Wolfen

by Alianne Donnelly

  “Nate’s hand was smashed, and he had a concussion or something; he could barely walk a straight line, let alone shoot. We came out of that garage scared shitless, and we were supposed to walk out of the city?” He shuddered. “Not fun. There were so many of them, just…staring at us. You guys said not to run, no matter what. So we walked. I had to support Nate, so Amy and Matt came after us. The Grays actually moved out of our way, can you believe that? Like they didn’t even know what we were.”

  Just like the ones that had cornered Sinna; they hadn’t recognized the scent of Wolfen. It had saved Sinna’s life, and apparently, Dave’s as well. She remembered looking up at him after she’d gotten shot. He’d held her, trying so hard to help her while she’d lain there, bleeding all over him.

  “We walked, and then they started trailing after us. So we walked faster. Amy got paranoid that the Grays were coming closer. She kept telling me to hurry up. I tried to talk her down, but she wasn’t completely wrong. Just like you said, the blood only lasted so long, and then we were on our own.”

  “How far did it last you?” Sinna asked.

  Dave shrugged. “Hard to say. Volume and concentration, I think, played a bit part. I got the most of it; Nate, hardly any. By the time Amy and Matt went down there, I think a lot of Connor’s blood had mixed in with yours. Who knows? We were almost out of the city when they charged, like someone flipped a switch or something. We made a run for it, but it was just about the most pathetic escape ever attempted. Nate, at least, could hold his own by then. Sort of. As long as I kept him going straight, he was fine. But Amy…” Dave shook his head sadly, gaze growing unfocused as he stared at the table.

  “Amy, what?” Sinna prompted, voice raw.

  “She was just so scared. Terrified that she would lose Matt. She couldn’t let go of him for even a second—and Matt held onto her just as tight. They were tripping all over each other, until they fell. Amy kept screaming for Matt to get up, but they were tangled together, and the Grays caught up to them, pulled them apart.

  “Nate and I were too far to do anything, so Nate pulled his gun to…” Dave stopped suddenly, rubbed his face hard, dislodging his glasses. He huffed to get ahold of himself, but his eyes glistened, and his voice quavered when he continued. “But he couldn’t hold it, so he gave it to me. ‘One bullet left,’ he told me. Only one, and I was supposed to choose who died quicker. I mean, how do you do that?”

  Sinna took his hand, trying to imagine what she would have done in his place, but couldn’t.

  “I aimed for Matt. I figured the poor kid didn’t choose any of this, probably didn’t even understand any of it… But, uh…” He swallowed compulsively. “My aim was off. I hit a Gray. Not even a kill shot; I barely scraped its arm. One bullet, and I wasted even that.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Sinna said. “You can’t blame yourself.”

  “She’s right,” Bryce agreed, but he was looking at her. It was the same thing he and Aiden had told her before: It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. There were no right or wrong choices anymore. You did the best you could, and hoped you got to see another sunrise.

  “The Grays were distracted enough that Nate and I managed to get away. We walked almost nonstop for five days, always heading south like we were supposed to. No food, barely enough water. No idea where we were going, or even why. Everything we passed was just dead, empty land. Makes you feel like it was all for nothing. Die out here, or die in some dark burrow in the city—what difference does it make?

  “Then one day, we just collapsed on the ground. Couldn’t go another step. I was so thirsty, I could feel myself drying out like a husk. Started seeing things, too; coyotes and gophers. Didn’t have a clue where Nate was. Somewhere on my other side, I thought, but I couldn’t even turn my head to look. I thought, ‘This is it. This is where I die.’ But at least I had the sun above me. Almost felt like falling asleep.

  “Next thing I know, it’s dark, and I’ve got the worst case of shivers known to man. Turns out, we were only a few miles away from Hopetown. A guard out on patrol found us and brought us back. We’ve been here ever since.”

  Sinna took a long, measured breath and let it out slowly. So this was it. Two out of nine, and Nate—and she would have been among the body count if it hadn’t been for Bryce and Aiden. Shitty odds. None of them had deserved to die. She mourned her friends and the lives they could have had if they’d made it a little farther. Maybe Matt would have learned to talk. Maybe Amy wouldn’t have lived in so much fear anymore. But who’s to say they wouldn’t have died right outside the city, or a day later? There was never a guarantee.

  Just look at Nate.

  “Funny, huh?” Dave said. “In the end, the meek survived the best.” He smiled, barely a twitch of his lips that held more sorrow than a thousand tears. “And now we’re here, and you’re Wolfen.”

  33: Bryce

  The words slip out so casually, I almost don’t catch them. When I do, I meet eyes with Sinna and see the same surprise on her face. Aiden and I never told the humans in San Francisco anything about Wolfen. Yet here one sits, talking about us as if we’re a sports team.

  How the hell does he know?

  ~

  “Now that whole silver bracelet thing makes sense. How does it work?”

  Bryce slowly turned to look at Dave’s smiling face, settling a hand on the bowie knife at his back.

  Sinna covered it with her own to stop him. “I’m still learning about it, myself,” she said casually enough, but her smile was forced. “I had no idea what I was, until Aiden and Bryce told me.”

  “Oh.” Dave frowned and smiled at the same time. “But I thought you had to be born that way.”

  Interesting choice of words.

  Dave had the look of a scholar mentally taking notes on a new discovery. He might not be physically strong, but it was clear the man had an agile mind, and a cunning one. He kept the conversation casual, made the subject feel comfortable enough to open up on their own; made them want to share. And he was counting on his history with Sinna to fill in the blanks.

  “Uh, I guess so. But my mother never told me.”

  When she didn’t say more, Dave glanced at Bryce, but quickly turned his attention back to Sinna. Some of his enthusiasm faded as he realized neither of them was going to share. “So what happened in the city was just…blind luck?”

  Sinna hiked her shoulders in a shrug. “All I know is, these guys saved my life. I don’t know how, or why, but they patched me up, kept me safe, and I’ve been traveling with them ever since.”

  “I see,” Dave said. Had this been a cartoon, he’d be rubbing his chin and there’d be a thought balloon floating over his head with lots of gear wheels turning really fast. “So where’s the other one, the blond Mr. T?”

  “Actually, that’s kind of why we’re here.” Sinna looked to Bryce for guidance. He gave her a slight nod. Hopetown didn’t seem hostile, which meant a diplomatic approach would get them a lot farther than force. Bryce was no good with diplomacy. Better if Sinna did most of the talking. He had no problem being the muscle when diplomacy failed. “We’re looking for someone.”

  Dave grinned. “It wouldn’t by any chance be me, would it?”

  Bryce’s fingers curled around the knife’s handle, and Sinna dug her nails into the skin between his knuckles.

  “Heh, no. Sorry.”

  Bryce grinded his teeth together, and twitched his hand to get her off. “We’re looking for a girl by the name of Helena,” he said.

  Dave’s eyebrows shot up. “General Hellraiser? What for?”

  That didn’t bode well.

  Sinna winced. “That’s a little tougher to explain. We…”

  Bryce straightened in his seat.

  A group of people were heading their way, stomping like a herd of metal-clad elephants. He counted five sets of footfalls before they came into sight. All of them had swords.

  Sarge again. With reinforcements this time.
>
  The man banged on Dave’s door, then let himself in before Dave could answer. “The general wants to see you,” he announced.

  Bryce didn’t like his face. He subtly drew his blade under the table.

  “Right now?” Dave asked. “It’s almost night!”

  Sarge beckoned them outside with an impatient, “Let’s go,” and walked out.

  Dave sighed. “Well, you wanted to see the Hellraiser, I guess now’s your chance.” He got up and followed the soldier, without a care in the world.

  Bryce and Sinna followed more slowly. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Sinna said.

  Bryce grunted his agreement. “Stay close.” He couldn’t keep his knife in hand without inciting a fight, so he sheathed it, but kept alert.

  Dave was kind enough to introduce the rest of the guards, who moved with the coordinated patience of a skilled unit, obviously trained to fight together.

  As innocent and fantastic as it looked, Hopetown could be a hundred times more dangerous than Haven. Its people had built a community based on mutual trust and loyalty. They had plenty to lose, and they’d die to defend it.

  The guards led Bryce and Sinna to a walled-off training arena, where a mob of soldiers had gathered around some spectacle. The smell of horseflesh and human sweat was too strong for Bryce to get his bearings. With his nose useless and his ears getting barraged by noise, it was all too much, too familiar. He remembered crowds like this in Montana, the fights, the torture. It put him on edge. Not a good place for him to be.

  Sinna raised a questioning eyebrow at him, but he couldn’t say anything. She drew closer, so her arm brushed his when she walked. It was enough. For the moment.

  Halfway around the perimeter, near the horse pens, they were met by the apparent leader of this town.

  Sarge bowed his head. “Matron.”

  Age had wrinkled her skin and grayed her long hair, but the woman stood tall, head held high, and she moved with the lithe grace of a trained fighter. She was dressed in simple leather pants and a vest, the sleeves of her linen shirt rolled up to reveal a plethora of scars. She smiled with fierce pride, wholly unconcerned with the long thin scar framing her left cheek.

  “Is this them?” she asked with the soft lilt of a born Southerner.

  Sarge nodded.

  Dave rushed forward. “This is Sinna,” he said. “She was with me and Nate back in the—”

  “I don’t care, boy,” Matron said, cutting him off with strained patience, faded brown eyes focused on her guests. She looked Bryce right in the eye, as if she could see into his soul. “Wolfen,” she declared. “I recognize Klaus’ work when I see it. And you…” She moved on to Sinna, and her smile softened. “Beautiful girl. You are far away from the safety of your den.”

  “They say they want to trade,” Sarge informed her, then turned her sideways to speak into her ear, words too low for Bryce to hear over the noise.

  A group of young boys and girls with torches ran into the arena and spread out around the perimeter, lighting metal grates filled with kindling. As the sun descended behind the tree line, those fires illuminated the arena, and the people gathered inside.

  Matron chuckled. “I’m sure they do.” She turned back to Bryce and Sinna, and became all business. “Do they have anything we need?”

  No chains? No cells? The woman had them surrounded, true, and the arena itself was filled with armed soldiers, but even so, Bryce would have expected more caution on her part. After all, she knew what Bryce was; she had to know what he was capable of.

  But Matron showed no fear whatsoever.

  “Medicine,” Bryce answered.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Placebos more like.”

  “Bandages,” he returned.

  “We can make our own.”

  “Can you make sutures, casts, and braces, too?”

  Matron grinned. “I like you. You don’t mince words. So why don’t you stop wasting my time and tell me what it is you really want?”

  A loud cheer rose up. The circular mob expanded and thinned, showing Bryce a glimpse into the middle. Three fighters were picking themselves up from the ground, while a tall, lean-muscled woman walked around them, fists in the air, riling the mob to roar her victory. Bryce couldn’t see her face, only a flash of pale blonde hair, but there was something about her…

  “You won’t see much of her father in her,” Matron said, suddenly right by his side.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My daughter.” Matron nodded at the ring of soldiers patting the girl on the back and exchanging handshakes. “Helena.”

  The girl acknowledged everyone with some remark that made the men laugh and the women shake their heads. She helped her opponents up, exchanged words, more serious this time, and sent them on their way. Once she had the circle to herself, Helena Koch raised her arms high and howled at the evening sky.

  Son of a bitch!

  “Not what you expected, is she?” Matron asked.

  You could say that.

  Klaus’ daughter was Wolfen.

  34: Sinna

  I can’t stop staring. All this time I worried we’d be kidnapping some frail fifteen-year-old girl out of the safety of her home. Nothing could be further from the truth. Helena might be young, but she’s old enough to have grown into a woman. There’s no frailty or innocence in her. She’s strong, a fighter by the looks of her—and a damn good one by the looks of everyone else.

  She’s also Wolfen. I can tell by the way she howls, the wild, feral gleam in her eyes. She’s not like the females back in Haven at all. This one’s full of life and a boundless energy that makes my heart pump faster. I bump my hand against Bryce’s, wordlessly asking for some sort of explanation, a plan.

  “Who’s next?” Helena shouts in challenge, eagerly scanning the crowd for an opponent.

  Everyone around her looks down, hand over their eyes.

  We can’t leave Aiden with Klaus—that I know.

  But we can’t trade this girl for him, either.

  “Look down!” Dave whispers next to me.

  I can’t stop staring.

  She feels it. With her back to me, she stops, turns around, and meets my gaze, head on. Her smile turns savage. She raises a long dagger and points the tip straight at me. “Challenge met,” she says, and what happens next makes me reconsider the whole hostage trading conundrum.

  ~

  Two guards grabbed Sinna’s arms and shoved her toward the ring.

  “Wait, what?”

  The crowd cheered, hungry for another fight, and within seconds, Sinna was enclosed in a crush of bodies all taking bets on who would win. Sinna looked for Bryce, but there was no sign of him. Too many people around. They lunged inward, egging her on as Helena circled her, sizing her up.

  The blonde was taller by a good few inches, powerfully built, light on her feet, with a bloodthirsty look in her eyes as if she couldn’t wait to get her hands on Sinna.

  But wait she did. Because Sinna was unarmed.

  “Your name,” Helena demanded.

  “Sinna,” she replied.

  Helena tilted her head. “Your real name.”

  Sinna frowned. “Sinna,” she repeated. “Look, I don’t want to fight you.”

  Helena shrugged. “Sinna it is.” She tossed a dagger to the ground at Sinna’s feet, then backed up to the very edge of the human circle, giving Sinna a chance to take it. Men closest to Helena patted and shoved at her in rough support, offering advice she paid no attention to. Her entire focus was heavily on Sinna.

  Sinna waited, strained her ears for Bryce, somewhere out there. He’d get her out of this, of course.

  When she finally caught sight of him, he was standing next to Matron on a raised platform—the better to see the action. His jaw twitched, and his hands were clenched into fists down by his sides, but he didn’t say a word. When he met eyes with Sinna and gave a curt nod, she knew she was on her own.

  Betrayal stabbed through her
, but she quickly shoved it aside. Bryce wouldn’t let her do this if he didn’t think she could. He had to have a reason.

  “Come on, girl!” Helena snapped. “Your stalling is making me snippy.”

  Sinna drew in a deep breath. She could do this. Bryce had taught her. With an eye on strategy, she surveyed the crowd. All Helena’s supporters. Whether or not the warrior woman chose to fight fair, Sinna couldn’t trust the rest of them.

  Stay away from the humans. Check. She licked her lips, and reached for the dagger.

  Helena charged, kicking out to catch her off guard, but Sinna had expected some sort of trick, and she fell back, rolling into a crouch. The circle shifted, giving her room to get up, but Sinna didn’t. Instead, she waited for the dust to settle while she scanned the ground for the dagger. It lay across from her, behind Helena.

  “Good reflexes,” Helena said. She beckoned Sinna up and turned her back.

  It was an invitation to disaster. Sinna didn’t charge, but slowly pushed to her feet and glanced around the circle again. At least half of the people stomping their feet, chanting “Hell! Hell!” were armed, including those to Sinna’s left. She reached around and grabbed hold of one’s sword hilt.

  Bad idea. The sword was too long, too heavy for her to wield, and she almost dropped it trying to turn around. When Helena charged, metal struck metal, and Sinna lost her grip under the force of it. She dropped the sword and ducked right, rolling across the circle back to the dagger. It had a curved blade along the handle like a deadly knuckle guard. It screamed reverse grip, so she used that.

  When Helena came at her again, Sinna blocked easily. She stepped into her opponent, slammed her shoulder into Helena’s chest, but it was like colliding with a wall. The woman didn’t even stumble. Instead, she caught Sinna by the waist and hoisted her up, squeezing so hard, Sinna couldn’t breathe. Flailing did no good, so Sinna tucked her chin in, then snapped her head back. No aim, very little force, but she got lucky, and Helena dropped her. While she was on the ground, Sinna swept a hard kick at the back of Helena’s knees, sending her down.