When the staff came in, the master was about to start on Crow, and ordered them out.
When they didn’t leave, he didn’t get the hint. Crow did. Crow stood up, backing away, hands going up to prepare to fight.
The resulting battle had been quick and brutal. Crow watched, trying to edge out to the door. They had wounded the vampire badly, and had him corralled in a corner, trying to pin him so they could stake him before Crow finally made it to the door, and slipped through into the hallway.
He didn’t sound the alarm. His only thought process was, if the Enforcer was busy beating down an insurrection, maybe Crow could find a way to escape.
A man was mopping the floor right outside—look out, if ever Crow had seen one. Crow tried to slip past him.
An arm as unforgiving as stone looped around the slave’s throat and collared Crow into a headlock. A hiss in his ear. “Where do you think you’re going, demon lapdog.”
A hand clamped over his mouth and Crow clawed at his flesh desperately. It did no good. He threw Crow back inside, where he hit the ground hard and rolled, scrambling to his feet.
“You missed a spot,” the look out told the other hunters.
The master was being lashed down. They’d hit his throat first; he couldn’t talk again yet, let alone scream for help. He glared at Crow fiercely.
Two hunters encircled Crow. Loosing his head, Crow kicked out a hunter’s feet and punched the other one hard enough to crack his cheekbone, trying to dash back to the door, still unwilling to scream. He hadn’t given up the possibility of escape yet.
The hunters hadn’t been expecting such fierce resistance from a slave, but they regrouped quickly.
One of them held up a cross. It must have been blessed, because Crow found himself backing away from it, breath stuttering, hitting the wall as they advanced on him with it.
Crow, scared, made another silent sideways dash for the door, pulling it open in terror.
