“They hunt us,” Philip guesses slowly.
Adahy turns to Elise as though in confirmation.
“Yes,” she confirms in a whisper.
Chapter 34
Jim
Tagging along with Ulric and a few other gorilla guys had sounded great when he was back at the tree clan.
But Jim's hungry as fuck. And the thirst thing is terrible. Like someone is jamming sandpaper down his throat. What he wouldn't give to fall into a blood bank about now. Yeah. Terrific.
“Hey, Ulric.”
Ulric keeps walking.
Stubborn prick.
What Jim doesn't get? If this Natasha is so damned fine, why didn't he just drop tackle her when they were talking about clans and rights and all that?
Jim grumbles. The trees are starting to look pretty good right now. Like gnawing off the damn bark good. “I'm famished, Ulric—let's figure out some blood. Or food.” Jim pauses, jogging to catch up. “Or blood.”
Can't get a smile out of him if Jim was struggling to live.
Ulric stops, Jim plows into the back of him, and the rest of the five tree guys spread out, taking Ulric's unspoken cue.
Jim blinks.
Limbs are torn and bloody, chucked around like hairy noodles.
Whoa—what the hell happened here?
His formerly awesome appetite dampens. Jim's vision narrows on an especially disgusting leg. Gooseflesh rolls over him. Those are tree guy parts. Torn. Tree Guys.
“What the ...?”
Ulric clucks. Quiet.
A high-pitched feminine wail reaches them.
The imperative to protect pushes all the instinct buttons into spiraling needles of adrenaline through their respective systems.
Ulric jerks his head in the direction the sound came from.
Cluck. Grunt. Use caution.
Jim gives a pure human grunt. Not in communication, but in understanding. He didn't need a goddamned bird call to figure out to be careful.
Looks like the false tree guys were busy.
But that realization isn't what stops Jim in his tracks. He takes in the mess in front of him with oxygen-sucking surprise.
Adira stands behind Brom.
Adira.
And Natasha, pale brown eyes beyond wide with fear is next to them while thirty plus of the vacant tree creepers are approaching from all directions. Where in the world are Brom's troops that pledged allegiance?
Doofuses.
Jim looks behind him at the shredded body parts.
Oh.
His attention returns to Brom, heart galloping out of control.
Adira meets his gaze.
Did he cause this? Did Adira pretend she was gonna go sulk in her tree fort—only to skedaddle after Brom the traitor?
Ulric chooses that moment to cluck his commands.
Jim doesn't need to be motivated. He clenches his fists, his fangs pleasantly burning as they punch out in anticipation of the blood of his enemy.
It's time to kick some monkey ass.
Chapter 35
Jim
“Jim!” Adira screams.
Gnawing hunger mixed with bloodlust, and the innate directive to protect, just about takes Jim to his knees.
But a little tidbit Jim just discovered keeps him on his apey feet.
He's Alpha. Like Ulric—unlike dumbass Brom who thought it was a Bright Idea to strike out and begin a new clan.
As the Fragment First Species wannabes come cruising forward, a little extra boost of energy sustains Jim.
He triangulates the position of the females. Jim's certain that part is as automatic for the tree guys as anything.
Adira's shout had been a warning and three of the ape guys pounce on him.
Jim has only to think about the protection of the females and tears off the arm of one gorillan in a swinging pull.
Employing his martial arts skills, each movement is calculated as though it doesn't end. The arm he pulls isn't a yank, Jim's mental context takes the arm as if it has no end.
He swings the ball joint around like a club, turning it on the sharp edge where a jagged piece of cartilage remains, and swings underneath the jaw of the other.
Four!
Teeth pierce his shoulder and Jim howls.
That fucking hurts!
He tweaks the arm from the one he just embedded it in and plants his legs, swinging backward between them and nails Biter in the nuts.
Jim grimaces. All for the greater good. He drops the stump of an arm. Thing's been broken six ways to Sunday by the mistreatment. But it'd made a handy club in the moment.
And Jim is so in the moment.
He spins, heaving the noodle of a limb into the face of a leaping monkey.
They kind of remind Jim of those creepy apes from that old movie about a wizard or something. But without wings. Jim can almost hear the insane music from the show.
He ducks as one sails over his head, ass over tea kettle.
Jim makes time to grin.
Ulric sees it and grins back. Just a couple of Alpha gorillas, bowling with false First Species.
Then five land on Jim from above.
Well fuck me.
Jim's teeth ache and he finds those are a suitable weapon.
The talons bursting from his fingertips were the very last thing he'd expected but Jim's accustomed to acting fast because of his training at the Dojo and he does so now, talons impaling the closest neck.
Blood flows and he seeks it like a dying camel.
A monkey on each side holds his arms.
What!?
The blood infuses his cells. Jim can feel it.
He roars.
Just as two gorilla guys pin Adira to the ground.
“Jim!” Ulric shouts through the melee and Jim's adrenaline shoots through his system.
Adira shrieks, the sound of her scream shreds his insides like shattered glass.
A Fragment hits his chest. Blood sprays. Their talons are not the ones Jim possesses but they're still sharp—deadly.
Adira's gaze meets his, dark hair leaves only an eyeball visible.
Pure panic bleeds from her rootbeer-colored orb.
Protect.
The need surges through him.
The Fragment's eyes go humorously round, having seen something in Jim that he can't.
They're holding him as Front Runner of the short talons approaches for a second swipe.
Jim's eyes scrape the scene.
They're woefully outnumbered.
Jim throws his head back, his skull nailing the forehead of the one anchoring him from behind and jerks his left arm.
Wiping the blood off his chest, he slaps it on both his arms.
Front Runner grabs the arms he just slathered with his own blood.
Loses purchase.
The blood flows freely and Jim wipes and throws, splattering Front Runner in the face.
He stops dead, licks his lips and Jim knuckle taps his throat. Jim's method is to strike as through there's no stopping point.
Front Runner stops, blinking comically for a heartbeat. Then his head comes off like a wine cork popped while the two flanking Jim grab at limbs too blood-slicked to grab.
Righteous.
Jim pushes Front Runner over with a finger and springs his arms wide, talons splayed and spins, slicing the throats of the two.
Twofer. They drop and Jim leaps in the direction of Adira. The monkey drones are on her, mindlessly tearing at her clothes. They might not have the directive to protect, but they have Fuck and Feed down. Fangs drip venom, hissing as it lands on Adira's exposed skin.
She tips her head back, screams as the acidic liquid sizzles on her skin.
“She's not in the mood, guys,” Jim says conversationally and knocks their heads together so hard brains blast out on impact.
“Ah!” Adira shrieks, trying to scramble away as chunks rain down.
Jim straightens, straddling her. “You're welcome!” he yells, jerking a finger in the air.
Then two more of the gorilla Fragment land on his ass and he has to deal.
I'm tired. Fatigue grips him. Jim fluidly squats and with both hands, he flings them up into whatever they find.
The one Fragments eyes widen, blood dribbling out of his mouth and Jim shoves him off by his talons.
That was a bull's-eye.
The other one Jim nailed is just a flesh wound.
He bites Jim. He tries to disentangle, but the fucker is like a damn fanged leech. “A little help!” Jim hollers.
A hand encircles the gorillan face of the Fragment. Jim's shoulder is a raging inferno of agony.
“Fucker's drilling me!” he screams.
The hand attached to the unknown arm crushes the mouth of the second Biter.
Biter falls.
Jim lands on his ass. Looks up.
Brom.
“Thanks anyway.” Jim doesn't mention that Brom is the one that got them into this little shitastrophe to start with. Not a good time. Gift horse in the mouth and all that happy horseshit.
Jim staggers to his feet and Adira smacks into him, head to his filthy bloody chest. “Jim,” she whispers.
Jim closes his eyes in defeat. I'm goddamned stuck with her, it seems.
She lifts her chin, looking him dead in the eye. “Thank you.”
He pushes the hair from her face, wincing at the fucking shoulder throb. “Welcome, you pain in my ass.”
She smiles, and kisses him on the mouth.
Jim is utterly blindsided. He gasps and her warm tongue slides into his mouth like it lives there.
Oh God.
He gets an instant hard-on and has just enough time to realize the battle's over with before they're on the ground in a tangle of limbs, tongues and essential body parts.
There's only one thing Jim can think about.
Shame and need collide in a storm of fate.
Chapter 36
Elise
“What must we do to avoid these spawn?” Philip asks Elise.
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Her answer is inadequate as a reply to this warrior of the Band. “I do not know.”
“Wait a moment?” Calia says, hunting for the sun behind her shoulder, eyes shielded by a hand.
The warmth glints a lowly pale yellow on the horizon, seeking sleep behind the distant mountains. Calia draws her golden brows together pensively. “If they be of the Tree, will they not overtake us by nightfall?”
Elise ponders this. Generally, the Fragment strike by day. But in the case of the Men of the Tree, they were constrained by the moon.
Excepting Ulric.
“I do not know how it comes to be that there be Men of the Tree who are also Fragment.”
“Not matter,” Adahy voices in English. “They need die.” As usual, Adahy gets to the heart of the matter.
“I like what Adahy says,” Philip states in his matter-of-fact way.
“Why yes,” Calia agrees with an ease that causes a faint smile to lift Elise's lips.
The Band. Always warriors, and fearsomely practical.
She slides her eyes to Adahy, and his are warm on her.
Elise flushes.
He only condones violence for her benefit. Yet, mayhap their own—in time.
“What do you propose?” Elise asks, trying for all that she is worth to keep the anxiety from her voice.
Calia hears it instantly. Elise cannot help but appreciate the friend that Calia would be to her if circumstances had presented differently.
“No wait—attack now.” Adahy gives her a level stare.
Elise swivels to the sun, sitting as though it rests on top of mountain peaks she will never travel. “It is too late to attack. They maintain the advantage of the night.” She says in Iroquois.
Adahy moves with a liquid grace that is odd to see on a man his size and is suddenly beside her. He grips her chin and moves it so that his eyes command every bit of her attention.
She is terrified. Scared that the promise of what they have will be stolen before they can realize the potential.
Adahy slowly shakes his head. Brushing his lips over first her forehead then leaning his profile against her temple. “Be not afraid. Surprise is our advantage.”
“He says that we must take them unawares.”
Philip and Calia look at her. “Yet, their number far outreaches our own.”
Elise nods at Calia. “I can heal what they damage,” she entreats with soft finality.
Philip's face falls to harsh lines. His expression is as resolute as it is frightening. “I no longer have my mail, though I do not miss its heft.”
Adahy claps Philip on his shoulder, “We break teeth as well as bones.”
Philip smiles and Calia stands between the two men. “Aye.”
The ambush is decided.
*
The forest is more light-filled than Elise would have expected. Though the sun had appeared low, and morning seemed to be the better option, the four took to the woods.
None of them rehearsed aloud that another night with their enemies at their optimum strength was not a chance any were willing to take.
Elise had been cowed by violence her entire life. Men had equaled abuse and subjugation.
No more.
Adahy had taught her that there was something of value if she would but trust it could be hers.
She did trust, for the first time.
Elise followed closely behind, but as instructed, she moved within arm's reach.
So as not to impede movement when the fight came. And come it would. Before her next breath.
Philip raises his arm in a swift upstroke, cutting their vision like a flesh knife through the silence of the forest.
Turning, his deep brown eyes glitter darkly in their direction. He points to his eyes then in the forward section that he had not yet traversed.
All of them follow his silent signal.
Bodies lie everywhere—twitching in deep sleep.
All matter of animal, large and small avoid those sleeping forms as though their very unnaturalness is an abhorrence too great to abide.
Elise covers her mouth, stifling the sound she makes.
So many. Her eyes shift around from one large, hairy body to the next. There are twenty of the Tree Men, if she is any judge.
Adahy's glance catches hers, and he nods as though to say she had been correct in her summation.
Philip silently retreats, coming to their position. “They rest in the day as the Men of the Tree.”
Elise nods.
Adahy's nostrils flare. “They smell wrong.”
Philip gives him a considering glance.
He and Calia inhale simultaneous, measured breaths.
Philip blanches. Calia's eyes narrow. “They be of the Tree, yet also Fragment.”
One of them stirs, catching Elise's eye.
“Quickly!” she says in a breathy hiss.
No one discusses morality.
Philip and Adahy leap toward the group of sleeping imposters.
Two move to sit up.
See the warriors landing with soft deliberateness, and lose their heads before they can warn the others.
Eighteen, Elise cannot help but tally.
Murder should not be beautiful. Yet, it is when the Band execute their savagery upon the deserving.
Elise's eyes follow Calia as she spins and kicks, her long golden braid a tail of balance behind her as daggers fly in opposing directions, cutting the throat of creatures who stand a foot taller than she.
Elise backs up against a tree trunk as blood silently sprays the delicate leaves around her. Her eyes close against the droplets as they fall like rain.
Some stealthy movement causes her eyes to pop open.
Luminescent golden eyes spin, regarding her from inches away.
All this time she had maintained her silence as to not signal her presence to those who her friends murdered as they slept.
Night had cast its blanket across
the earth and only the Tree Man's eyes spun with a light of their own. He appears to smile, fangs like spikes of bone in his mouth.
Elise wishes to scream. Cannot.
She drops as he lunges, rolling away from his advance.
Gripping the damp moss with her fingers, she searches for her comrades.
Calia is held, expertly kicking out with her legs, taking the two tree men in the face with effective strikes.
Elise cannot locate Adahy or Philip.
The tree man steps closer, more wary than she would assume. A cluck sounds over her right shoulder.
Fragment who are tree men advance behind her.
One is somehow familiar.
Terror swamps her insides like a river of poison. She stands with a hop and flings herself in the direction of where Calia extricates herself from the three.
“Calia!” Elise manages to gasp.
Something grabs her hair, yanking in a brutal backward movement.
Elise screams. I will not suffer again.
She does not need to.
With a banshee wail, Adahy falls from above. His tomahawk winks like a pewter eye above her head and she bows her own, drawing a hissing inhale against the painful hold on her head.
Her scalp burns. Then is released.
Elise falls forward.
A fleshen disc of scalp, filled with sparse hair flies past her peripheral vision.
She rolls on her side. Elise does not turn away as Adahy takes the scalps of four more.
They cry their agony to her uncaring ears.
Philip and Calia's blades are slick with the oil of their enemiesʼ blood while Adahy sings the warsong of their death.
It is a melody that will never leave Elise for as long as she may live.
Chapter 37
Jim
Jim sinks himself into Adira's heat like he's come home.
“Ah!” he shrieks.
She's as wet as if he'd worked on her for an hour.
Potential audience melts away. All there is is the female beneath him, moaning and thrashing her hips—spurring him on to take her more deeply.
Jim doesn't consider the finer points of their activity. He thrusts hard, taking this female of the Tree deeply. A female he saved from a fate worse than death.
Her hips rise, and he slams his length into her, kissing the depth of her womb for a strangled moment of the most intense pleasure of his life.
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