Rutger

by Cari Silverwood

  Who thought of this shit?

  She scrambled to think this through when every second lost could mean Vargr dying.

  “Big Daddy! Can you wake him? There are parts of his data we can’t access right? Not even Little Mo? Wake him, somehow.”

  “Wake him? I’m not Willow, Cyn,” Locke pointed out. “I can’t do her magic stuff with the data. I can only repair solid things, circuitry. Though I could I suppose, try sending a minor surge through his system, in a way that might do something?”

  “Then do it.” She closed her eyes. “Please do it. Choose between Vargr and this.”

  “And if it damages Big Daddy?”

  “Then don’t damage him.”

  She was probably not making sense, but Locke went past her toward the cabin, and she heard sounds as if he sat. A second later the lights flickered, dimmed, then shot into brighter brilliance.

  Had it done something? Woken him? Locke rose from the seat and walked up, stopping beside Rutger.

  They all waited, no one speaking, as if expecting Big Daddy to revive. Surely an AI would be fast?

  Faster than this.

  It hadn’t done anything. And why had she thought it would?

  She lowered her head, took a deep breath and took that single step that brought her to Vargr’s side. His breathing was erratic, soft, and seemed to almost stop as she watched him, before starting again.

  “I wish I’d shot what attacked you. I’m sorry.” She pressed her forehead to the table then reached up and laid the back of her hand against his neck. Still warm. Cyn turned her head and looked at Maura. The woman looked ready to cry, with frown lines ragged across her forehead. “Please?”

  She’d do it herself if she knew how.

  After a long moment where the world stilled and Maura stayed eye-locked with Cyn, she muttered a “damn this” and marched through that connecting door. She came back bearing a huge syringe full of red swirling liquid. Without another word, and with no one daring to stop her, she inserted the needle into a port on the intravenous line running into Vargr and slowly depressed the plunger on the syringe.

  Cyn straightened, cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

  “It’s okay. It’s what I wanted to do, just I was afraid to. We all made this decision, right?”

  Everyone murmured a yes or similar, and Cyn smiled sadly and remained silent.

  “I’ll inject some into his wounded arm too—as long as I can find a vein. Just in case it makes a difference.”

  “Good tantrum,” Rutger said quietly. “If I’m ever dying, I want you there.”

  It had been that, she guessed—a tantrum. “Not your responsibility, any of you. It’s mine.”

  Five minutes later, Vargr was still alive, and Vincent had pulled up a chair to watch him.

  An hour later his breathing and heartbeat were what Vincent called acceptable, all considered.

  She and Rutger stayed with him through the daylight to the next dusk, apart from both of them leaving to bathe and change clothes. Hers had been bloodied and stinking of sweat and fear. The pain in her stomach reminded her she was hungry, though perhaps that was nerves? Could you get an instant stomach ulcer from worry?

  She wasn’t sure she could swallow anything or keep it down anyway.

  While sitting propped against the wall in a corner, she fell asleep, and woke to find herself curled on her side on the floor. What sounded like a garbage disposal chewing though a whole side of beef was actually Rutger, snoring. He’d crashed beside her.

  Pieces of bug—wings and legs—littered the industrial floor surface. The downside of the end of times, the roaches and bugs had figured it was their time to rule. Grimacing, she brushed them away then levered herself upright.

  Even from the floor, she could tell Vargr was still breathing. This was good.

  Keep doing that. She allowed herself a few more moments of unadulterated anxiety then pushed it away.

  Vincent was elsewhere.

  Her breath stank. She rose and found a toothbrush, brushed thoroughly with the mintiest mint flavored toothpaste ever, then went back to brooding over Vargr.

  Soon after, they moved him to a bed outside.

  Vincent had reset the open break in Vargr’s arm that he hadn’t felt was wise to do with him in shock. The crack and snap and wet sounds as he did that had made her feel ill.

  His skin was finally clean of blood, though his feathers would have to wait—he needed a shower to remove all the spatters on his wings.

  She sat cross-legged beside his pallet, touching him now and then to reassure herself. The veins twining down his arm had grown plumper and more obvious. His face looked pinker and his bad arm… she had hope again that it was not dead. The fingers had changed from a blotchy pale-pink and blue-gray to plain pink.

  Miraculous, yes. She imagined her busy little nanites coursing through him. How much would they change him? What would he be when or if he woke though? That question loomed.

  The other wounded were being treated with medical supplies they’d found above, courtesy of the War Quarter people sending them directions. Willow was back and had come in looking slightly furious at hearing of the shock treatment she’d forced Locke to do to Big Daddy. She only. Her call. Or so she told her.

  Her responsibility.

  She wanted to own that decision.

  An hour later Vargr opened his eyes.

  Both she and Rutger were waiting for this, hoping. Her butt was sore from the extended sitting, her legs asleep. Though she’d left a few times, she’d returned as soon as possible.

  “You’re alive.” She picked up the hand belonging to his good arm and kissed it.

  “I knew he’d live,” Rutger managed to say smugly from where he reclined opposite. “Welcome back.”

  Vargr wet his lips, raised his head. What did you do to me? I feel like I’ve—

  She patted his hand. “Your arm was broken, and you have several bad chest wounds.”

  “I do? It doesn’t feel like it. But I do remember that stinker stabbing at me, and the explosion.” His voice croaked, and he cleared his throat, swallowed. “Dayum.”

  “Need some painkillers, buddy?” Rutger asked quietly. “We’ll get you a better bed.”

  “Bed? I’m not in pain. I was going to say I feel like someone ran whisky into my veins then set it on fire. It feels… bloody good, in a strange way.”

  “Oh hell,” She grinned. “That’s my nanites.”

  “Oh?” His eyes narrowed. “You gave me yours?”

  “Well, Maura did—” Rutger began.

  “I told her to. It was to save your life.”

  Rutger said dryly, “You made her, yelled at her, and us. This girl wasn’t going to let you die, man. Ever. She’d have dragged you back from Hell by your balls.”

  “Really? Let me try this…”

  Then he sat up slowly and planted his palm to prop himself up. “Fuck me. You sure I had wounds? And my arm. This one?” He raised the bandaged one and flexed it.

  “That one.” Good little nanites. Holy damn. It was one thing her healing rapidly, but seeing it happen to Vargr was a whole new ball game.

  “Now, tell me, Rutger.” He reached out and caressed her hair, eyes twinkling. “Was she bad? She yelled at people?”

  “Ahhh. Her? Our fucktoy.” Seemed like Rutger was catching onto this turn in conversation way too fast. “Of course.”

  “Be nice, boys.” She mock-sighed. “Vargr, you need rest.”

  “I’ll say what I need, and I don’t.” He sank his hand into her hair and twined it, a little, enough to spark some scalp pain. Eep. She stared at him. “What exactly did she do?”

  The chuckles weren’t quiet, and she glared across at Rutger. They were playing games, and Vargr was almost dead a day ago. What the fuck had her nanites done?

  “So many things. I can detail them after we get you some food?”

  “Good idea.” He released her hair, letting his hand drift to her jaw then her neck.
“Spanking you can wait.”

  Her aghast expression only strengthened the gleam in his eyes. Was him waking up all alpha and hot and whatever covered by insurance? Being turned on by this was crazy, but it was her normal. Him, though? A tsunami washing through would have less OMG factor.

  “You’re ours, remember? Bondmated.” His hand on her neck rearranged to the back and she found he was holding her there, then using the hold to urge her to knee-walk closer. He angled his head as she drew near, leaned over.

  The kiss was both startling and… interesting. Her eyelids floated down, and she closed her eyes, then found that Rutger had arrived and was crowding her from behind also, and holding her shoulders. The kiss was gentle yet the hold on her nape firmed, and he massaged her there, pressed on her—a possessive hold. His tongue explored her mouth, with his teeth closing on her lower lip now and then, almost to the point of pain, and she couldn’t escape it.

  Her breathing roughened, and when he drew away, she was most definitely panting.

  “Fuck,” she whispered. “You kiss pretty good, for a dead man.”

  “Wait until,” he whispered back, “I get you ass up and yelping, and suffering from a very red ass. For a dead man I also fuck pretty good.”

  Her mouth stayed open. She was tempted to remind him that fucking her was for a beaster in good health but did not quite dare to. He released her, smiling devilishly, and wasn’t that ironic. This Vargr was definitely more demanding than before, and he made her toes curl wondering what else he’d do to her.

  His arm had nearly fallen off. He’d almost died!

  This entire situation was off the charts insane, and why was her clit pulsing and her heart racing? And her underwear so very wet.

  “Hi there.” It was Willow, walking up and threading her way between the other beds here inside the blue cube. There were two other wounded here, but able to walk about, and only one was lying down at the moment. “I’d like to check your nanites, Vargr. You’re the only one with a mixture inside you.” She rubbed her finger and thumb up either side of her nose.

  She knew that gesture well—a headache.

  “Sure.” He swiveled on the spot and rested his arms across his knees, waiting as she approached.

  “Thanks. You know the drone seems to be retrievable?” She’d addressed that to all of them even as she gently placed her hand on Vargr’s recently hurt shoulder.

  “Is it safe to do so? It must be outside in the gap? Did anyone get to see what was recorded?”

  “It is, Cyn, in the gap I mean. As for safe, nowhere ever is. I’m going to wait until we have developed some better defences… with regards to these skinsuit Ghoul Lords. And no, the only one who saw what it saw was Hugo, and we lost him in the attack.”

  The one who’d been killed first.

  She stopped talking since it was distracting Willow from her task. Soon she could hear the susurration of words as Willow sank into examining the nanites inside Vargr. The possibility still existed that something might be wrong with him.

  This woman, this biotechie and their leader, wore the strain of the past few days on her face and in her posture. Shadows tainted her skin beneath her eyes and there was a general weariness to how she held herself. While she stood there with her eyes shut, her mate, Mads, sneaked through the rows of bed pallets until he was behind her.

  His bright white hair and white wings reminded her of a cockatoo.

  Though he did not touch her, he regarded Willow with some impatience, with his hands behind his back while taking deep breaths. When he spotted Cyn watching him, he shrugged.

  He placed his finger across his lips in the universal shushing gesture.

  At last Willow lifted her head and removed her hand from Vargr.

  “You’re healthy, and I can see both types of nanites in you. The ones Cyn gave you are mostly where your wounds are. They remind me of how Rutger has healed. His nanites invade his wounds so thoroughly… I cannot say how this will go over time with you, so you must remind me to check you now and then. Okay?”

  Vargr nodded. “I will. But now, I plan to leave here, find a place for us.” He opened his arm to include Cyn and Rutger. “We’ll check in here so that when you decide to meet with War beasters, we’ll be ready to go with you.”

  A frown creased her forehead. “Don’t go too high in the quarter yet. Three stories up is where we are all aiming, max. And keep away from the edge. Our casualties thinned us. We do need to talk to War Quarter. Right now, we can’t risk leaving Big Daddy unguarded or those nanites Maura has grown. I have an idea about waking his programming. But…” She looked about, sighed. “There’s so much to do.”

  “Of course.” Vargr rose, bowed slightly—a very formal beaster compared to how he’d behaved toward Cyn. “Thank you for everything that was done to save me.”

  “It wasn’t me, as you know.” She smiled at Cyn. “When you’ve found a place, and make it one close enough to everyone else that we can aid each other, come and see me. I’m going to begin cataloging everything we found in Big Daddy, piece by piece. We have to find out where we came from. What we are…

  “Healing is only one thing, but if Cyn’s nanites are safe to inject, we may have a whole new strategy opening up that might take us to the very Top. What if we could all control the Lure?”

  Ugh. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

  “Hey, you need to get some rest.” Mads took Willow in a slow embrace, hugged her long enough that everyone could see the comfort she gained from it, then kissed her before helping her walk away. Her gait was slow and unsteady. Hopefully Mads would make her rest.

  “God, we need that woman,” she said softly.

  “We do.” Rutger agreed. “Now, where are we going Vargr?”

  “Up. Definitely up. Whatever else your nanites did, Cyn, they gave me a huge appetite. I need to fuck you soon.” His gaze swept slowly up her from toes to breasts, then he met her eyes.

  She almost took a step backward, feeling like Bambi must in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

  Grinning almost maniacally, he raised his arms and stretched, which only emphasized that he’d probably grown. Muscles and all. The chest wounds were filled in with red. His ribs and abdominals were fine as fuck and would make for a lovely anatomy lesson. He looked close to as heavy as Rutger, and they hadn’t fed him that much recently.

  Wasn’t that violating some law of the universe about mass and energy?

  “I like this idea. The fucking.” Rutger said from behind. Next second he lifted her high and placed her on his shoulders, ducking his head to scoot her over his horns.

  She grabbed hold of those and grumbled at them both. “Heyyy.”

  Rutger did a small jump which jolted her, and she cursed and clutched his horns. “Fuck! Be careful.”

  “Oh? Being careful with you isn’t quite what I had in mind.”

  Vargr actually let his tongue out to lick all the way around his mouth, then he winked at her.

  She stared. He was sounding more dangerous by the second. However, she did like dangerous… as in really, really liked.

  Craved it, maybe, was beginning to dream about getting on her knees and licking this newly minted Vargr from his ankles up his legs, up to everywhere that counted. She flashed to an image of him forcing her to take his cock.

  This could be an interesting day… night… whatever it was. She’d lost track.

  Chapter 24

  A grand sweeping stairway materialized around the corner from a debris-clogged alleyway, and they took it—with her being joggled along on Rutger’s shoulders, a jockey on a monstrous beast. She didn’t mind. His horns were works of art and so tactile with their minute bumps, and she loved how the blue motes slithered and curled off into space under her hands.

  Luckily the ceilings were way high.

  On the second story up, Rutger swapped with Vargr so she rode his neck instead. His wings poked up to either side at times, and she was tempted to run her fingers down them. S
he wasn’t sure how this had come about, had seen no hand signals, but her beasters had swapped and Rutger handed her over like a piece of goods, delivered and signed for.

  Now Vargr had his hands wrapped over her lower legs. Well, one riding beaster was as good as another.

  On the third story, the males decided to each explore a different half of a long roadway that led past apartments and shops. She, of course, ended up with Vargr. It felt unfair to be sitting on his shoulders for so long even if he wasn’t looking even vaguely fatigued. If he ended up ill, she’d never forgive herself.

  A certain need to disturb the status quo made her tap him on the head and ask to be lowered so she could walk.

  “No,” he said. “This looks interesting.” He stepped through the shattered front window of a store and she ducked to miss the top frame. The roadway had an exit leading into the righthand side of the store, with a big car-sized opening, and he could’ve used that rather than crunching over loose glass.

  Spread out from wall to wall, so that customers could browse, was a showroom of boutique cars in the best gloss paint. Sleek low creatures these. Luxurious interiors. Price tags to match. Blues, reds, grays, black, chrome and glass. Some of the cars displayed at the front were dusty, but the rest were nearly pristine.

  “For the rich and famous.” Vargr smoothed a hand over the hood of one near the rear of the showroom, a low red dragon of a car with yellow-and-blue flames up the side, headlights that looked like big poppy eyes, and twin rising tailfins. “Let’s check the back room.”

  “Let’s give a shout to Rutger first?” she suggested.

  “Why? You afraid?”

  “Of?” she asked idly, as he prodded the unlatched left wing of a pair of gray doors with the toe of his boot and pushed it open. It swung fully open and clicked into a holding catch on the wall.

  “Me.”

  Said so dryly, she wasn’t sure what he meant. Then again, maybe she did. She narrowed her eyes.

  “Of you? Never.”

  “Hmmm.”

  This was a workshop area. Against the wall shared with the showroom was a long bench covered with spanners, wrenches, pieces of engines and other repair-related gear. Five vehicles were in various states of disarray—doors off, dashboards pulled out and left next to them, engines with the hood up.