The next morning, Priya makes her way to the 'guest room', another silver tray in hand with a meager breakfast: two pieces of toast and a glass of milk just for Desmond.
Sliding the heavy metal lock open, she's greeted with an expected sight. On the bed closest to the door lies Hafsa, her face concealed by her pillow, no doubt still under the effects of the sedative. Next to her is Desmond facing away from her, who only offers an apathetic squirm. He doesn't bother turning his head, hinting towards an unspoken resignation.
"Good morning." Pray greets meekly. "I brought breakfast."
He doesn't reply. Hesitantly, the tigress inches closer towards the bed.
"Are you… not hungry?"
"I just feel a little weak."
"Some food could do you some good."
The ram suddenly sits up, still turned away from her. "You're probably right. I could use the blood sugar."
He lifts up an arm to shoulder height, rotating it to display an inner forearm tinged murky crimson by blood leaking out of uneven puncture wounds.
"I lost a lot of blood last night."
"What...?"
A towering shadow blocks the ram from sight. Suddenly hunched over, the beast glares at Priya with flaming eyes the color of Desmond's blood to match the stained fur around her mouth.
Priya takes a startled step back. "Hafsa—!"
"Now!"
The serval leaps off of the blood-soaked mattress and onto the unsuspecting tiger. With savage claws, she tears into her clothes, slashing the skin and fur underneath. Massive paws find their way around Hafsa's shoulders and grip tightly, flinging the spotted cat off of her and crashing on the footboard.
"Wh- what have you done?!" Priya cries, doubling over to clench her gut area.
Desmond lets out an amused wheeze. "We found an antidote to your little mystery drug. Turns out a little blood was enough to keep her awake."
By the time he's finished his sentence, Hafsa is already back on her feet and lunging towards the white cat once more. The latter barely dodges, teetering off to the left wall and scampering deeper in the room. In hot pursuit, the serval slides over to her using leftover momentum and this time, manages to successfully grab a hold of her opponent's arm.
Priya's face contorts in pain as the claws once more dig deep into her, letting out a guttural yowl. Unable to break free, she hunkers down, shifting her pose to properly face Hafsa.
In a split second, Priya's seldom-seen fangs plunge themselves into Hafsa's right clavicle.
Tendons rip apart as she twists her maw deeper into flesh, finally pulling back at full force, taking a chunk of muscle out with a hideous crunch. The pain from the bite topples the serval to her knees with a bloodcurdling scream. She releases Priya, which the latter takes advantage of by seizing the serval's now helpless arm in her mouth with another ferocious bite.
"HAFSA!" Desmond screams.
Her rabid eyes meet his. His panic at seeing her wounded, fearing she may be defeated. His fear, enough to plant him in his place, unable to move an inch despite how badly he may want to… How she adores that. He's right to stay away; even his body knows that on a subconscious level.
This is a carnivore's fight.
A smile breaks through the excruciating agony onto her sanguinary lips.
"Des," her voice rings out, unnaturally sweetly. "You may want to look away. Things are going to get ugly."
In the next moment, they hear the revolting sound of snapping cartilage. Priya's jaw releases Hafsa to howl in pain. She flings the serval away from her as she stumbles blindly back, colliding with the wall and crashing down on the floor. Her hands, now dyed a bright red, clutch the right of her head. Spurts of blood spray out from between fingers.
Hafsa stands over her, heaving and spilling blood from her injured clavicle. She spits something onto the ground: a messy mop of black, bloodied fur that was once Priya's right ear. It lands with a splat in front of its wailing owner.
The saltiness of Priya's blood mixes with the sweet, nurturing sheep's blood that had been keeping her awake. Her body convulses in and out of pain, flexing muscles overpowering ruptured arteries overpowering her boiling heartbeat. Right now, she is electric.
Every previous hurdle she has ever had to overcome in her life had been won through indirect, prolonged strategies. Subtle, exhausting, investing. To think, a problem could be solved in under five minutes like this. This is an entirely new experience for her. She had never tasted gore before, never fought for her life. Yet her body seemed to have the whole fight perfectly rehearsed from birth. This was always inside of her.
She feels… powerful. Dominant. She dominated a larger carnivore. Every fiber of her being is exploding now. Somehow completely aware of her surroundings yet also lost in a psychosomatic trance. She smells blood. She tastes blood. She is blood.
Her neck cranes towards the sheep, still paralyzed atop the bed with an unreadable expression. Though she can no longer feel nor control her facial muscles, her expression must certainly appear deranged to him, that of a dark and savage beast with pupils the size of paper cuts encased within the her burning irises like a mosquito trapped in amber. She pants heavily, her tongue lolling out of her mouth nearly indistinguishable from her fangs in color. Deep scarlet. A viscous blend of saliva, blood, and phlegm oozes freely from her chin in large splotches, coloring the floor beneath like the canvas of a deranged pointillism painting. It must be a monstrous sight.
Does he still think she's beautiful?
Despite the carnage she's ensued, her heart soars. Looking at the helpless little sheep, she feels a rush of pride shake her entire being. She is truly glad to have been born a serval. It's thanks to her power, her claws, her fangs, her drive to hunt, that she and Desmond are alive. She protected him as a carnivore would. And she would do it a thousand times over.
She tries to speak, but her ragged vocal cords get caught on more mucus. She erupts into coughs, hacking up what seems like a buckets worth of bodily fluids before trying again.
"D-did you… look?"
He nods slowly.
A choked cackle escapes her lips. "Damn it."
Clumsily, she lurches towards him, but one of her knees give out not two steps in. However, instead of colliding with the floor, a pair of arms hold her upright. Desmond's embrace tightens as he pushes against her limp body weight. Despite his injured arm, he clings to the fabric on her back as strong as any carnie could and tilts his head away from the gaping wound above her chest, far from the reach of his many horns.
"Cheerleaders are no joke, huh?"
Hafsa lets out an exhausted wheeze that paints Desmond's shoulder with spittle. Slowly, her arms wrap around him too, her trembling claws anchoring her to him as she nuzzles her soiled face into his wool.
The sheep concentrates on feeling the hug, which now overpowers the pain of his lacerated arm. Even now, the sensation of being this close to a carnivore, one who reeks of blood, sends his heartbeat into a frenzy like it did way back when she first pinned him against a wall. But he also knows now more than ever that his heart races for her as a female, not as a predator. He's in awe.
"Let's go home."
She nods into the crook of his neck, taking one last whiff of him (which sends a chill down the ram's spine) before straightening her back out to overshadow his height. Her sensitive ears flicker and swerve behind her. Priya, now resigned to the floor, gasps for air. Her usual aid, the nasal cannulas, had been thrown off of her during the fight; now in the corner some feet away from her. Hafsa lurches towards it, and with a grunt, picks it up. She kneels next to Priya and attempts to position it back onto the albino carnivore's nose.
With one final adjustment, she places the portable oxygen generator atop Priya's heaving chest, who weakly wraps her fingers around it.
"Is it still working?"
The tigress nods. Her eyes don't open, as if she's concentrating heavily on breathing.
Hafsa shakily lifts herself up. "Your 'family' will find you soon enough. Hang on for a little more."
"Why...?" Priya weakly calls out behind her. "Why let me live?"
"Once, you told me that when an animal fears death, they're just saying they want to keep on living. Are you afraid right now?"
The pale tiger slowly shakes her head.
"Live long enough until you die terrified."
The serval never looks back. Desmond extends his hand towards her, which she takes, ushering her towards the unlocked door.
"You're nicer than I am."
"Maybe it's the tranquilizers…" She grumbles.
Suddenly, something in Desmond's pocket vibrates. He quickly grabs it, revealing his cell phone, and answers the incoming call.
"Great timing." He greets.
"I found out where you guys are being held." Solomon's voice begins with no preamble.
"Already? That was fast."
"You expect anything less from me?"
"I gotta hand it to you."
"You'll be doing a little more than that, considering I am about to give you a chance to escape now. Are you still locked inside?"
"Not anymore. We just unlocked it."
"Excellent. Do you know where the exit is?"
Desmond grimaces. "No. We have no idea what the rest of this place is built like."
"I can tell you it's an abandoned apartment complex. You just need to find the stairs and keeping going down until you see the foyer."
"Got it."
"Give me a minute to call the distraction. When you hear him, make a break for it. He should be waiting outside for you in a car."
"What, a distraction?" The ram repeats. "You sent someone else?"
"I'm afraid I'm… indisposed at the moment. But don't worry, our distraction is more than qualified. Good luck."
He hangs up the phone abruptly.
"What?!" Desmond yells into the inactive phone. "Stupid cat! You can't just hang up like that!"
Hafsa looks at him with a curious expression. "Well? What did he say?"
"He said someone else is here to rescue us." He explains with a sigh. "And create some kind of distraction? I honestly have no clue what that could me—"
"This is the police!" A sudden booming voice rings out from beyond the thin walls. "All members of the Kin of Luca are under arrest! Stay inside and await arrest! Do not attempt to resist!"
The whole apartment complex is thrown into an uproar. The dozens of sheep rush to windows to find the origin of the police's demands, but a thick pine forest outside limits most visibility. Though the voice is foreign to the family, if a bit young, Hafsa and Desmond recognize it immediately.
"BRIAN?!" They exclaim simultaneously.
"That's who he sent?!" Desmond bleats incredulously.
"Can Brian even drive?"
They shut up once they hear the panicked footsteps of confused sheep. Realizing they have no time to be surprised, they look to each other and offer a solemn nod.
"Can you walk?" Desmond whispers.
"No. But I can run."
The ram is in her arms before he can even think to protest. He fits rather easily when being carried bridal style.
"What the—" He exclaims, suddenly feeling very exposed. "Y-you're hurt!"
Hafsa's face brightens with a cheeky smile. "Yeah, but you're slow. Just hold on."
In a flash, she sprints out of the unlocked door with overwhelming speed. Desmond realizes her warning was very literal, and grabs the back of her neck for fear of falling off. The handful of cultists left in her wake barely have time to react, and rush into the room they had abandoned at mach speed.
"Lady Priya!"
The shouts of distressed 'family members' reverberate the tiny complex that Hafsa leaves behind. The scenery blurs by, a faded mix of moldy furniture, peeling wallpapers and exposed cement, but she manages to find her way out of the apartment quickly and is met with a tenebrous stairwell.
"Keep going down!" Desmond says. "There should be an exit at the last floor."
She heeds his advice by leaping down the stairs, soaring through some flights entirely with her long legs. The cacophony of bleats and shouts rattles around the staircase, which sends Hafsa's overstimulated ears into a frenzy. No. Now she just needs to focus on moving. Her body aches. Her shoulder feels like it's going to fall off in seconds. A sheep has never felt so heavy. She can't see.
"We made it."
Desmond's voice drags her out of her stupor. No more stairs in sight, instead, they stand in a simple, dusty foyer. The double-doored exit is barred shut with a heavy lug but no key lock. The ram hops down from Hafsa's hold and scampers to the door, sliding the bar to its unlocked position with his good arm. It slides with an echoing snap.
He pushes the door open.
They're free.
Suddenly losing all sense of caution, the two animals run out of the dank building, past the overgrown patio with rusted mailboxes and into the open space awaiting them. With only one dirt road passing by the abandoned building and a dark forest awaiting beyond that, they stop in their tracks.
Where should they go?
Suddenly, a commotion behind them. A herd of sheep, five in all, crash through the building's entrance, pointing at the two runaways. Terror sinks into the pit of their stomachs, one so deep they forget how to run. Like two deer caught in headlights.
A pair of headlights charge towards them from the dirt road and comes to a screeching halt at their feet. It's a silver car, its motor still purring. From the windshield, two startled faces are visible, In the driver's seat, a Humboldt penguin. In the passenger's seat, a rock dove.
The latter pokes his head out the window and points to the seats behind him as if they had caught on fire.
"GET IN!"
Hafsa and Desmond cease their cervid act and return to being a serval and a sheep scared shitless. They gallop towards the back seat doors and nearly rip it off its hinges, diving into the car as the attacking sheep reach the patio's crumbling gates.
"GO GO GO!"
The penguin steps on it full force. The shrill screech of the tires combined with the dust storm leave the cultists temporarily stunned. They cough and fruitlessly try to wave the dirt away from their eyes while their ears ring from the squeak. But by the time the dust as settled, the gray car is nowhere to be found.
Nobody says anything for a couple of minutes. Only an exchange of equally stupefied looks. Hafsa and Desmond don't even try to untangle themselves from each other.
It is finally Hafsa who breaks the silence.
"Hi, Brian!"
"I'LL KILL YOU!" He pounces out of his seated position and nearly chucks himself onto the two blood-stained animals with outstretched claws, had it not been for his stomach getting stuck in between the two front seats. Terrified, they threw themselves off of each other, each cowering in their respective ends of the back seat. Although immobilized, he still flails his limbs in indignation.
"How dare you not tell me about all this!" He bawls. "You kept this from me for months?! Are you kidding me?! I have to get a call from Sol saying you two got kidnapped by CULTISTS?! Pardon my language, but what the FUCK?!"
"Bri, please, you're kicking me." The driving penguin chides patiently. Brian grips the tops of each leather cushion and pushes himself free, back into the passenger's seat.
"I guess…" Desmond yelps. "We owe you one?"
Brian shoots an icy glare. "You owe me a hundred."
"Fair."
Hafsa suddenly pipes in. "I'm really glad you're here, Brian… But how did you find this place? And make that distraction?"
"Like I said, Sol called me out of nowhere." Brain explains. "He went on and on about this whole insane… situation. And before I had any time to process it, he just went off about a rescue plan. I had to do it because he couldn't for some reason. He sounded awful, so I guess he has a fever or something. But yeah, what you just saw was all part of his plan. Pretending to be a police to distract them with this."
He whips out a cheap-looking plastic megaphone.
"Borrowed it from my stepbrother. I knew it would come in handy someday!"
"Of course, Brian can't drive." The Humboldt chimes in. "So I'm the designated driver."
"Hi, Humbert." Desmond greets weakly.
"Nice to see you again, Desmond. We gotta stop meeting under such tense circumstances."
"Wait, how do you two know each other?" Hafsa asks.
Humbert chuckles. "Long story."
"'K... Sorry for bleeding on your leather seats. They're very nice."
"They needed a paint job anyways." Brian smacks the penguin's shoulder. "Sorry, lame joke."
"We're on our way to a hospital, so just hang in there." The rock dove assures.
But both the carnivore and the herbivore had passed out from exhaustion to hear him.
AN: Thanks for reading! Thus concludes the climax! I'll admit it, this was a loooot of fun to write.
I'd also like to thank the kind commenters who have been sharing their theories, reactions, advice, and love. It's incredibly humbling, and it brings me immense joy to see how engaged people can be over my work! Thank you truly.
Take it easy and stay safe.