He also heard the limb crack.
His heart hammering, Vane looked down to see one massively large gator eyeballing him from the murky depths. Vane would have given anything to have three seconds of his powers to fry that greedy bugger.
Fang didn't seem to notice either threat. "I swear I'm never going to tell you to bite my ass again. Next time you tell me something, I'm going to listen, especially if it concerns a female."
Vane growled. "Then could you start by listening to me when I tell you to shut up?"
"I'm being quiet. I just hate being human. This sucks. How do you stand it?"
"Fang!"
"What?"
Vane rolled his eyes. It was useless. Any time his brother was in human form, the only part of his body that got any exercise was his mouth. Why couldn't their pack have gagged Fang before they strung him up?
"You know, if we were in wolf form, we could just gnaw our paws off. Of course if we were in wolf form, the cords wouldn't hold us, so—"
"Shut up," Vane snapped again.
"Does the feeling ever come back into your hands after they get all numb like this? This doesn't happen when we're wolves. Does it happen a lot to humans?"
Vane closed his eyes in disgust. So this was how his life would end. Not in some glorious battle against an enemy or his father. Not quietly in his sleep.
No, the last sound he would hear would be Fang bitching.
It figured.
He leaned his head back so that he could see his brother through the darkness. "You know, Fang, let's cast blame for a minute. I am sick and tired of hanging here because of your damned big mouth that decided to tell your latest chew toy about how I guarded a Dark-Hunter's mate. Thanks so much for not knowing when to shut the hell up."
"Yeah, well, how was I to know Petra would run to Father and tell him you were with Sunshine and that that was why the Daimons attacked us? Two-faced bitch. Petra said she wanted to mate with me."
"They all want to mate with you, dickhead, it's the nature of our species."
"Fuck you!"
Vane let out a relieved breath as Fang finally quieted down. His brother's anger should give him about a three-minute reprieve while Fang simmered as he searched for a more creative and articulate comeback.
Lacing his fingers together, Vane lifted his legs up. More pain sliced through his arms as it cut deeper into his human flesh. He only prayed his bones held a little longer without severing.
More blood ran down his forearms as he lifted his legs up toward the branch over his head.
If he could just get them wrapped… around…
He tapped the wood with his bare foot. The bark was cold and brittle as it scraped against the soft topside of his foot. He cupped his ankle around the wood.
Just a little… bit…
More.
Fang snarled at him. "You are such an asshole…"
Well, so much for creativity.
Vane focused his attention on his own rapid heartbeat and refused to hear Fang's insults.
Upside down, he wrapped one leg around the limb and expelled his breath. Vane growled in relief as the weight was mostly removed from his throbbing, bloodied wrists. He panted from the exertion while Fang continued his unheard tirade.
The limb creaked dangerously.
Vane held his breath again, terrified of moving lest he cause the branch to snap in two and send him plummeting into the putrid, green swamp water below.
Suddenly, the gators thrashed about in the water, then sped away.
"Oh shit," Vane hissed.
That was not a good sign.
There were only two things he knew of that could make the gators leave. One was if the Dark-Hunter named Talon, who lived in the swamp, returned home and reined them in. But since Talon was off in the French Quarter saving the world and not in the swamp tonight that seemed highly unlikely.
The other, far less appealing option was Daimons—those who were the walking dead, damned to kill in order to sustain their artificially prolonged lives. The only thing they prided themselves on killing more than humans were Were-Hunters. Since the Were-Hunters' lives spanned centuries and they possessed magical abilities, their souls could sustain a Daimon ten times longer than the average human.
Even more impressive, once a Were-Hunter's soul was claimed, his or her magical abilities were absorbed into the Daimons' bodies where they could use those powers against others.
It was a special gift to be a "nubby" treat for the undead.
There was only one reason for the Daimons to be here. Only one way for them to be able to rind him and Fang in this isolated swamp where Daimons didn't tread without cause. Someone had offered the two of them up as a sacrifice so that the Daimons would leave their Katagaria pack alone.
And there was no doubt in his mind who had made that call.
"Damn you!" Vane snarled out into the darkness, knowing his father couldn't hear him. But he needed to vent anyway.