Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  The other two survivors didn’t last long either. One had died during the six years of the Darkening, when food grew scarce and people were forced to retreat to secret bunkers underground to survive. The other survived the Darkening, only to vanish out into the desert one night, muttering about the dead coming to life again.

  Over the years, Black River became a rite of passage for local youths. Back before the reivers formed organized parties, her own father had been one of the kids who’d ventured out to see what secrets Black River owned. Or to find out what had driven his father mad, most likely. Four teenagers went in. Two came out. Nobody talked about the two bodies they never found, but the local settlements got together and passed a law. Nobody entered Black River. This entire swathe of land was off-limits.

  Riley looked up sharply as noise sounded through the walls. Empty, clanking sounds that echoed from some distance away. Staying very still, she cocked her head to the side, trying to listen. There it came again. Another echo, like a lead pipe striking a wall.

  She yanked hard on the metal bracelet around her wrist, skin tearing at the edges. She’d tried to undo it when Wade first left, to no avail. But this new fear spurred her on. Something was coming. Something deep in the facility. She just knew it.

  There was no way she could get the handcuff over her wrist. Not without dislocating her thumb, which she was loathe to do. Her gaze strayed to the keys hanging from a hook on the far wall. She’d never reach them.

  Glancing around revealed nothing long and thin with which to retrieve them. Damn him. What I wouldn’t give for a broom right now. She glared balefully at the hook. It looked like plastic.

  Breakable. She knew that. Her grandfather had collected old relics and items, anything pre-Darkening. He’d hit her once, when she played with an old toy truck and broke it. That was the last time her father let her visit him. She’d been seven.

  A plan began to form. Standing up, Riley extended her foot, her hiking boot falling just short of the nest of blankets at the base of the wall. Straining, she stretched her whole body out, toes pointed, each muscle in her frame trembling. The tip of her boot landed on the edge of the blankets and Riley stilled, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. Hollow noise echoed through the wall, close to her ear. Swallowing hard, she edged the blankets toward her.

  The thick wool was warm with Wade’s scent. It wasn't entirely disgusting. Reminded her of a man – sweat, dirt, hard labor, and warm skin. Scowling to herself, she bent down and picked up one of the blankets, shaking it out before kicking the rest of them to the side. There was a thin mattress rolled out underneath, but Wade obviously didn’t care much about comfort since the floor was hard linoleum, the blankets thin.

  What had brought him out there?

  Revenge against McClain? There had to be some reason for him to want the man dead, and it had been personal. The light of it had lit his eerie eyes, which meant he knew Adam McClain somehow.

  McClain wasn't exactly a friend, though everyone else seemed to think him some kind of hero. His arrogance rubbed her the wrong way every time she heard his voice. McClain didn’t ask people to do things, he told them as if he expected it done. For the last few months, he’d been pushing her to commit the people of Haven to him – to abandon their settlement and accept his protection. His argument was that the reivers were coming, and Haven had to be the next on their hit list.

  Of course, McClain ruled one of the more old-fashioned settlements. His entire council included only one female, and that was his sister. He’d also made it quite clear that if Riley wanted a protector, she had only to ask. As if she hadn’t spent the last six years of her life looking out for herself, or even earning her own spot on Haven’s council.

  He was a chauvinistic asshole, but he wasn’t a bastard.

  So, why would Wade want him dead?

  And why should she care? All she needed to think about was how to escape him.

  With a scowl, Riley flipped the ends of the blanket out straight, letting it settle on the floor. It took three throws before it rested against the far wall, nice and flat.

  Wade had even left a pair of heavy boots behind. Riley dragged one toward her with the tip of her shoe, then hefted it. Nice and solid. Real leather with heavy soles crusted in red dust.

  The boot hit the plastic hook dead-on, and the thing smashed to pieces. Riley blinked in surprise as the keys dropped neatly onto the blanket along with the boot, and the pieces of hook.

  Well, what d’you know?

  Grinning to herself, she grabbed the edge of the blanket and hauled it toward her. Slipping the key into the lock on her handcuffs, she clicked it, and the metal sprang open.

  Free.

  Ignoring the ominous clanking, she grabbed a spare pack and filled it with some of the foodstuffs he had stored in crates along the wall. Wade was there for the long haul, his provisions well-thought-out, if not exactly gourmet. Hardtack and dry biscuits, sourdough bread, a wheel of cheese, flour, sugar, tea, and canteens with fresh water in them. There was plenty of weaponry too. She stole a knife, testing the edge with her thumb before strapping the sheath around her thigh. An old military rifle with plenty of cartridges that looked like it had once belonged to one of the enforcers. A closer look showed they were silver shot, most likely for taking down a warg. It would work perfectly, as long as she wasn't overtaken by a roving band of enforcers, who'd want to know how she'd got it. They tended to shoot first, then ask questions.

  How long had Wade been gone? Her eyes were grainy with exhaustion, but she didn’t know how many hours had passed since he brought her there. A long time, she guessed. She’d napped briefly after the first flurry of trying to escape had failed. No doubt it was afternoon, or thereabouts.

  Night fell swiftly here.

  For the first time, Riley faltered. She knew the desert like the back of her hand. She also knew the rule number one for survival out in the Wastelands: don’t get caught out alone at night. One sniff of her and every warg in the area would be on her trail.

  A bottle of vodka caught her eye. With that fancy, dust-coated label, it’d be worth a fortune on the black market. Wade would kill her, but it would also dilute her scent. Maybe. It wasn't like there was any soap around. Biting the lid, she unscrewed it, then poured the vodka into her cupped palm and washed herself all over, until her skin was dry and thirsty.

  It wouldn’t be enough. Wargs had a fine sense of smell. Riley opened one of his packs and shimmied out of her shirt and shorts. She even swapped her own socks for his, though the boots she’d have to keep. Then she dragged an old, faded black shirt over her head. Wade’s scent surrounded her immediately. His jeans were another matter; he was a large man, and she was slender. Wrapping his belt around her waist twice, she tore another shirt into strips, rolled up the hems of his jeans, and tied the strips around her ankles loosely so the material wouldn't unroll. It would be warm outside now, but night was cold out here. She threw his heaviest wool sweater into her pack and looked around for anything else.

  Nothing. She was as prepared as she was ever going to be.

  And the clanking was getting nearer.

  Dragging a crate into the center of the room, she reached up and eased the manhole open, peering out. The sunlight speared her eyes and she squinted, letting her vision adjust. There were two doors in the room below, but she wasn’t venturing further into Black River, even if Wade was standing out there waiting for her. Whatever was making that noise was something she didn’t want to run into.

  Flipping aside the lid, she tossed the pack out and hauled herself up through the opening. The heat hit her immediately, shimmering on the hot sands. At least most of her skin was covered. She dragged another shirt out of the pack, wrapping it around her head and face. It would have been better if she’d worn white, but the heat wasn’t the worst danger out here. And white would stand out at night like the fluorescent globes in the room below.

  There was no sign of Wade. No sign of any wargs. Only his foo
tprints, leading away toward the back of the building.

  She peered toward the fence ahead, toward Haven. Time to find out if her folks were still alive. The settlement was well-guarded, but the reivers had been packing a fair bit of heat. Hopefully, Jimmy had gotten there in time to warn them.

  The hot sun baked the back of his neck, his hat nestled low over his eyes. Ignoring the heat, Lucius peered through the sight on his rifle, watching the deer’s ears prick. It knew he was out here. Somewhere. It just didn’t know where.

  He’d been tracking it for a mile. And keeping an eye out for warg tracks, but they were obviously tucked away after the previous night’s gorging. He’d found a rabbit carcass – or the remains of some fur and a paw, anyway. Clear tooth marks that showed a warg in full-shift, to someone with an experienced eye. He’d been tracking them for years, even before he’d been clawed up and turned. A few hairs on a scraggly tree, the stink of urine against a rock... But they didn’t come closer to Black River. They’d smell his own scent, find the body left out for the scavengers. Not much could kill a warg, and it’d make them wary.

  Taking a deep breath, he let it out, smooth and slow. His finger eased over the trigger—

  And a hint of darkness caught his peripheral vision. Lucius took his finger off the trigger, cursing under his breath. For a second, he thought it was a warg, but then he saw the sunlight gleaming off honey-blonde hair.

  “Son of a bitch,” he whispered, staring at his prisoner. Or his ex-prisoner.

  Riley slipped through the canyon far below him with impunity, some insane turban thing wrapped around her face and head, with her hair tumbling out beneath it. The pack over her shoulders was his. The rifle too. His shirt. His jeans. The bloody woman had somehow escaped her handcuffs, and stolen half his gear.

  Lucius choked on a laugh. He’d underestimated her.

  His eyes slowly narrowed, and he looked to where the deer had been. Gone. Dinner had vanished into the fading afternoon sunlight. He might have chased it, but he had larger prey to run down.

  Blonde, eminently curvy prey. And a quick glance at the molten disc sinking toward the horizon told him he didn’t have much time to do it.

  Something caught his eye on the horizon. Dust. Like a car or a jeep. Bending low, Lucius frowned, peering through the scope. An armored jeep shot into view, a pair of heavyset men in the front and a gun turret mounted on the back. A hint of movement in the dust trail behind it – more jeeps, more men.

  Reivers.

  Fuck. He stood up and bolted across the rocks, throwing caution to the wind. They were following the only road out here.

  And it led straight to Black River.

  The shadows lengthened in the canyon. Riley traced the path they’d taken the night before, trying to check landmarks as she went. It had been dark, and the area around Black River was unknown to her, but every so often she caught the faint trace of a scuffmark. Wade moved almost invisibly, it seemed, but her own tracks weren’t so untraceable.

  She’d found a dead warg just beyond the fence, its dark eyes rolled back in its head, silvery light striking off the pupils. Bloody marks marred its abdomen, but the broken neck had been the thing that killed it. The sight had kept her wary for a mile, the gun lifting at the slightest sound. Wade had to be out here somewhere, but there’d been no sign of him. Only the eerie sensation of being watched sometimes.

  Like now.

  Riley stopped in the shelter of an overhang and waited, holding her breath. Being trapped in the canyon sucked, but it was the only way out. The scrape of something moving over the sandy track followed her. She eased the safety off Wade's rifle, pointing it toward the sound.

  Hesitant footsteps followed her. Quiet. Wary.

  A wet brown nose came into view, and a tan face with large black eyes. Riley eased out her breath, staring. A deer. A bloody deer. The wind was blowing toward her, not the deer.

  She lowered the rifle and took a step out from underneath the overhang. The deer’s legs stiffened, its knees bending as though to spring away.

  “Hush there,” she whispered. “Easy now.”

  It trembled, staring at her outstretched hand. Then its eyes widened and it looked up, behind her.

  Riley spun, the rifle flying to her shoulder as a shape launched itself off the rocks behind her. Wade smashed the rifle down, landing lightly in front of her. Riley opened her mouth to scream but he clapped a hand over her mouth, shaking his head sharply. The deer was long gone.

  Tension rolled through his shoulders. Eyes raking the canyon, he yanked her under the overhang. Riley froze. She might have tried to knee him in the balls, but the easy humor which usually rode him was gone. A cold, battle-hardened man stood in front of her in that moment, ready for a fight.

  Something had spooked him.

  “Reivers,” he whispered. “Coming through the canyon. You need to follow me, and be quiet. Understood?”

  Lucius Wade, psychopath warg, or a convoy of reivers?

  She chose the lesser of two evils.

  Easing her grip on the rifle, she nodded and let him lead her toward the sheer rock wall of the canyon.

  “They’re coming fast,” he murmured. “Can you climb?”

  “Like a monkey.”

  Slinging the rifle over her shoulder, she dug her toes into a narrow crevice in the wall and leapt up, grabbing a handhold. Wade shoved a hand under her ass, urging her on. She could hear him cursing as she scrambled up the rock, his warm body almost hot on her heels.

  “How many jeeps?” she asked, arms straining as she climbed higher. Dragging herself over a lip of rock, she knelt on the small ledge, trying to catch her breath.

  Wade’s hand caught the edge and he shoved himself higher, sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. “Three.”

  Riley sucked in a sharp breath. Then reached for his hand.

  Wade stared at her then took it, his own rasped with calluses. Their eyes met as his weight dragged at her. Just let go and he’d be nothing more than a broken body on the ground far below.... The thought was enticing. Then she dragged him forward, onto the safety of the ledge.

  Wade knelt low, peering over the edge. Dust was thick in the canyon, travelling toward them swiftly. He jerked her down, shoving a hand between her shoulder blades as he pressed her flat. There wasn’t much room on the ledge. Lowering himself onto his palms, half his body covering hers, he peered below.

  Hot breath curled over her ear, his thigh thrown over hers. Riley half-glanced over her shoulder, unnerved by his closeness.

  “You could have done it,” he whispered, his words stirring the damp curls at her ear.

  Their eyes met. She knew exactly what he was talking about. “Don’t think I didn’t think about it.”

  “I know.” A hint of dark humor curled his mouth. “I saw it in your eyes.”

  Below them, dust swirled, thick and choking. Wade’s hand stroked over her back, settling against the base of her spine, but his gaze was locked on the road below, as if the movement was unconscious on his behalf. Riley’s eyes narrowed. Maybe it was. Maybe not.

  “What made you change your mind?” He leaned closer, breathed the words in her ear.

  The first jeep shot through the curve of the canyon, one of the men laughing as it zoomed around the corner. Riley flinched, pressing herself deeper into the rock.

  “I might be able to avoid the wargs out there, but not a band of reivers.” Biting her lip, she added, “For all your talk, you haven’t hurt me yet.”

  His eyes met hers. Pale, pale blue, with a hint of silver shine to the dark pupils. “You think I’m all talk?”

  “No.” He definitely had the capacity for violence. “I just think you haven’t hurt me yet.”

  And he could have left her there in the dark, locked in that cage, but he hadn’t. There was some trace of humanity left in him, just a hint of it.

  Wade looked away, watching as another jeep shot through the canyon below, the image reflecting back off his eyes. “
Don’t trust me.”

  “I don’t.”

  Their eyes met again. In perfect accord with each other.

  “Next time,” he whispered. “I am putting you in the cage.”

  Riley watched the last jeep shoot by, toward Black River. “You got another cage somewhere, do you?”

  3

  The dust slowly cleared, the sounds of the jeeps fading in the distance, along with the whooping cries of the reivers.

  Lucius put his hands underneath him, starting to rise when some sixth sense stirred the hairs on the back of his neck.

  Riley opened her mouth and he clapped a hand over it, shoving them both flat again. Her warm brown eyes bulged in outrage, but she acquiesced. Her breath wet the palm of his hand, her chest rising and falling sharply. Another time and he might have let his gaze rove, but this wasn’t the time. Or the place.

  And she was definitely not the woman.

  Silence settled over the canyon. The prickle along his spine grew, irritating him, like a trail of marching ants. Riley rolled her eyes toward him, as if questioning his sanity.

  Lucius laid in wait.

  Three seconds later, his patience was rewarded. A man stepped out from behind the corner below, carrying a heavy shotgun. He moved with the stealth of a military man, using finger gestures to direct his partner. A wide-brimmed hat shielded his face. The other guy followed on his heels, eyes roving the canyon, each foot placed with extravagant care as he tracked his gun around. Muscles bulged from his short-sleeved vest, rippling beneath the badly inked tattoo of a hawk that banded his arm.

  Both of them paused. Dust stirred, the wind whispering eerily down through the canyon walls. Beneath him, Wade could feel the heat of Riley’s body as she tried not to breathe.

  The men lowered their shotguns. The one in the lead tugged his left glove off with his teeth, then fiddled with something on his wrist.

  “Wade’s not here,” he muttered quietly, and Lucius’s blood went cold.