The rocks are a pretty decent natural defensive position. I honestly would have used them either way, considering the local terrain for the night, and we’re able to blend in while maintaining good sight lines of the shallow valley below us.
It doesn’t take long to prepare camp for the night, and with a lot of time on our hands, I sit back, looking over at Brandon. He’s found a twig somewhere, and he’s scribbling in the dirt, something I’ve seen him do a lot over the past few days.
“Does it help?”
Brandon looks up, his eyes clouded for a moment before he realizes what I’m talking about. “A little. I’m just . . . I don’t know. Drawing what comes into my head. Sometimes, as I do, I recreate memories.”
“What do you remember?” I ask. “Last time, you said not a lot.”
He nods. “Honestly, it still feels like I’ve got more gaps than filler. I know I was born in Bane, but I can’t really say where. I . . . I do remember I only had a mother.”
“No father?” I ask, and Brandon shakes his head. “How about your mother?”
He shrugs. “Considering she was a human in that city, she was probably a barmaid, a whore, or a flunkie for some para. And I barely remember her as it is. She must have ditched me or died in the streets early too, if she wasn’t actually paranormal herself. No, that’s bullshit. Bitch was just a weak ass human who got turned into someone’s tasting menu in a back-alley deal. This whole I’m a blood descendant of Bane theory is fucking insane.”
“If I hadn’t heard it from Elizabeth herself, I would agree with you,” I reply. “But she’s an Elder. They’ve never outright lied to me. A lot of misdirection and maybe omission by them, but they’ve never lied to me. Especially Edward.”
“You’ve mentioned him before,” Brandon replies, tossing his stick aside. “What is he, your father?”
“No . . . more like a guardian, or a stepfather,” I reply, looking down. “My parents . . . my parents were Hunters who were killed in a fight with werewolves. Edward was the Elder in command at the time, and he took custody of me after their deaths. He raised me in his household, at least as best he could, being an Elder, and when he was in cryosleep, he still made sure I was cared for and that the other Elders gave him reports on my progress. Considering the gap in years . . . well, it’s strange between us.”
“But you had someone,” Brandon says. “I had nobody. You’re lucky.”
“Lucky . . . lucky,” I murmur, anger flaring within me. “Yeah, guess I was. Lucky to be reminded every day that my parents died, their guts ripped out by the very werewolves chasing us now. Lucky to have my childhood over before I was even five years old. Because once they died, the games stopped. Everything became training. Everything, fourteen hours a day, became a fight to get stronger, better, smarter than the other students at the Academy. I—”
“Still had a fucking Academy to go to!” Brandon yells. “God, you’re so fucking delusional, acting like you’ve had it tough. Woe is me, I’m the pretty little princess who had to work. Oh, I only had servants and teachers and classmates, but my life is so fucking hard! Fuck you, Princess.”
His venom and his inability to understand what I’ve been through ignite a fury inside me, and I leap across the narrow space between us, tackling him to the rocky dirt. “Fucking asshole!”
It’s not a fight, per se. Instead, we roll back and forth on the gritty, sandy surface, pummeling each other. Our bodies press together, and as I roll him over, I feel something pressing against my leg, and my body knows what it is. For some reason, the thought that I’m turning him on turns me on, and my pussy gets wetter and wetter with every grunt, every muffled curse, and every time my nipples rub against his chest.
Brandon reaches down, grabbing my ass and making me yelp, and I push him onto his back. “You know you fucking want it . . . just can’t handle it.”
“I’ll show you what I can handle, asshole,” I growl, kissing him hard. It isn’t a kiss like I’ve shared with Lance or Tym, two equals coming together and inviting the other to share in the passion and the vulnerability.
No, as I kiss Brandon, it’s a challenge. I can’t handle it? Fuck you, buddy, I can handle everything you’ve got and some. As he kisses me back, I can feel my challenge accepted and returned.
Our hands fly over each other’s clothing, tugging and pulling to expose skin, our bodies becoming our weapons and our battlefield. I find his cock, hard and already throbbing, pumping it with my fist even as he thrusts two fingers into my pussy, his thumb stoking my clit and sending ripples through my body.
“Not . . . gonna . . . happen,” I promise him between gasps of breath. It’s a battle vow. There’s no way I’m going to come before he does. He’s going to submit to me, and I’m going to prove to him that I’m better than he is.
I feel myself trembling, my pussy clenching around his fingers, and Brandon chuckles, knowing that his thumb’s giving him the advantage. Desperate, I grab him, rolling onto my back and wrapping my legs around him.
It’s not about needing him inside me . . . at least, not the way he thinks. It’s like what I’ve done at time in unarmed combat, feigning a weak position in order to bait him into a trap. In this instance, the trap iss honey-coated and sweet . . . and irresistible.
“Take it!” Brandon growls as he shoves his cock balls deep inside me. It’s not as large as Tym’s, but it’s still big, and my pussy lights on fire as he pumps in and out of me.
But I can control this. I can milk him, squeeze him with my muscles in a way that’ll tease him, draw him out, make him lose control.
A throb runs up my spine, and I shiver, my nipples hardening to diamond points inside my shirt as Brandon grins, pumping faster and harder. He knows what I’m doing. I can read it in those lusty, flawless eyes, in the handsome, cocky twist of his lips . . . I give it back.
“Fuck me, Brandon,” I growl, staring into his eyes. “Try and fuck me good.”
It’s just one word, but his anger is evident, and I wrap my legs around him, fucking him back with all my energy. There’s no tenderness, no give and take like I’ve enjoyed with Tym and Lance. This is a race to make the other give in first, and as our bodies pound and the explosion builds within me, I’m scared.
I’m scared because he’s good. I mean, not just rip my breath from my body good like Tym’s cock or Lance’s tongue are, but good-good. Every movement, every grind of his hips, the way his powerful arms grip me, even the way his balls slap against my ass . . . it’s amazing. I’m clenching, milking, and stroking him for all I can . . . but I’m not sure I’m going to win.
I try and distract myself, and a memory flashes in my mind. It was the deepest lesson in swordsmanship I ever got, and it was Edward himself who taught it to me. I’d been feeling my skills, and he decided to put the polish on.
Taking up a sword, he lifted it, waiting for me. “Attack.”
“I . . . I can’t,” I’d said, watching him.
“Yes, you can. I can’t defend any of half a dozen attacks,” he said.
“No . . . but if I use them, you’ll strike me down even as you fall.”
Edward nodded. “When you are willing to die in order to conquer your enemy, you shall truly be unconquerable.”
Truly unconquerable. The idea fuels me, and I give in to the pleasure that Brandon’s causing in me. Yes, Brandon, you’re going to make me come, and with each deep, thrilling thrust of his cock, I know it’s going to be an epic climax that’ll shatter me to the very depths of my soul.
But I’m going to give as good as I get . . . and I shall be unconquerable.
I shift my hips, drawing him in, digging my fingernails into his ass cheeks, making him moan. In just a few seconds, I’m coming, but I can feel him spasming deep inside me, coming just as hard and flooding me until I can feel him seeping out around his cock to drip onto the ground beneath me.
My heart’s racing, the air liquid fire in my lungs, but as I look at Brandon now, I see more than just the
asshole. Maybe, by some miracle of the gods or by random chance, he’s actually a decent person.
I don’t really know, and as we get dressed, we don’t share a word. Still, as the sun goes down, Lance and Tym come back, Lance with a huge grin on his face. “Guess what we got?”
Opening the backpack, he reveals a treasure trove of food, including sausages, breads . . . and even vegetables. It’s been so long since I’ve had vegetables that I swear my teeth are about to come loose in my sockets.
“How’d you find all this?” I ask, trying not to let my hands shake. “This is amazing . . . it looks like enough for two or three days.”
“The farmer was willing to trade,” Tym says, relieving me. Maybe Lance did use his skills to lift a few items, but the majority of it was gotten in fair trade, at least. “He had a good crop from his greenhouse, he said.”
We start to divvy it out, and Brandon holds up a hand when Lance offers him some bread. “Please . . . ladies come first.”
I can see the smirk on his lips, but I say nothing as I take the offered portion. Maybe there is a decent enough person behind the asshole exterior . . . but I’m going to be happier than ever when I can drop this guy like a bad habit.
Chapter 29
Lance
It’s not really much of a town. In fact, calling it a one-horse town could be gifting them a horse.
But it’s the sweetest sight I’ve seen in a long time, the little cluster of a dozen buildings, nothing too fancy except for the single metal-reinforced concrete building in the middle, not much more than a bathroom in size . . . but meaning so much to us.
“That had better be what I think it is,” I tell Cerena, my chest heaving. We took a risk today, Cerena hoping that we’d be able to give the slip to Lucian’s shadow.
It was a gutsy gamble and started the night we found the farm. It had confirmed our location for us on the map, and Cerena read her map perfectly, judging the distance and our supplies just right. By moving slowly, calling it a day earlier, and starting just a bit later after sunup, she lulled the werewolves into a sense of complacency.
It was a gamble, and one that paid off. If we’d kept things up too long, the wolves would have assumed we’d gone weak and called in their main attack force. It took timing, it took guts . . . and yeah, I’ll admit to myself it took a little bit of luck.
This morning, we left a half hour before sunrise, and as the sky turned from slate gray to bright blue, the morning light found us hauling ass as hard as we could across the dusty ground, Cerena leading the way.
It wasn’t a full-on sprint but a hard double-time jog across the dry earth, each of us straining to keep up as our weapons became heavier, our legs more tired. We moved in a tight arc, cutting in front of the werewolves before heading for this village.
To keep it fair for Tym and Brandon, who are carrying heavier weapons than me, I’ve kept the backpack all day, only ditching it at noon when we paused for ten minutes to divvy out the last of the food.
All it would have taken is one wolf being a bit more alert, or them being just a bit faster on picking up our maneuver, and we’d have been cut off, exhausted and out of supplies. Instead, as I see the dusty circle of buildings, I can feel the first tendrils of excitement worm their way through my gut in five days.
“It is,” Cerena says, handing me the now empty water bottle. To save weight and because we’ve been sweating it out so much, we’ve even skipped recycling our water, and other than a warm swallow in Tym’s jug, we’re dead empty.
It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that a half mile ahead is the first of the northeastern Ring Villages, a series of hamlets and farming communities tied in with Solace that dot this fertile growing area to the east and northeast of the city. Not that it looks all that fertile right now, with harvest season gone and the fields standing empty, but I know that come the end of the summer’s blazing heat and the approach of the rainy season, this valley will become the breadbasket of the Scorched Earth.
“Thank the gods,” Tym says, sweat trickling down his chest so hard that his shirt’s been soaked through. I can understand. He’s been carrying a fifteen-pound weight in each hand, and even with his massive strength, his body’s put forth a gargantuan effort. “So, what now?”
Cerena has us start walking again as she talks. “We know the wolves have seen us make the cut. They weren’t that stupid. But we can finally call for reinforcements. A team of Hunters backing us up? No werewolf will go charging in regardless of their bloodlust.”
There are only three people in the village when we arrive, but I guess that’s to be expected when most of the residents are probably farmers out at work. As it is, when we come into sight, there’s almost no reaction until we make a beeline for the metal building in the middle, where a man in green armor sits in the shade, standing up as we approach. “Howdy, folks, how can—”
“Lightmoon, Cerena, service number five-five-five-nine-four. Authorization Huntress Alpha five tango seven eight,” Cerena says, cutting him off. “Omega priority message for Solace.”
The man in green armor stops, his casual demeanor dropping immediately from his face. “Ironheart, Gerald, service number three-two-nine-one-five,” he replies. “How can I help you, Huntress?”
Cerena leans against the side of the building, all of us trembling as fatigue and the end of our journey rush through us. Tym drops both of his hammers to the dirt while Brandon collapses to the ground, his chest heaving.
“Support needed,” Cerena says. “I have the Elder’s package for escort and delivery to Solace but require backup. We are being tracked by a large contingent of werewolves from Bane. Estimated numbers could be between six and thirty. We need to send via radio.”
“I’d like to, Cerena, but radio’s busted,” Ironheart replies. “Power inverter got destroyed in a windstorm two days ago.”
Cerena nods, taking a deep breath to calm herself. “Who’s your backup?”
Ironheart scoffs. “This village? I’m the only one out here. This is the northeast quadrant, not the Bane side. I got this post because I pissed off some of the senior Hunters and they assigned me out of the way before I could raise any more ruckus.”
Cerena takes a deep breath and nods. “Fine. I’ll take the watch here. I need you to get the message into Solace or the nearest town with reinforcements.”
If it were me, at least prior to this mission, I’d have told Cerena to take a flying leap. But I’ll give it to Ironheart. He just nods. “Agreed. I’ll head out in five minutes with Vince, one of the men you passed coming into town. He can partner with me. Nearest town with a radio is about ten miles in. They’ve got a four-man team. I’ll send them. They’ve got horses.”
Cerena nods, and Ironheart jogs up the street after giving her a salute that she barely has the strength to return. After he leaves, Brandon sits up. “Why’d you send him? Why not take the horses and go ourselves?”
“Too exhausted, and I don’t know if you can ride,” Cerena says simply. “Riding a horse isn’t passive, you know.”
“Besides, if we run, the wolves will come through here and tear the place apart,” Tym adds. Surprisingly, for some reason, I’m nodding in agreement, and I reach down, picking up his hammer.
“You could go with them, big man. No shame in that.”
Tym shakes his head, smiling a little. “I don’t know how to ride a horse. They’re not exactly common.”
He’s got a point. While these farming communities might have a horse or two, the reality is that horses are just slightly more common than cars. “So, what’s the plan?”
“First?” Cerena asks, summoning the strength to stand erect and squaring her shoulders. “First, we rehydrate. This station box will have a water filter. Next, one of us checks these houses for food. Third . . . we prepare. The wolves will come, and we can’t run any longer.”
“Now this, I wasn’t expecting,” Brandon says, and for once, I have to agree with the cocky little bastard. When
Cerena said that the Hunter station would have an armory, I wasn’t expecting much. I mean, the whole thing is smaller than a decent-sized outhouse. Other than a desk, the main room looks dusty, empty . . . pretty much like the rest of this village, which someone told Tym is called Arroyo.
But underneath the station is the armory, which while not huge, is very well-stocked. Brandon and I are squeezed in here right now, working quickly as we prepare. Two local farmers have already come hauling ass through town, saying that a pack of werewolves is approaching. Whether it’s just the scouts or Lucian’s main force, I don’t know, but we’re running out of time.
“No, but I do like this,” I murmur, picking up the plastic box filled with narrow metal objects. “Preloaded Gauss clips.”
“Will they fit your pistol?” Brandon asks, picking up a short stabbing spear. “Now this . . . this, I like.”
Of course, the clips fit. I got the pistol from the embassy in Bane, and the Hunters are, if anything, standardized. I load up my pockets with a half-dozen clips while Brandon selects a clear shield to go with the short spear before grabbing as much body armor as we can carry. I don’t know how much of this shit will fit Tym, but I plan on strapping on as many plates as my happy ass can use comfortably.
Outside, Cerena’s talking with another villager, listening carefully before nodding. “Okay . . . take your family, and anyone else you can find, and get to the shelter. We’ll keep them off your home.”
“You’d better, Huntress,” the man grumbles, but he still nods thankfully. I can understand. The wolves are here because of Cerena, because of us. So the best we can claim is that we’re just stopping a problem we brought with us from destroying their homes and lives.
Cerena spies the two of us and comes over. “Nice body armor.”
“All the most fashionable last stands are wearing it these days, dahling,” I intone, making Cerena smile a little. Brandon takes his haul and goes over to Tym, saying nothing while Cerena stays with me. At least he hasn’t been quite as much of an arrogant pain in the ass over the past few days, not since I suspect he and Cerena had a little . . . coming together. “Our boy there has an interesting choice in weaponry.”
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