Huntress

by Elizabeth Hartwell

  “Yet you’ve laughed with Lance and me,” Tym remarks. “Why’s that?”

  I shrug. “I did what Edward told me to do. I faked it, and yes, I found some amusement after awhile. I’ll also admit that you guys both make me want to laugh from time to time.”

  “Lance is very amusing that way.”

  I reach over and put a hand on Tym’s arm. “You make me smile too, you know. Take it as a compliment.”

  “I shall,” Tym says. “Well, since you told me about your childhood, I suppose I should let you in on a bit of mine. I’ve told you about my problems with wolves, of course. But did you know that in some ways, I worship them?”

  “Worship them?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

  Tym chuckles. “Hardly. You see, one of Tyr’s other iterations is Mars. I know, I know, most people would think that would be Adonis’s gig, but apparently, the Romans thought Tyr made a better god for their armies than Adonis and his . . . well, he’s freakin’ Adonis. From what I can tell, he’s a pretty boy in a lot of ways. At least that’s what my grandfather told me.”

  I smile, wondering if Tym’s grandfather was telling the whole story. “But about wolves?”

  “Mars-slash-Tyr was one of the most important of the Roman gods,” Tym says. “You see, the mythological founders of the city were Romulus and Remus . . . his sons.”

  I sit forward, entranced by the story already. “Really?”

  Tym nods. “And these ancient cousins of mine, if that’s what you want to call them, were orphaned soon after birth. The twin babes, hungry and cold, were abandoned on a hillside by a jealous king who’d had their mother killed. Instead of dying, however, they were found by a she-wolf, who suckled and raised the twins until a shepherd adopted them. And when they found out about their past, they slew the man who’d had them abandoned. But, like all myths, the brothers had a falling out, and Romulus slew Remus. Between that and the story of the wolf, Fenrir . . . I’ve had a hard time accepting allies.”

  “They always have a knife ready for your back,” I add, and Tym nods. “Well, except Lance. At least he’s honest about having a knife.”

  Tym laughs. “True. The trickster is honest in that regard.”

  “You must have enjoyed spending time with your grandfather, even if it was so rare,” I comment. “To have his stories make such an impression on you.”

  “Actually, that one came from my grandmother,” Tym admits. “You see, in her bonding with Tyr, she developed . . . well, I guess the best description would be a pipeline to his divine wisdom. So when he wasn’t around, she’d sit me down and tell me as much as she knew. For every ten pieces of knowledge I have, she’s the one responsible for nine of them.”

  “So what is it you desire?” I ask. “You’ve been a merchant, a mercenary . . . what do you want in the world, Tym?”

  Tym ponders, shaking his head. “It’s a waste of time to even say it.”

  “We’re stuck in a concrete reinforced room until Lance returns,” I point out. “Plenty of time to waste.”

  “Fine. I want . . . I want wisdom and an orderly, fair society,” Tym admits. “Every drop of blood I’ve spilled, every battle I’ve been in, is for that purpose. I hate killing, Cerena. But I’ll do it, and continue to do it, if it serves the purpose of making the world a saner place. But it’s also why I hate my weakness.”

  “Because it’s not sane,” I murmur, and Tym nods. “So, do you know Lance’s weaknesses?”

  Tym chuckles. “You mean besides a fascination with your ass?”

  I laugh, nodding. “And his claims on weakness when bound. I still wonder if he was full of shit on that. He seemed to use his fingers just fine when he was in his cast.”

  Tym shrugs. “True. I honestly don’t know. But I suspect whatever wounds they inflict on him, he won’t let them be too well-known.”

  We look into each other’s eyes, and I start to lean toward him when the lasers flash again and Lance pants, “Fuck, if I’d known I was interrupting a tender moment, I would have waited until your shirt was off.”

  Tym pulls back, growling as he looks at Lance. “You’re easy to despise at times, you know that?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Lance says, waving it off. “Listen, I’ve found Brandon. And he’s not only in Silverburg, but he’s been captured by a wolf clan. The leader is—”

  “Lucian Tsavo,” I hiss, making Lance stop, blinking in surprise.

  “How’d you guess?”

  “Because bad luck and fate bring that asshole into my life too often,” I finish. “And I’m not liking how fate keeps fucking with me this mission.”

  “Yeah, well, we need to move, now,” Lance says. “My sources said he’s being held, and they’re planning something for him. Something about Lightblood. Got a clue?”

  I stand up, grabbing my swords. “Yeah . . . and we need to haul ass.”

  Chapter 21

  Cerena

  In a city that oozes darkness and desperation from every nook and cranny, where dog eat dog is the number-one law and the last thought of the dying is that at least death will be better than staying alive, Silverburg’s a strange dystopia.

  The streets are clean . . . ish. As opposed to the Alliance or Nymph’s Corner, where garbage littered the streets and buildings looked like broken-down hovels, shanties, and the occasional bunker to try and protect yourself from an enemy attack, Silverburg looks . . . organized. The buildings are all poured concrete or something similar, the streets are clear of garbage, and the lights look consistent.

  But in the ten minutes that I’ve been in this district, I’ve already been able to pick under the scab that covers the surface, and what I’ve seen is a festering boil of werewolf depravity. In multiple places along the street, I’ve seen dark stains in the dirt, and even my desensitized nose is filled with the coppery stench of blood.

  Also, the streets are relatively busy. In the Alliance and during our day in Nymph’s Corner, the streets were clearing out well before dark, with every denizen battening down whatever hatches they could find.

  Not in Silverburg. Instead, there’s a healthy if decidedly wolfish bend to the street traffic, with humans for the most part scurrying in between buildings or being escorted by werewolves.

  “How do they do this?” I whisper to Lance as Tym stays silent beside us. At first, Lance thought that this mission would be for just the two of us, but when Tym said that he wanted to go, I could see in his eyes that he was serious. Over Lance’s objections, I agreed, and now he’s silent, his eyes darting back and forth . . . but he’s staying calm so far.

  “The wolves keep their slaves on a very short leash,” Lance explains as we look down on the street from the top of an apartment building. “A werewolf slave in Silverburg gets two chances. The first time, you’re marked. The second time, you become dinner.”

  To illustrate the point, below us, a human is tossed out into the street, his werewolf master right behind him. He’s not transformed yet, but his fingers have turned into claws and his hair’s starting to sprout in that way that, ironically, makes werewolves some of the best-kempt of the paranormals. For some reason, when werewolves return to human form, their fur tends to fall out and take all the mud, gunk, and other crap with it. Not even the vampires with their tongue baths can be so thorough.

  I don’t get why the humans stay, though. Well, some I do. The werewolves keep them as slaves. But as we drop from the roof and melt into the street crowds, we see the humans and their werewolf masters interacting. In almost every instance, it is the werewolf that is dominant.

  Others, I don’t understand. If a human falls in love with a werewolf or mates with one, I suppose that could be a reason . . . but not every human around here is a wolf lover.

  “What’s with him?” I whisper as we pass one particularly arrogant human, who seems to enjoy dressing rather brightly, including a large purple hat with red band. He stands out all the more for the fact that he isn’t jumping at shadows
and cowering from every werewolf he sees.

  “Personal assistant to an Alpha female,” Lance murmurs. “I’ve worked with him before. He’s on borrowed time. I figure he won’t last the rest of the year before he’s someone’s barbecue.”

  We keep going, our traveling cloaks providing us with some disguise as we keep our heads covered. Occasionally, a werewolf will toss a glance our direction, but most werewolves are bullies. Other than Alphas, they’ll only fight if they’re assured of their victims being weaker. With plenty of targets for their entertainment in the semi-crowded streets, we escape notice for the most part.

  “Why?” I murmur as I see a human, obviously alone, still walking the streets.

  Lance is the one who answers. “When you’re the bottom of the totem pole, you pick your poison. The wolves might be hunters, but they’re better to their people than a lot of the humans are. And they go through victims slower than the vamps or ghouls do. Not saying it’s a good life, but there aren’t too many of those around anymore.”

  “So where are we going?” I ask, and Lance pulls us into an alcove of one of the buildings.

  “There,” he says, pointing toward one of the larger buildings in the district. It’s two stories, real adobe, or something that looks like it, and is in nearly excellent condition. “Bane General.”

  I blink in awe, recognizing the red cross on the side of the building. “This city has a hospital?”

  “More of a medical clinic than a hospital, but yeah,” Lance says. A werewolf approaches, and we melt further into the shadows, Lance staying silent while I keep an eye on Tym.

  “You okay, big man?” I whisper, and he nods.

  “As long as there’s no . . . violence, I’m fine,” he replies tersely. It doesn’t do much to assuage my fears, since violence is pretty much guaranteed in this instance. While he’s okay right now, my mind doesn’t want to think of what’s going to happen when violence is called for. “We can proceed.”

  I nod and turn back to Lance, whose face tells me he’s got the same concerns as I do. “Go on about this hospital.”

  “The city built it about ten years ago,” Lance whispers, “I think as a way to give the wolves an assist against the vampires. Back then, the vamps and the ghouls were working together, and the fur balls were getting pressed pretty damn hard. Then the new head Alpha, Lucian, came into the city and started kicking ass and taking names . . . and the city government announced they were building a medical clinic in Silverburg. Pretty soon, the vamps and the ghouls had a falling out, and since then, things have stabilized . . . for Bane.”

  I nod, understanding but not liking what I’m hearing. Lucian, the man who murdered my parents, and who according to Edward literally tore my father’s heart from his chest, is the real man behind the curtain in Bane. Unless, of course, the god of death and darkness himself is pulling the strings. Which, if Tym’s story holds as true for Bane as it does for Tyr, means we’re dealing with a whole new level of danger.

  “So, how do we get in?” I ask. “It’s not like you can just march in and declare you want to see Brandon and you’re his long-lost buddy.”

  “No, but here’s what my source said,” Lance replies. “Brandon was living in Alliance territory but got jumped by a vampire gang. Somehow, he avoided getting turned into sangrias, but he was still in a bad way when he wandered into Lucian’s territory. The wolves were going to let him die, but Lucian took a personal interest in him and had him brought here. My source says the Alpha even told the doctors there that if this kid isn’t nursed back to perfect health, he was going to dine on spiced doctor’s spleen.”

  “Did they say why?” I ask, hoping that it’s the case. I don’t want to keep lying to Lance and Tym about this mission, especially since Tym seems to be willing to risk his life and his deepest fears to help me.

  No dice. “My source didn’t say. Just said that Lucian’s got explicit orders. The kid’s to be locked down and nursed back to health.”

  “Who is your source, anyway?” Tym asks. It’s a good question, and for the first time since I’ve met him, Lance blushes.

  “I’m . . . acquainted with the head nurse of the emergency department,” he says. “She and I have had . . . a thing.”

  I’m momentarily jealous, but at the same time, I recognize that Lance didn’t know me two weeks ago. And while we’ve had sex twice . . . it doesn’t make it a ‘thing,’ nor does it mean that Lance was a choir boy prior to our meeting. If anything, the fact that he made a move on me, during a mission, so soon after meeting me just confirms that he’s pretty much a manslut.

  Of course, if he’s a manslut . . . what does that make me? Not a slut. My sex life was very solo and nonexistent prior to this mission, but it doesn’t make me the most professional of Hunters either.

  Never mind, I have other issues to consider right now. “Is your friend on duty right now?”

  Lance nods, and I glance up at Tym. “Okay, big man, I think it’s time to use your weakness to our advantage.”

  Tym’s moans are excellent, and the way he’s clutching at his stomach really adds to the drama of the whole thing. He’s got an arm slung around Lance, and while his hammers are exposed, this is Bane. You’d be more worried if someone didn’t go walking around carrying weaponry.

  I didn’t realize until just now that Lance has been carrying too, a Gauss pistol that he’s got holstered under his coat next to his knives. All in all, we’re a walking armory, but as we come through the door, we look like a trio of people in trouble.

  “Can we get some help?” I call out as I look around the room. The place is pretty quiet. Bane’s not the sort of city where people go to the doctor unless it’s serious, and if it’s that serious, you’re probably already dead . . . but there’s still staff on hand.

  Behind the desk, a pretty blonde stands up, her massive breasts straining the fabric of her button-down medical top and even making the gaps between her buttons open up. “What’s the problem?” she asks, although with the way her eyes cut to Lance, I know exactly who she is. “Your friend seems to be in pain.”

  “I think he got some bad meat,” Lance says as Tym groans again, pretending to hold back a retch. It’s a pretty good acting job, and with Tym’s already pale face, anyone in the room would imagine that he’s gotten himself a bad case of something. “I told him we shouldn’t have gone to that taco shop, but he insisted it would be okay.”

  “Well, come this way. I’m sure we can do something for him,” the woman says, leading us to a curtained off area. Closing the curtain, she glares at Lance and lowers her voice. “What the fuck, Landon?”

  Landon?

  Lance, though, is unfazed. “We need you to get us into the secure wing.”

  “Are you nuts?” the nurse asks, looking around fearfully. “If the doctors come in . . . and Lucian’s got his pack buddies running around here like the fucking police.”

  “Just get us back there, and we’ll deny it was you,” Lance says before cracking a smile. “Come on, baby, you do it, and next time we’re together, I’ll do that thing you like.”

  “You mean it?” she whispers, blushing. “You would . . . with Hank?”

  “Yeah, of course, I would,” Lance says, blushing a little. “I mean, if it’d make you happy, and Hank is kinda cute in that cuck way.”

  “But . . . ah, fuck, honey, I can’t risk it,” the nurse says after a moment of consideration. “Listen, I got an idea. My keys are in my hip pocket. Knock me out, and it’s the door on the left side of the room, the glass one to a stairwell. The doctor on duty will cover for me with Lucian if I’ve been KO’d. Just make it look good, okay?”

  “Okay,” Lance says, glancing at Tym. “Will you do the honors?”

  Tym nods, and before the nurse can say anything, he decks her with a right hook that legitimately knocks her cold. I catch her body before she falls down and get her onto the exam bed, where we quickly tie her down. “Landon?”

  “I said acquaintance.
I never said a close one.”

  “I’m more interested in who Hank is,” Tym whispers. “And what this special thing this girl wants you to do?”

  Lance blushes and grits his teeth. “Won’t matter. I’m not planning on coming back through here after tonight. She’ll need someone else to be the bull in her little bisexual fantasy romp.”

  He glances at me as he says this, and I shrug. “We’ve got someone’s ass to save. Let’s go.”

  We find the keys, along with some hospital garb, and quickly change as best we can, shucking our cloaks to pull hospital scrubs over our tops. Tym’s hammers look ridiculous in disguise, and finally, Tym takes his coat and slips it over the hammers, folding the whole thing over his forearm like he’s just coming in or something. “Well?”

  “Be ready to swing those damn things,” I mutter as we make our way carefully down the hallway. Near the end, there’s a werewolf on guard duty, but he gets up to walk the floor or maybe take a piss when we’re still a good bit away. Rushing, we take advantage of the gap and get inside, running up the stairs before the wolf can come back.

  “Hey . . . can you ever transport us using your time stop?” I ask as we catch our breaths on the landing between floors. “It’d save time.”

  “Yeah . . . if you want me passed out in about three seconds,” Lance replies. “It’s hard enough just getting my ass going, but you? You’d be damn near impossible. You’re too . . . human. Deliciously so, I might add.”

  “You’d better . . . or else I’ll make you do that thing,” I tease him, making Lance grin. He pulls a knife while Tym powers up his gloves, and we creep upstairs.