by N. D. Jones
Opening exhausted, swollen eyes, she peered up into an all too familiar face. Dehydration and a damaged larynx had stolen much of her voice. But Asha spoke anyway, hoarse though it came out as. “Mr. Stormbane. My torturer. Is my voice more to your liking now?”
“Why won’t you just sign the fucking papers? This . . .” He flung his hand over her prone form. “This could all be over, if you sign the addendum.” He withdrew his handgun. “I promise, I’ll make it quick. One shot to the head, and it will all be over. We want to go home to our families.”
“Oh,” Asha croaked, “I’m sorry to be such an inconvenience. How thoughtless of me. Instead of honoring my dead parents’ final political wish, I should’ve made haste with my signature so you could run home to your unfaithful but very much alive wife.”
Rolling onto her side, because she knew what would come next, Asha prepared her body for Stormbane’s preferred form of torture. It always came after a bullet wound—a pitiless invader that ripped through skin and burned her insides.
Her body could no longer form the fetal position, nor was she capable of lifting her arms to cover her head and face. The sad truth was that there was little she could do to protect herself. She’d lost the small window of opportunity she’d had, after breaking the chains, to transmutate into her lion form. Her body was too damaged and her mind too fractured to find the harmony required to merge the two parts of her soul. If she tried in her current state, the effort to save herself could have the opposite effect. In her more vulnerable form, she was forced to remain—a prisoner of her brutalized body.
“Will you sign?”
“You know I won’t.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Stormbane sounded almost remorseful. But Asha wasn’t fooled. He would’ve killed her hours ago, if he had his way. He and the others wanted this standoff over, not because they had been struck with a conscience but because Asha’s “stubborn pride” had kept them from their normal lives.
The harsh spray of foul river water shocked senses she thought dulled from pain.
Asha dreamed of grassy knolls, of breezy summers, of the Garden of the Sacred Flame.
Water beat against Asha. Her back. Her face. Her perseverance.
Asha dreamed.
Of blood, of death, of revenge.
“Gore’s Scream. Swifttalon. Ragebreaker.”
Stormbane glanced over his shoulder at Asha in the back seat of the truck he drove. It was the same black SUV he’d used to drive her from Sanctum Hotel to the warehouse. Though almost two days ago, the time they’d spent locked in stubborn combat felt much longer. When they’d first captured her, Stormbane assumed the girl would sign London’s addendum, perhaps with a few tears and curses, but nothing more. While he’d had no intention of driving her back to the hotel or . . . anywhere for that matter, he had planned on releasing her after he’d gotten what he’d wanted from her. But Asha hadn’t been so easily cowed. Hell, she hadn’t been cowed by Stormbane and the Rogueshade at all, which made for a long and frustrating two days.
Asha sat between Ragebreaker and Widow Maker, who cringed every time she said a Rogueshade’s code name.
“Nighthide. Doommight. Darkpelt.”
He’d given up on trying to get her to shut the hell up. She hadn’t talked so much in the nearly forty-eight hours they’d had her. Her voice no longer held the sweet, soft timbre it once had or even the mocking sarcasm he’d become accustomed to hearing from her. Instead, she sounded like a drained singer pushing through laryngitis to give her fans a show when she should be in bed resting. But there was no entertainment found in the SUV speeding toward the First Evolution Union Party’s headquarters.
Stormbane swung his gaze to the rearview mirror. The two Rogueshades had themselves pressed so close to the doors, if they weren’t locked, they would’ve flown from them. They watched the girl with a fear he’d never seen from a soldier not on a battlefield. All the while, the girl reclined between them, head on the cushion and eyes closed—her voice the only sound in the truck.
“Rockmane. Thundersnarl. Darkstare. Spiritgrim.”
Stormbane made a right onto Imperial Street and stopped. When Deputy Chief London had told him to bring the sekhem to his headquarters so he could turn her over to a Shona general, he hadn’t mentioned the gauntlet of lions he’d have to go through to complete his mission.
“What the fuck?” Widow Maker leaned across the front passenger side seat. “What in the actual fuck is that?”
“Stoneshield. Battlehead. Maneater. Hellgaze.”
“What the hell, Stormbane? I didn’t sign up for this shit.”
“We all signed up for it. We took the money. We took the girl. Now the Shona want her back. What in the hell do you want me to do?”
“Turn the fuckin’ truck around.”
“Too late.” Unlike Asha, who wouldn’t shut the hell up, Ragebreaker hadn’t said a word the entire drive from the warehouse.
“What do you mean?”
Ragebreaker twisted around. “Look behind you.”
Stormbane did. Holy fuck. Where did those lions come from? Not only big-ass lions, much larger than the two he’d sent after the girl, but armed felidae dressed in black combat shirts, tactical duty pants, and combat boots. Even if Stormbane dared to back up over two dozen lions, each weighing more than four hundred pounds, he wouldn’t make it off the street before a felidae soldier shot him.
“Moltencut. Grandhammer. Singleshot.”
“Shut the hell up.” Ragebreaker raised her fist to Asha’s face.
“Skullbow. Voidfury.”
“I said shut the hell up. This is your fault.”
As if in slow motion, Ragebreaker cocked back her arm. Stormbane yelled for her to stop, but it was too late. He saw it this time, Asha not as fast, not as coordinated, not even as aware as she’d been when she’d attacked Nighthide.
But she was still felidae, which made her very dangerous. Ragebreaker had forgotten. Stormbane had not.
Asha’s eyes popped open at the same time her hand shot up, catching Ragebreaker’s wrist and twisting.
Bones snapped.
Ragebreaker screamed. “S-shit. S-shit. Damn you. L-let go of me, you crazy b-bitch.”
“I’ll let go of your wrist. Is that your only request?”
“Yes, yes. P-please let it go. It hurts. It hurts.”
“Do not drive us into that crowd of lions,” Widow Maker yelled in his ear, more concerned about self-preservation than helping Ragebreaker.
Had they learned nothing from watching Asha take a beating? Had they forgotten how hard and fierce the felidae had fought them at Sanctum Hotel? Did Widow Maker not see there was only one way they could get out of this situation alive? That one way, that single route, ran through Sekhem Asha, not the horde of lions at their back and front.
“Don’t do it, Sekhem.” Stormbane pointed his gun at her, but they both knew he could no more shoot her than she would leave the truck without killing Ragebreaker.
Asha’s hand shot from Ragebreaker’s wrist to her neck.
“Don’t.”
“Are you asking me to show her mercy, Mr. Stormbane?”
“I am. This is almost over. Your people are here to take you home.” Ignoring Widow Maker’s curses, Stormbane resumed driving. The sea of lions parted for him. “See, I’m taking you to them. You don’t have to do this.”
“You’re correct, Mr. Stormbane. I do not. I do wonder, though. Where was her mercy? Or yours? I was shown none. Nor were my parents and friends.”
“We’re sorry.” Kneeling, Widow Maker twisted back around. “Okay? Is that what you want to hear? We’re sorry. We’re so fuckin’ sorry.”
“You aren’t sorry. You reek of fear, but not of regret. It isn’t yet your time, Mr. Widow Maker. It is, however, hers.”
Snap.
“Y-you broke her . . .”
“Neck, yes, Mr. Widow Maker. It took more effort than it should’ve. I think I’ll require assistance
from this truck.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I am what your violence has made me.”
Ragebreaker’s body slumped against the door, as if she had fallen asleep during a long car ride.
Leaning her head against the cushion again and closing her eyes, Asha resumed her list of Rogueshade. “Goldgrimace. Steelthorn. Fire Strike . . .”
Jostling Stormbane, Widow Maker climbed into the front passenger seat, brown eyes wild, skin ashen.
Taking his time, Stormbane drove up the street, working hard to keep his eyes straight and not on the crowd of felidae tracking his progress. There had to be hundreds of them. No wonder humans hadn’t dared to venture south into Shona. Whereas other felidae lived in small, disjointed communities, easily overrun by bigger and more organized military units, Panthera Leos’ strength came from their cohesiveness. Their familial, political, and military units coexisted under a single, guiding purpose—the preservation of their culture and people.
Their sekhem and khalid were symbols of both. The Rogueshades had shown them no mercy, as Asha had said. In turn, she would show them none. Stormbane hadn’t been wrong. The girl was a spawn of the devil. But she was also his only chance of survival.
He stopped at the headquarters’ front gate. Unlike the last time he’d been there, no guards were in the security booth.
Widow Maker shoved a walkie-talkie into his hand. “Call them. Let them know we have the girl. She’s safe. She’s here. She can get the fuck out of the truck, and we can get the fuck out of here. Call them.”
“I don’t take orders from you.”
“About now, I don’t give a damn. She knows all of our fuckin’ names, man. All of them. She keeps saying them over and over. We shouldn’t have fucked with them. We should’ve—”
“Your bitching isn’t helping. Neither is your fear. They can smell that shit like morning coffee.” He switched the walkie-talkie to channel two then held the push-to-talk button. “Stormbane to London.”
Static, then, “This is London. Tell me the girl is in the truck with you. We can see the SUV from here.”
Widow Maker made two circles with his hands and held them to his eyes, noting the deputy chief had eyes on them through binoculars.
Stormbane nodded. “She’s here, but we’re surrounded by lions. What in the hell are we supposed to do? If they’re going to kill us anyway, then I’m not letting her out. I’ll put a bullet through her skull then make them fight their way in here to get to us. I’m not going to turn over my only leverage without a guarantee they’ll let us live.”
“They’ll let you leave. That’s the deal. The girl. Unharmed. Then they’ll leave our country. They only want the girl.”
“I get that, but you wanted me to convince Asha to sign your damn addendum. You had lions sent to the warehouse. You told me to . . .”
Stormbane spied Asha in the rearview mirror. She no longer ticked off names through a raw, dry throat. Her eyes were still closed, but her head hung to the side. She hadn’t slept the entire time they had her in custody, and Stormbane doubted she slept now. Her color was too dark and her breathing too shallow. Her body bore evidence of what they’d done to her, and what she’d endured.
“You told me to torture her.”
Stormbane could hear swearing, but the voice wasn’t the deputy chief’s. Likely Chief Royster’s.
“How bad is she?”
“Bad.”
“Bad enough they’ll want to kill us when they see her?”
Stormbane didn’t have to look at Asha again. “Yes, sir.”
“Shit. Okay, listen. Our hour is up. We have no more time. She wants to go home, I’m sure, and they want to take her. We upheld our part of the deal. All we can do is pray like hell General Volt upholds hers.”
“A general? You really think a general will decide what’ll happen to us?”
“Yes, she’s—”
“Not the sekhem. Asha is. I’ve spent two days with this girl, and I sure as shit know why the Shona revere their leaders. She will decide our fate. Not the general whoever in the hell you said.”
“Which means we’re fucked. We should just do the girl now.”
Stormbane thought about it. He agreed with Widow Maker. The question wasn’t whether Asha would come for her pound of human flesh but when. For some reason, Stormbane didn’t think it would be today. If for no other reason than the spawn of the devil wasn’t well enough to kill them herself. She would want the honors. Just as he would.
“I’m getting out.”
“You’re what?”
“You stay here. I’m getting her out the truck. Lock the door behind me.”
“You’re suicidal. They’re going to rip your ass in two.”
Stormbane neither had a death wish nor thought the lions would harm him. Asha hadn’t stated his name among the list of Rogueshade soldiers who’d held her captive. Not an oversight. The devil spawn had a mind like a fuckin’ death trap. Eventually, Asha would come for them all. When she got around to coming for him, however, he would be ready for her.
Today won’t be the day I die.
Stormbane opened his door and jumped out. Shit. The lions were even bigger close-up. Scarier looking too. They roared, a collective sound that had his ears ringing.
“She’s here,” he gritted out. “Dammit, your sekhem is here.”
The crowd parted, and the roaring ceased but not the snarls.
Two women and one man approached.
“Are one of you women General Volt?”
Stormbane thought maybe the brunette because she walked ahead of the other woman, but it could’ve also been the female with the nearly bald head and sword at her hip. Both wore white shirts and black battle dress uniform pants with black boots. They had the bearing of soldiers . . . and killers.
The brunette nodded to the young felidae male to her right. He couldn’t have been much older than Asha, and he wore the same uniform as the women—his service pistol at his waist.
The young man brushed past Stormbane and headed straight to the back door of the truck.
“It’s locked. I want to get one thing straight before I turn her over to—”
The sword came out of nowhere. He hadn’t seen her move, much less unsheathe her weapon.
The dark-skinned felidae pressed the blade to his throat. “You will give us our sekhem. Right. Now.”
“Okay, yeah, lady. That’s why we’re here.” He knocked on the window.
Widow Maker stared at him, face scrunched. For too many seconds, Stormbane thought he would leave him high and dry but then he heard a click.
As soon as the lock disengaged, the young felidae male had the door open. He looked inside, growled, and the woman’s blade rose to Stormbane’s eye.
“She’s hurt. Badly. I don’t even know where to begin with everything I see.”
With no effort, the young man had Asha’s limp form in his arms and out of the truck. He cradled her to his chest, his lips to her forehead but his dark eyes on him.
Murder brewed there.
Both women took in their sekhem. Expressions that began with love turned to worry then morphed into outrage.
The sword lowered to between his legs. “You deserve to die. You will die.”
All around them lions growled.
The brunette snatched the walkie-talkie from his hand. “Chief Royster?”
“No, Deputy Chief London.”
“You and Royster are cowards and bullies.”
“I didn’t know. I didn’t tell them to do that to her.”
“He’s a liar. He—”
The sword cut through his pants, boxers, and nicked his dick. Stormbane shut up.
“I told Royster I wanted her alive and healthy. I was clear on both of those points. Our sekhem has been tortured.”
“She’s alive. She’s strong and young. She’ll heal. You said you would evacuate our city and country after we returned your leader. She’s right there. I can see the boy
holding her. She’s not dead.”
“And you think that absolves you of what was done to her? You think, because she still breathes, that your insignificant city and family deserve to live? They don’t. But that decision doesn’t fall to me.”
“W-who then?”
The brunette’s gaze lowered to Asha and her hand rose to the girl’s cheek, caressing with a gentleness not found in her voice or eyes. “Sekhem, can you hear me?”
Slowly, Asha opened swollen, red eyes. “Yes.”
“Good. We have come for you.”
“I knew you would. Thank you.”
If Stormbane hadn’t been standing so near, he wouldn’t have heard a word Asha said. But he was close. Close enough to be reminded of how they’d brutalized her, and how she’d suffered in near silence.
“I have a doctor on standby. I need to get you to her as soon as possible. Before I do, though, I need you to tell me what to do. On your order, we can leave in peace or exact our just revenge on this city, this state, and these barbaric humans.” Her hand snapped out and wrapped around his throat, claws embedded in his neck. “Live or die, my sekhem. What is your will?”
“General Volt has your soldier by the throat and the other felidae female has a big knife to his . . .” Silas lowered his hand to his crotch. “What are they waiting for?”
Frank stood beside Silas. He’d come running into his office fifteen minutes ago and had handed him a pair of binoculars. “I’m not going down there. Are you?”
“I like my balls and my throat where they are, so no.”
They were cowards, hiding in a building and spying on a scene from the safety of his office. Nothing that had happened over the last forty-eight hours had to have occurred. The needless violence and bloodshed. The deaths. The danger his decision had placed his family and nation in. None of it should’ve happened, but it all had because Silas wanted what didn’t belong to him.
From his perch, Silas found he didn’t mind the role of coward, not when playing hero could’ve had his life in the literal hands of two hardcore felidae females.
