Free Haven 6 by Aubrie Dionne

Grier. As Eri backed away from the ramp, another chorus of war cries joined the rest. Arrows flew across the battlefield, and the first wave of attackers fell head over heels, tumbling to trip the others in a massive crash.
    What was going on? She stuck her head outside the ship. Another tribe of men with white feathers threaded in their hair emerged from the jungle. Their leader, tall, tan, and bare-chested, wearing simple leather pants, ran ahead of the pack like a gazelle, shooting arrows from a long black bow. His wavy brown hair shone deep chestnut in the ramp’s emergency white lights.
    He was gorgeous.
    Pain pricked Eri’s neck. Had a jungle bug bitten her? She raised her hand and felt a small dart protruding from her skin. Horror crashed through her. I’ve been hit. She plucked the dart from her neck and studied the thick black substance coating the tip. Poison. The substance mingled with her blood like oil on water.
    The loading bay blurred, little red lights blinking at her like devil’s eyes. She collapsed to the floor. Her mouth dried and she coughed back nausea, bringing her locator up to her face. The numbers swam on the screen. Must…contact…Grier.
    Shrieks and other war calls rode the wind as pain exploded behind her forehead. Her world closed in until she could only see a pinprick of light. That pinprick blinked, winking at her before it went out.
     

Chapter Eight
Survivor
    Striver ran toward the mass of Lawless men and women pouring from the trees. Dim lights illuminated the artificial clearing where the ship had crushed a semicircle of foliage. The hull sat in a crater like a metal egg, repelling the arrows. The belly lay open, a ramp sticking out like a black tongue. The visitors must have already disembarked.
    Striver stifled the doubt he’d arrived too late, shouting behind him, “Aim for the front. Drive them into the forest.”
    He checked the sky for Phoenix. Black shadows spotted the second moon in an arc. The birdman led an army of Guardians in battle-flight formation, their arms filled with reed nets to quell the Lawless. Until now, Striver’s tribe had an advantage with the Guardians, but if the Lawless seized the ship’s technology, the nets would be useless.
    “We have to pick out the leaders.” Carven ran beside him, unsheathing his cooking knives. He gave Striver a sidelong glance and headed for the front line. Striver covered him, felling the first few men before they could pump air into reeds filled with coma darts. A shiver ran up his spine. Coma darts meant one thing: they wanted to capture the aliens for interrogation, maybe even torture. Not a good start to intergalactic relations.
    Striver didn’t see anyone besides Lawless refugees. Where were the visitors? Their camp lay ransacked, containers spewing silver gadgets and tatters of golden foil. Had the Lawless beat their superior technology and taken them already?
    Carven swung his blades at two Lawless men as they jabbed at him with flint daggers. Although he had size over them, they were fast, and Striver struggled for a good aim. Just as the one on the right lunged, the other backed up enough for Carven to fire at him without endangering himself. Striver pulled the bowstring back and aimed. Carven’s arm swung, blocking him.
    Almost…almost…
    A pile of leaves rammed into his shoulder and the arrow ricocheted into the trees. Striver fell and the man crawled on top of him, pinning his legs. He lunged with his flint blade at Striver’s neck. Striver dropped his bow and grabbed the man’s wrist just before the blade cut through the skin. Adrenaline surged through him and he felt every pulse of his wildly beating heart. His strength lay as an archer, not in hand-to-hand combat.
    They pushed against each other in a deadlock, the flint blade glistening blue-black in the moons’ rays. Striver thought of Carven, wondering if the older man had managed to survive against two of these savage creatures.
    “Technohoarder.”