“Whatever,” Cerena says, rolling her eyes. Watching Lance head toward the stairs, she tilts her head. “What are you doing?”
“Enough napping. I’m going to scavenge the town,” Lance replies. “Who knows, I might find something useful. Be back in a bit.”
He disappears, and after a minute or so, Cerena glances over at me, lifting an eyebrow. “He’s like a jack-in-the-box.”
I nod, thinking that’s pretty much how Lance is. “He’ll be back in an hour or so. I figure—”
“Hey guys, check this shit out!” Lance yells from downstairs, and moments later, we’re in the main bay of the fire station, on our knees. Looking underneath the rotted out red truck, I can see something set into the floor. “Who would have thought to look here?”
“Only you,” I reply, getting off my knees. It’s a trap door, too large to be access to a crawl space, but other than that, the purpose is totally mysterious. “Well, you found it. Now how do you plan on sticking your nose in it?”
“Come on, Big Man . . . just move the truck three feet and it’s good.”
“Push that thing?” I ask, surprised. “Are you nuts? Lance, the tires are rotted out and the whole thing’s sitting on the rims. This isn’t a wagon. It’s a huge piece of machinery.”
“Hmph . . . and here I thought you would want the chance to show off for Cerena,” Lance teases. “But if I have to do all the impressive action today—”
“Fuck off,” I growl, planting my hands on the back of the truck and pushing. It’s hard, and even though there are large parts of the truck that have decayed over the centuries, it’s in some ways made it all the worse. The wheels don’t want to roll and instead slide with a horrific screeching over the concrete floor. Luckily, I only have to move the truck four or five feet to expose the door.
“Good!” Lance calls after I’ve cleared the space, my muscles quaking and my lungs burning with effort. “See, I knew you could pull it off. Wasn’t that studly as fuck, Cerena?”
I’m confused, and Cerena obviously is as well, but still, as she looks at me, I can see the admiration in her eyes. “It was. Now, can we get the door open?”
Again, I actually have a role in this, smashing the latch and breaking the rusted hinges with my hammer, allowing Lance and Cerena to lift the panel off. This is probably a waste of time, but we’re in for the night so we might as well do something besides sit around until sunrise.
“Whoa,” Lance breathes as the panel reveals a set of concrete steps. “I think we’ve hit gold.”
“What is it?” Cerena asks, and Lance, who’s halfway down the stairs, looks up.
“See the sign on the wall over there? This place used to be a fallout shelter. Before the war, a lot of government buildings were supposed to double as bomb shelters. They’d have supplies and stuff. Who knows, maybe there’s still things down here?”
I look around and see the rusty sign still on the wall of the station, impressed that Lance caught it in the shadows. He’s always been good like that, though, so we follow him down.
It’s a veritable gold mine. Through some combination of foresight, luck, and inefficient pre-war government planning, the shelter looks untouched, with boxes upon boxes of supplies resting against the walls. Many of them have split open and decayed, but still, some are in good shape .
“Holy shit, I found water!” Lance says, holding up large plastic jugs. “It’s no good right now, but if we run it through our filters . . . I mean, it’s gotta be better than recycled piss, right?”
There’s more. Inside vacuum-sealed, gasketed plastic storage boxes, we find blankets, clothes, tools . . . Lance was right. It’s a gold mine.
“Hey, Tym, what size waist are you?” Lance says, holding up white packets. “Got fresh . . . they call them Fruit of the Looms.”
I grin, holding up a hand as Lance tosses me a pack of supposedly large size. Ripping them open, I have to admit they’re interesting, and I guess they’d stop me from getting road dust around my cock. The elastic looks a lot better than the string and tuck method some men use for underwear. “Guess I’ll try a pair.”
“What the hell are these things?” Cerena asks, holding up something that looks like a very short, shaped tank top undershirt. “I mean, the cups sort of prove a point but . . . it looks ridiculous.”
“I bet it wouldn’t look ridiculous when you’re wearing it,” Lance points out. “And I’m sure you could get them at Walmart.”
Cerena rolls her eyes but takes a few of the garments. “Maybe I’ll try them for a day or two, see if they’ll be comfortable.”
The best find of all, though, are the backpacks. Tough, sturdy fabric, something called Cordura nylon, fresh as the day they were made, and all of them lighter weight than our current packs.
“I’m going with the camo,” Lance says, grabbing one. “What about you guys?”
“Black,” I reply, packing my bag about half-full of items I’ll keep. The reality is we could spend days going through all of this, but we’ve only got tonight. “Don’t overload yourself. Remember, we still need to walk to Bane.”
“Which will be much easier with these,” Lance says, opening another sealed container. “Boots, black, jungle combat . . . they look in good shape too.”
We carry our finds upstairs, and for awhile, it feels like a party. The unexpected bounty of fresh clothing, tools, and other supplies is like a gift from my grandfather, and as I slide my fresh socks and boots on, I wiggle my toes, impressed. “They feel good.”
“How do I look?” Cerena asks, and I stop, my breath taken away. She’s slipped on one of the support garments—the tag called it a bra—and it makes her look . . . amazing. Her breasts, which were already full and curvy with the support band that she wore before, are now delicious looking handfuls of soft flesh, high and proud on her chest underneath the black pullover shirt that she’s wearing. It makes her look feminine, strong, like an hourglass, and I feel an uncomfortable tightness in my new underpants.
“Uhm . . . wow,” Lance says, grinning. “Now we know how our ancestors got up to so many people if they were—”
Lance’s words are cut off as howls pierce the night, and I shiver, reaching for my hammer. Lance and Cerena do the same, our ‘party’ forgotten as quickly as it began.
“Wolves,” Cerena growls, reaching for her top and pulling it on over her new undershirt. “Fucking hate wolves.”
“Yeah, well . . . they didn’t sound close,” Lance says. “I’ll go up on the roof, keep an eye out. Who knows, maybe it’s just real wolves and not, you know, fuzzy-wuzzies.”
I nod, barely controlling my hammering heart as I fight to hold back my primal emotions. Lance puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder as he leaves, and a moment later, it’s just me and Cerena.
“You don’t like wolves either,” Cerena notes, sitting down but keeping her swords nearby. “Want to talk about it?”
My teeth are chattering, and I have to count to fifty in my head as I regain control, even as no other sounds fill the night. After a few minutes, I’m calm again, and I look over at Cerena, whose face is filled with concern. “No, I don’t like wolves. Call it a . . . genetic memory. And a weakness, since it can trigger my other issues. But Tyr’s got a bit of history with wolves.”
“Oh?” Cerena asks, and I’m reminded that she knows almost nothing of mythology. I seriously wonder, what inspired the shelter dwellers to scrub their records of the world’s myths?
Sighing, I nod. “In the . . . well, let me just start over and tell it an old-fashioned way. Asgard is the home of the gods. Among the gods, Tyr was very powerful, second only to the Allfather himself in terms of regard among the gods. But there was a wolf, Fenrir. The Allfather knew that Fenrir would grow, and grow, and grow until the beast would threaten all of Asgard. It would slay the gods themselves. Already, the beast was so terrible that great warriors, heroes, and even some of the gods themselves were afraid to try and rein it in. None . . . except for Tyr.”
<
br /> Cerena relaxes, her eyes lighting up as the story unfolds. “What did he do? Obviously, he survived.”
“That he did . . . but at a terrible cost. He fought the wolf for days and nights, destroying huge swaths of land throughout the nine worlds. Eventually, he was able to bind the wolf, but only by distracting it with his hand. The wolf, its teeth clamped over Tyr’s hand, was bound . . . but it got a final snack before it was cast into the ether until the time it is foretold it will come back in a newer and more terrible form, as the guardian of Ragnarok, Garmr, and finish the job.”
Cerena nods, and I don’t know if she believes me, but she at least understands. “I guess that would explain your hatred for wolves.”
“What about you?”
“Mine’s much more personal,” Cerena says sorrowfully. “My parents were both killed by werewolves.”
I can’t help it. I gasp. “How?”
“They were Hunters, both of them,” Cerena says quietly, looking down, “and I was so proud of them. I was too young to know what that really meant, but I knew Cely and Magnus Lightmoon were respected by everyone in Solace. They were more than a couple. They were the Leader and Co-leader of a Hunter team, and they were the best. But one time, they went out . . . and didn’t come back.”
Tears threaten her eyes, and Cerena wipes them away with the back of her hand. “Edward, the Elder in charge at the time, told me about the mission. The team was escorting him on another trade mission, not to Bane but to Andersonville. On the way back, Edward’s group was attacked by a pack of werewolves. Only three people survived, Edward, a young Hunter named Crassus Phoenix, and Martin Everbright.”
“Jesus,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No wonder you hate wolves.”
Cerena nods. “So, why are you doing this job then? Me, I know I like getting a chance to exact some vengeance on the wolves every time I go out on a Hunt. But you . . . no offense, Tym, but Bane’s the last place you should be going.”
“Why do you think I want out of there as quickly as possible?” I ask with a smirk. “My pay for this job is residence in Ringtown, with a day visa to Solace. If you can believe it, I want to set up a shop, be a merchant. I’m . . . I’m a pretty decent blacksmith.”
Cerena laughs, nodding. “I just bet. With your hammer skills, you could forge a sword in about ten minutes. But it seems like a bit of a step down for the grandson of a god. Are you really sure about your divine heritage?”
“Positive,” I reassure her. “And I won’t forsake it either. But being a demigod doesn’t exactly pay well. It’s not like the old days when you showed off a few paranormal skills and locals worshipped you and offered you wine, money, and women.”
“Ah . . . that’s a bummer.”
I nod, chuckling. “True. Hey, answer me this, if you don’t mind . . . why are you doing what you do? I don’t mean you, personally, but the Hunters. Fighting against werewolves, vampires, I get that. They don’t like humans, never have. But . . . why the general distrust of all paranormals?”
Cerena thinks, then shrugs. “Like you said, we came out of the shelters realizing that we weren’t top of the evolutionary ladder anymore. But at the same time, it seemed like a lot had been lost too. Science, technology . . . I mean, yeah, Lance has that Gauss rifle of his, but other than in ways to kill each other, it seems like we’ve taken one giant step back. Most people cook over wood stoves, houses are lit by lamps, not electricity. Sure, S-Pads are around, but that’s because Solace builds them and sends them out as part of a program to educate the masses.The Elders and the other leaders alive at the time decided that until the other offshoots of humanity prove themselves and stop trying to kill us . . . well, we’re trying to preserve what makes us human.”
It’s twisted and slightly illogical, but at the same time understandable. And their technology did give the Hunters an advantage that helped offset their lack of physical capabilities or their numbers. “But why maintain the lines of purity?”
“Tradition, I guess. They knew there was enough diversity and that the time underground had allowed our technology and breeding to eliminate so many things. Diseases that killed millions before the war were wiped out inside the shelters. Diabetes, some forms of cancer . . . they’re just words that I read about. I’ve never met a person with glaucoma or who wears glasses, or who suffers from heart disease. We’ve used our technology to close the paranormal gap, and the Elders aren’t willing to give that up by bringing in outsiders who might reintroduce some of the eliminated weaknesses.”
“Hmm . . . but the Elders were alive then? How is that, if they’re not demigods too?”
“Like I said, cryogenics,” Cerena explains in a low voice. “They sleep for two cycles and are awake for one. Eventually, they will pass away, of course, but it might be hundreds of years or more before they age. Edward, the Elder who adopted me? He still looks like he’s about forty years old or so. It helps maintain our connection and makes sure that there’s always a leader ready to take over if one is killed. Right now, Elizabeth is the Elder, and Edward’s actually being kept ‘warm’ in case something happens. It’s . . . complicated.”
“Doesn’t seem a very effective way to heal the world,” I murmur, and Cerena laughs. “What?”
“And your gods’ method is?” she teases. “Why not just come down and fix stuff, if they are actual deities?”
I shake my head. It’s a question I have often asked myself. “All I know is that something prevents them from being directly involved. And the further down the line from divine lineage someone is, the less involved they can be. But my guess is that the gods like Tyr, Bane, Loki, and others are trying to use people like me to be the agents of change.”
“Perhaps . . . still doesn’t seem like it matches up with what little I know of the old religions.”
I nod, leaning back. “That’s true.”
Cerena chuckles. “So, how are the gods’ plans going then? Think they’re healing the world?”
“I don’t know. I know one of the key things that has to happen . . . those of us with DNA from them have to pass it on. Procreation leads to re-creation.”
Cerena hums, and I can see the lift of her eyebrow as she leans closer. “Tym, is that supposed to be a come-on?”
I scoot toward her, cupping her face and smiling. “Why don’t we find out?”
Chapter 13
Cerena
Tym’s kiss isn’t like Lance’s. With Lance, it was playful but simultaneously soft and teasing.
Not Tym. His lips meet mine, and his hand slips behind my head, pulling me deeper as soon as he senses that I’m not going to push him away. He probes my lips, almost forcing his way inside and tasting my tongue.
It’s different, and because of it, the intensity rocks me. I’m normally the one in charge in sex, even the few times I had it with Crassus. I rode Lance like the boss I am, and in all aspects of my life, I’m the Alpha female.
But Tym’s so strong, so demanding, I find myself being rolled onto my back even before I know what I’m doing. Tym presses his body against me, and I gasp as I feel something huge and warm hardening against my thigh. “Tym—”
He pauses his kisses, pushing himself up onto an elbow and reading my concern in my eyes. “It’s okay, Cerena. I won’t hurt you.”
I look up into his amber eyes, seeing that for all his strength and the berserker nature that I know rages inside him like a storm, he means it. He’s in control of himself, and as I spread my legs, I give him control of me too.
“One thing,” I whisper as I stroke one of his long, twisted locks out of his face and over his shoulder. “When it is time . . . I don’t want you to hold back. I’ve . . . I’ve never been rocked. Rock me, Tymond.”
Tym nods, his mouth broadening in a smile as he descends on me, mouth voraciously consuming mine as his hands roam my body. I’m glad that I’m not wearing my traveling leathers, letting them air out after today’s fight, but instead, I’m wearing the lighter, looser fabrics o
f my backup clothes. I can feel his rough hands through the thin cotton of my new T-shirt, stroking and pawing at my skin as his hunger for me thrills me.
I’ve never felt this wanted before. Tym’s growls of passion are like a starving man having his first meal as he licks and sucks on my neck, my nerves on fire as he cups my ass, kneading it and sending heat rushing to my pussy.
“Fucking beautiful,” Tym growls as he kisses me again, his hand roaming down between my legs. “Sexiest fucking bitch I’ve ever met.”
I growl back, grinning. “And if you don’t make me come hard, I’ll show you just how much of a bitch I can be.”
Tym pushes me into the floor, his hand sliding inside my pants and past my new ‘panties’ I found in today’s stash. He purrs happily as his fingertips find my soft pussy lips, and he massages me, making me moan. “That’s it, my Huntress. Show me how wet your tight pussy can be.”
I lift my hips, urging him inside as I push my pants down, watching as he curls his fingers and slips a finger inside while his thumb starts brushing over my clit. It’s amazing, his digit curling to massage my walls while his thumb sends jolts through my body, making me cry out with every stroke.
Tym uses his free hand to pull my shirt up, exposing my newly encased breasts and pushing my left breast free of the cup of my bra. He’s once again voracious, sucking hard on my nipple while adding a second finger to my pussy, pumping in and out and fingerfucking me completely.
My God, his fingers are huge, maybe even thicker than Lance’s cock, but it doesn’t hurt, it just takes my breath away. “Fuck . . . that’s it, Tym . . . fuck, you’re good.”
“Just getting you ready,” Tym promises me before lightly biting my nipple. I moan, my pussy clenching around his finger until I’m trembling on the edge of coming, crying out in disappointment when he pulls back, his thumb leaving my clit. “Not yet.”
“What—” I start to ask, but Tym presses me harder into the floor, sliding between my legs and pulling my pants the rest of the way off. He reaches for the bottom of his own shirt and pulls it off, showing me an upper body that swells with muscles on top of muscles, full, round chest muscles that flow to a set of abdominals that I could wash my dirty panties on . . . and the way he’s fingerfucked me, I’ve got at least one set I can do it with now.
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