Ty had laid out ground rules for herself when she had started out on this road. That had been one of the first things that Caratoo had taught her, the grizzled old merc imparting wisdom to the newest recruit of his band. “Know where your limits are. Know where to draw the line.” Of course, Caratoo’s line had involved betraying anyone who trusted him, but the lesson had remained with her, long after the Kerk had made the mistake of turning his back on her. Ty’s rules were clear. No attachments. No complications. She hunted only animals, not sentient life-forms, unless of course the sentient life was trying to kill her.

The Drengir was definitely trying to kill her.

She pushed back, sending a telekinetic wave against the creature strong enough to break the neck of an acklay or maybe even a roggwart, but not a Drengir. Never a Drengir. Did they even have necks?

This wasn’t her first encounter with the monsters. The first had nearly killed her. It had been on Galidraan during a hunt for a batarikan. She’d found the serpent, Drengir roots crammed into the snake’s eyes and nasal cavities, its body leached of all nutrients. Unfortunately most of the locals had suffered a similar ghastly fate, the infestation out of control. Ty had barely escaped with her life, although KL-03 had been more concerned that they’d lost yet another commission. Kriffing droid. Next time it could take down the monsters.

If there was a next time.

A Drengir root crept up the side of her face, slithering toward her mouth, thorns scraping across her lips. Oh no. She wasn’t going that way.

Ty pushed again. If she couldn’t break the Drengir’s nonexistent neck, she could at least break these damn feelers. The Drengir roared, its vines stretching beyond the point of no return. Finally they snapped, the Drengir’s moundlike body slamming into a tree. Ty yanked the root from her mouth, wincing as the thorns sliced through her bottom lip. Another scar to add to the collection. Another chance to die of toxic shock. Who knew what bacteria lived on those things, or in the marshwater for that matter.

“No escape. The harvest is ours.”

The voice raked through her head sharper than any thorn. Now the Drengir was riled, but so was she. They’d tried to do this on Galidraan, to overwhelm her with their poisonous thoughts, images of despair flooding her mind, or entire worlds reaped for the sustenance. That’s all she was to them, all anyone was. Food. Meat. Sustenance. Survival.

The Drengir surged forward, sending out creepers to snag trees and branches, anything to drag itself closer. Good. That meant it struggled to move on its own. Ty didn’t know much about the Drengir—no one did—but she knew that meant it was young, and young Drengir were still vulnerable. At least, that was the theory.