her down to the ground.

“Rue,” Gabriel called. “Hold on!” He strained to reach the fallen headdress, which lay on its side just inches from his right hand. He could feel the tip of one of the crimson feathers between his fingers. It took three tries before he was able to get a good enough grip on it to draw the headdress toward him, one slow millimeter at a time.

But eventually he had it—and rotating it between his fingers, he brought one of the sharp teeth with which the headdress was studded into contact with the rope. He began sawing.

As he did, Velda and Uta rolled past, clutched tightly in each other’s arms, both of them sweat-streaked and dirty and naked as the wild animals their struggle made them resemble. Gabriel saw Velda grab a fistful of platinum hair, wrenching it hard to the left; he was surprised Uta’s neck didn’t snap from the force. But it didn’t, and the queen responded by streaking a long-nailed hand across Velda’s throat, which erupted in furrows of blood.

Velda raised Uta two feet in the air with a kick to the stomach that sent the queen sprawling. An instant later, she was up again and slashing at Velda with the stone knife. Velda leapt back, out of the blade’s reach—and at that instant, the last knot around Gabriel’s right wrist parted. He swung his arm over and began tugging at the knots around his left. They had tightened from his struggles, but he could feel them begin to come apart as he worked at them.

He shot a glance at Rue and then at the dwindling rope holding her up. She was trying to wedge herself in the chute using her knees and heels, but it wasn’t working—she kept slipping. And her efforts were making the rope part faster. “Stay still,” Gabriel shouted. “I’m coming.”

He saw Velda throw a punch at the queen. Uta dodged, twisting out of the way and bringing the knife up to slash at Velda’s knuckles. Velda hissed and jumped back, shaking blood from her hand. She came back in with a low kick and the queen responded again with the knife, this time slashing at Velda’s calf. Velda swore, feinted right and then slipped in on the left, catching the queen by the wrist and disarming her with a brutal twist against the natural bend of the joint. The knife dropped from her grip.

Velda made a dive for the fallen knife and the queen instantly fell on her from behind, knocking Velda to the floor. She wrapped her legs around Velda’s chest, pinning Velda’s arms to her sides, then took hold of Velda’s hair and began bashing her face into the dirt. Velda managed to wrench one arm free and elbowed the queen in the kidney. She made another grab for the knife, but the queen brought her fist down, hard, on Velda’s wrist. Velda howled with pain.

Both women staggered to their knees, then unsteadily to their feet, but the queen lurched forward, butting Velda in the back with her head. Velda fell, landing at the edge of the fire pit. The queen dropped to the ground beside her, taking a fistful of hair and forcing her face toward the smoldering coals. Velda threw back a flurry of desperate elbows until finally one connected, knocking the queen to one side, but Uta came barreling back and shoved Velda onto the coals. Velda rolled across the burning surface, sending sparks flying. The queen spun, reaching for the fallen knife.

That was when Gabriel finally got his left arm free—and the last strands of the rope holding Rue up snapped.

With a lightning-fast lunge, Gabriel swung over toward the stake, grabbing at the rope as it sprang into the air. He caught its end and held tight. Rue’s weight yanked him to a standing position as she slid down the chute. He heard her moan when her feet came to a stop within inches of the deadly lens. Pulling hard with both hands, he dragged the rope toward him, coiling it around his fists. The muscles of his arms bulged with the effort. One more pull—

As Rue reached the top of the chute, her weight toppled the wooden scaffold, sending her sprawling on the ground.

The sound caught Uta’s attention and she looked over. As she did, Velda grabbed her from behind, wrapping one arm tightly around her throat and pressing fiercely against the back of her head with the heel of her other hand. The queen’s face began to go purple. She was struggling for breath.

“Velda, no!” Gabriel shouted. He raced to undo the ropes around his ankles. “You’ll kill her!”

Velda looked over at him. When she spoke, it was with utter disgust in her voice. “So?” she said, and shoved hard with the hand at the back of Uta’s skull. They all heard the queen’s neck break.

The struggling body went limp in Velda’s arms.

She carried it to the doorway and shoved it through. Moments later, armed guards began pouring in, spears held high. A robed, older woman came in behind them, Uta’s corpse held in her arms, its head lolling horribly. “Who,” she said, her voice halting, her accent heavy, “who…does this?”

For a tense moment, no one moved or spoke. Then Velda stepped forward, eyes blazing. “ I did it.”

The woman holding Uta’s body lowered it to the ground and went down on one knee. One by one, each of the other women did the same. A low, rhythmic chant swept through the crowd.

The older woman spoke again. Gabriel couldn’t understand the words, but their meaning became apparent when the woman took the oval feather headdress from where it lay on the ground and went over to place it on Velda’s head.

Chapter 22

“I am Anika,” the woman said to Velda. “Sister of…greatmother…of Uta. I have only small English, but I…serve you now, my queen.”

“Your queen,” Velda said.