Forgotten Gods Boxed Set 2

by S T Branton

  I rested my chin on my arms. “The humans were shitty. They were wrong. You lost without their help.”

  He shook his head. “The humans weren’t merely wrong. It’s impossible to say now if an allegiance would have helped. I may never know anything for sure except that they didn’t bother to try. They have proven themselves irredeemable, unworthy of my trust.”

  I arched my eyebrow, wondering if he fully grasped the irony of unloading this whole thing onto a human. “Every one of them?”

  “You could work your way onto an extremely short list,” he said curtly. “Don’t quote me on it, and don’t push your luck. I’m here because of what’s at stake—my freedom, this world, and possibly others beyond it. The gods must not be allowed to run rampant, seizing power as they want it. Unfortunately, it’s not up to me to put an end to things for good. I’m not the one who received the call.” His gaze flicked to the sword at my belt. “That honor belongs to you.”

  “It is an honor, and I’ll do it as much justice as I can.” I sat up and looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry about what happened to your people, Brax, but they did it to mine, too. In the millions, back then and now. You were in the city. You saw it.”

  “True. I also saw legions of humans willingly at Rocca’s beck and call. I saw them cutting us down at the behest of the gods, their eyes as hungry as beasts. Throughout their long, bloody history, humans have never needed much of an excuse to slaughter each other.” He turned to face me. “That’s why I’ll pass this warning along now before it’s too late. Without a strong leader, this group will collapse into itself like a dying star, and for once, the gods won’t be responsible.”

  “Don’t say that.” I frowned. “We’ve made it this far. I know things are rough right now, but we’ll find a way through like always.”

  “It’s only a matter of time before the tension reaches the breaking point,” said Brax. “These are desperate souls struggling to survive. Don’t be surprised if they turn on each other. Times like these bring out the worst.”

  His point was a little too salient, and it irked me. I stood from of the leaves and brushed them off my pants. “Okay, listen—”

  “Get out here! We’re under attack!” The shout cut off my retort, but it also instantly redirected my irritation. I snapped a glance in the direction of the yell on the opposite end of the clearing. Brax pulled the hammer off his back.

  “This isn’t over,” I told him as we both broke into a dead sprint toward the sound. “One thing at a time. We’ll finish this conversation later.”

  The demon wasn’t listening. He stared straight ahead and focused on the destination, primed and ready for action.

  I reached into my coat pocket and tossed the medallion around my neck once more. “Hey, Marcus. Looks like it’s showtime again.”

  Chapter Seven

  Hail, Victoria. Early to conflict this morn, I see. I have always been of the opinion that a good stiff battle makes for excellent calisthenics.

  “Thanks for the fitness tip, Jane Fonda. Maybe they’ll put some music on for us next time.” I ran hot on Brax’s heels on the way through the camp, dodging through a maze of sleeping refugees. Some of them woke and stared after us, bleary-eyed.

  “Hey, what the fuck? I think she just jumped over me—”

  “Sorry,” I threw over my shoulder. “Go back to sleep. Everything’s fine.”

  There is nothing quite like the calming magic of a white lie. Though perhaps it would work better if told while you were not hurtling toward the source of a distress call.

  He was only ribbing me, but I didn’t have time to be amused. The tree line approached rapidly and with it, another battle. I also didn’t have time to think of a witty reply. Brax’s hammer cut a searing orange arc between two trunks, offering me my first glimpse of what we were defending against. It looked like more of the same—a large handful of assorted Forgotten surged out of the silent forest, bearing weapons and war cries.

  Spatters of muzzle flashes shattered the darkness, and I looked for the customary roving band of satyrs. Instead, I found soldier Dan and a small contingent of his men peppering the enemy with volleys of brutally accurate fire. Several of the advancing figures spun backward or simply dropped in place, and those who made it as far as hand-to-hand clashes were met with knives, batons, and even large branches seized from the forest floor.

  Those guys and girls knew how to party.

  I leaned harder into my run, leapt up over a log, and swung the Gladius Solis from overhead on a charging vampire cop. He gasped, his corporeal form immediately dissolving into a flurry of ash that sifted down through the foliage. The gunfire faltered momentarily into a clatter of expert reloads. Up ahead, I picked out the distinctive, hulking shape of a lone werewolf looming over the small horde. Its jaws were open, dripping thick, silvery threads of saliva. Unlike Maya, there was no hint of intelligence or control in its eyes—only pure, unadulterated rage. If allowed to reach the lines, it might well break through with sheer brute force.

  “I’m going in,” I yelled to no one in particular. My boots gouged the soil where they landed, kicking up clods of dirt and refuse. The Gladius Solis perched ready and waiting in my hand, the blade alight and humming with potential. Pretending to be a runner in the world’s most deadly game of football, I wove around the other monsters as they tried to latch on. All my focused power had to be saved for my main target if I wanted to pull off the idea coalescing in my head. Ever since I got the sword to become a shield, I had a feeling it could be other things, too. It was finally time to put that theory to the test.

  Twenty feet out from the wolf, I cocked my arm back and pitched the weapon like a spear, straight toward the creature’s slobbering, open mouth. It flew up and up, followed by my eyes and concentration. “Come on, come on,” I muttered under my breath, pushing hard with my mind. A tendril of light materialized in the sword’s wake. “Yes!” It thickened into a rope, which twined its way around the wolf’s head and shoulders. “Damn, this thing is awesome.” The blade arced over the mangy muzzle like a grappling hook, binding the snout. “Did you see that perfect throw?” I asked Marcus, unable to contain my pride. “That shit was Major League!”

  The Gladius Solis is only as great as its wielder, Victoria. I must say your innovations continue to impress me.

  “Necessity is the mother of invention,” I quipped. “Or, you know, badassery.”

  As I said this, I dropped to the ground in a perfect home-plate slide, zipping neatly between the werewolf’s wide stance. One paw crashed down to the right of my head, briefly obscuring my vision in a haze of dust and leafy debris. Hooking one arm around the creature’s ankle, I leveraged my momentum against its balance, hopped to my feet, and darted out of its shadow the instant before the massive lycanthrope fell in a heap on the ground.

  Yellow eyes flashed with hatred. Gangly limbs whipped at me, propelled by bone-breaking force. The Gladius Solis returned back to my hand. It trailed the golden rope, which I used to pull the wolf’s gnashing mouth shut. Blood ran in a trickle from where the tongue was ensnared in a tangle of fangs.

  “How’s that for finesse?” I said to Marcus. My eyes stayed locked on the Were lying trapped but not helpless before me. Its arms and legs gathered gradually into a hunch I recognized as the preamble to a lunging attack. The back legs pushed upward, and the rope snapped taut. I suddenly had a werewolf on a godly golden leash. My sword poised, I fell onto my back foot, gauging the arc of the wolf’s jump. At the zenith of its leap, I let my blade fly one more time into the heart of the beast.

  An acrid whiff of singed hair assaulted my nose. Wisps of dark smoke curled from the point where the hilt was planted. The thick, mangy hide smoldered in a widening radius around the wound. At first, there was no blood. Time seemed to stutter a little. The werewolf hung frozen for a fraction of a second, then it collapsed in a tangle of paws and teeth and wide, staring eyes. The rope went slack and disappeared.

  The sword came ou
t cleanly, as always. I turned to face the remainder of the horde when I noticed the dead wolf’s shape begin to shift. It shrank from a hulking, towering monster to a twisted young woman, her frame scarcely more than skin stretched over bone. Taking a deep, sharp breath, I looked away. The girl was not like Maya, who was healthy and could take care of herself.

  Dan and his men had pushed forward, effectively sandwiching the rest of the attackers into a thin strip of forest. The barrage of bullets continued, some zinging around me as I slashed and burned my way through the now-meager field of enemies. These small fries were no match for any of us except in number, and even then, we were quick enough to stay in control. I downed a couple with two well-placed strikes to the head and pirouetted to decapitate a third. To my surprise, the scene that met my eye was one of Brax on the receiving end of a surprise attack while he was already engaged in an enthusiastic grapple. The second creature jumped on his back, cackling gleefully. The demon pitched face-first into the ground.

  “Oh, shit!” I shoved the most recent kill out of my way. My strides were more like bounds over the moderate distance between us.

  “Get the hell out of here, you little asswipe!” Dan exploded into my view from the side and swooped down on the fiend on our friend’s back. He jabbed the blade of a serious machete through its neck. Brax looked up in the middle of crushing his first opponent’s trachea, and the two locked eyes. The soldier nodded solemnly, which his teammate returned. They were almost ritualistic in their seriousness.

  Meanwhile, I was still hauling ass to get over there. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything, boys,” I said with a smirk and a wink. “You need a minute?”

  The man cleared his throat and turned his back on the demon. By the time I reached his side, Brax was standing and looking pointedly nowhere near Dan.

  “Nice job with the dog,” the soldier said to me. “You really made short work of that thing.”

  “I’ve had some experience.” I looked around, ready to jump back into the fray, and found that the infantry support team was finishing the stragglers off. “Looks like you guys have too.”

  “You could call it a crash course,” he answered, grinning. “All my people are great people. The kind you can rely on. Remember that if you ever need a hand.”

  I smiled in response. “Sure will. It’s real nice to have some meaningful backup.”

  Dan glanced at Brax. “Speaking of reliable, I thought you could use something a little more effective, brother.”

  The word brother made the demon bristle. He looked down at the bodies at his feet, up at Dan, and sidelong at his hammer. He patted the weapon’s head, which was still smoky from recently-extinguished flames. “Think so? This seems to be working just fine.”

  Neither said another word after that, but I could’ve cut the atmosphere with the soldier’s machete. I took it as my cue to head back toward the place where I’d left my blankets. Whatever was going on between them, I did not want to get caught in the middle.

  I like this Dan, Marcus announced, unprompted. I think we would be great compatriots.

  I snorted. “You would say that.”

  Chapter Eight

  The next time I opened my eyes, watery sunlight made its way through the holes in the treetops, spilling thinly over the camp in the woods. The morning air was heavy and cold, and drops of dew stood out as big as thumbtacks on the ground. Both my blankets had been soaked through, and I shivered intensely as I rolled them up. It was obvious that our tenure there had expired.

  Behind the teepee where the trucks were parked under a worn-out tarp, I found Deacon already preparing to make the supply run. I’d hoped to catch him and Jules before they left, and it looked like I had plenty of time. He folded the tarp, shaking out the water as best he could so it wouldn’t mildew. “Hey, Vic,” he said casually as I drew near. “You’re up early.”

  “You know what they say about early birds,” I smirked. “And lucky for me, you’re still here.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Did you just call me a worm?”

  I laughed. “Anyway, I’ll go on the supply run with you. In light of the attack last night, I think it’s prudent that you have one more for backup in case something happens.”

  “Ah, yeah.” Deacon shook the tarp one more time and placed it in the back of one of the trucks. “Sorry we missed that shindig. It was taken care of so fast that everything was over by the time I knew what was going on.”

  I shrugged. “No big deal. Dan, Brax and I had it covered.” I gave him a sharp look. “There was a Were this time, though, and I think that could be a problem.” In the city, I didn’t think I’d seen a single lycanthrope, but the fact that there was one roaming the woods was proof that they had ranged this far east, if rarely. “Might be bigger game on the way, if you get my drift.”

  “Yeah, I got it. And I agree. Which means we’re gonna have to start looking for some bigger guns.”

  “You mean like this one?” The voice was young but strong, and it caught us off guard. We turned to see a kid strode up with a rifle strapped to his back. The barrel extended above his head like an antenna. He glanced at us, his dark eyes deep and intense. A kerchief was tied around his neck, and a pistol tucked into the pocket of his jeans. “I heard you talking yesterday. Let me go with you. You’re gonna need all the manpower you can get. And womanpower.” He nodded to me. “I don’t mean no disrespect.”

  That line alone, plus the guns, almost won me over, but Deacon was more skeptical. “What’s your name?” he asked, surveying the kid. “How old are you? Where’d you get that stuff?”

  “What is this, man, the national census?” But the boy’s laugh rang genuinely. “My name is Luis Ortega. I’m eighteen. I got this shit from my grandma’s house. That should tell you all you need to know, eh?”

  “Not really,” Deacon said. “Your grandma kept an assault weapon over her mantle, huh?”

  Part of me wanted to tell him to cut Luis a break, but I knew he was being cautious.

  “Yeah, hermano, maybe she did.” The youngster took the rifle off his back but kept it clutched in both hands, staring the agent down with smoldering defiance. “You wanna take a look or something? Go ahead. I got nothing to hide.”

  “I would, yes.” Deacon reached for the weapon, and for a split second, I didn’t think the kid would give it up. But he released it and shoved his hands into his pockets, squaring his posture. While Deacon inspected the firearm, Luis continued. “You ever been to Spanish Harlem? These things are a dime a dozen up there, homes.” He kept his eyes locked on the older man. “Look, I know I coulda gone to school. But school ain’t gonna keep my abuela from starving, you know what I mean? We do what we can to get by, hermano. We do what we can.”

  The man handed the gun back. “You can shoot it, I assume.” His tone was still somewhat stern, but his face betrayed that he was quickly warming up to this young man.

  “Yes, sir.” Luis nodded. “I’m looking to help, now that I…well…” He stopped and scratched his nose. “You know.”

  Deacon looked at me. “What do you think, Vic? Give him a pass, or nah?”

  Though this man is young, he is wise beyond his years, and his heart beats true. There were many of him in Rome—desperate youths forced into a life they never wanted, cursed by the station of their birth.

  I shrugged. “He’s right. We can use every pair of hands we can get.”

  “Then he’s in your car.” The agent palmed a set of keys and tossed them to me. “I’ll take Jules in mine. You guys can lead.”

  “Suit yourself, St. Clare.” Motioning for Luis to follow, I headed for the second truck. “Don’t fall too far behind, all right?” To my companion, I said, “Get on in and let’s roll out. The others will catch up soon.” I wanted to get as far ahead of the day as we possibly could to stretch the dwindling daylight. “Keep your head on a swivel while we’re out there.”

  “Yeah.” Luis climbed up into the passenger’s seat. “I always do.”
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  We drove slowly until I found a way to nose us out of the woods and back onto the highway, then we cruised. A few minutes of twisting the radio’s tuning dial found airwaves full of static, so I punched it off and listened to the hum of the tires on the road. My passenger sat quietly for a while, his eyes trained out the window on the gorgeous, rolling farmland. He seemed to be thinking hard about something or other. After a short while, he turned in his seat to watch me instead of the scenery.

  “Can I ask you a question?” He was polite but firm. A kid who knew what he was about, even at that clueless age. “You can say no, but I’m curious.”

  “Shoot,” I said.

  “What’s with that crazy sword you got?” His gaze strayed toward the sheath. “I’ve seen you use it a few times, and I guess I don’t get it. What’s it made of?”

  “Honestly, I can’t tell you much about it myself.” It was half a lie. “I got it from a friend of mine, and he wasn’t able to tell me much before he had to go. It doesn’t matter to me as long as it gets the job done.”

  “It’s good to have friends. Sometimes.” Luis periodically shifted his line of vision from me to the windshield and all the mirrors in quick succession. He was hypervigilant in a way that made me grateful and sad at the same time—grateful for his thorough observation skills, and sad because I knew he was too young to be so worried about things like that.

  “He was just some old guy,” I said nonchalantly. “Told a lot of weird stories about ancient times. He could fight, though, so I let him stick around.”

  I object to this highly subjective interpretation of our early relationship.