But now the training ground isn’t the familiar space it’s been for years. Cloaked in shadows, the familiar shapes seem hostile, alien, ready to cause me to fail.
“Your goal is to complete the obstacle course, avoiding any traps or enemies in the way,” our instructor tells us, her face stern and intimidating in the shadows. I’m not really that familiar with her, but she’s tall, like all of the Youngling instructors. Then again, most adults still look tall to me. I’m younger than anyone in the Youngling training classes and have gotten used to people asking whether I’m lost and where’s my Initiate class.
But I don’t have time to waste . . . not after what happened to my parents.
Thankfully, I’m not the only one looking unsure about this training cycle. There are quite a few of my classmates who look out on the ground with the same trepidation that I feel. So when it’s my turn, I start the course feeling that I’m not a ‘baby’.
The first obstacle, the over-under logs, is easy enough. I’ve felt and crawled these so many times that I can even remember the gaps in each log, which ones are too big, which ones are too small for me. And with my small size, it’s just easier to navigate than what some of the boys have to deal with.
But the running ropes seem to want to constantly tangle my feet, and when I approach the vertical climbing rope, I don’t even see as a padded spear comes flying out of the shadows, striking me in the chest and knocking me to the ground.
“You’re dead, Lightmoon,” a compact female Hunter says, her face a blank mask of murder, her eyes dark shadows in the half moonlight. “In the darkness, you are never, ever in control of the fight. The best you can be is treading water.”
I smile a little, because that night was another first for me. It was the first night I ever met Lily Highmoon, then a senior Hunter who’d agreed to lend a hand to the Academy for their annual night assault course training. The next time I took the course, she was there too . . . and things went quite differently.
Now I have another choice at hand and another difference to make. There are only a few minutes of sunlight left. Already, the shadows are drawing long from the west as the sun starts to touch the horizon behind me and Lance.
“What do you think?” I ask Lance, who’s got his pistol out and is crouched behind a bush, sighting on the compound. “You ready?”
“I can get two, maybe three shots off before I’ll need to scramble,” Lance whispers. “After that, they’ll be returning fire, and this bush won’t do a damn thing. I hate bush.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” I quip, earning a smile from him. Whenever Lance is tense, a quick little ‘sexy’ remark always helps get him back in focus. “Okay, when you think you’ve got a shot that’ll maximize distraction and carnage, I want you to take it.”
“I understand.”
“You’re also our driver,” I remind him. It was the most difficult part of my planning. Lance isn’t an experienced driver, but at the same time, the truck’s simple. And I need to use his ability to withdraw from the fight in order to make this work. “So inflict damage, sow confusion, then get the hell out of here to get the truck. You’re our point man.”
Lance nods, and I slide down, crawling through the dirt to where I’m going to prepare my part in the assault. Tym’s already deployed on the other side of the clearing, his hammers ready. I can only hope my little pep talk to him earlier was enough to assuage his fears and let him fight with all his strength.
My heart beats fast and hard in my chest, and I can feel the tension cutting through the air. Even the werewolves in the courtyard seem to feel something, because they start looking around nervously, one of them with a Gauss rifle trying to reassure himself by running his hand over the barrel, his nose twitching as he holds back a howl.
More of the wolves start to fidget, and I look up, whispering a soft curse. Of course. I can see the moon, pregnant and ghostly, rising in the east even though full night is still hours away. While the wolves are not bound to the moon the way their mythological counterparts were, they do react to it.
At full moon, werewolves are fiercer, stronger, but also more animalistic. They’ll abandon their weapons in favor of fang and claw, more apt to transform fully. It makes them both more and less dangerous.
“Come on, Lance, we can’t—” I whisper when the big steel double doors open and Brandon is carried out of the bunker, suspended from a wooden pole that’s being carried by two werewolves wearing military-style pants and boots and nothing else. He looks like he’s about to become dinner for a werewolf barbecue, except that I know in wolf form, werewolves don’t really worry about cooking their meat.
He’s helpless, struggling as he curses at his captors, using his mouth if nothing else to fight back against his enemies. “I hope that you furry fucks are enjoying this, because when I get free, I’m going to neuter all of you. The only sacrifice Bane’s getting tonight is going to be your balls!”
Well, that’s as good a distraction as any. Three of the werewolves, their anger piqued, draw closer, and just as I consider doing something myself, a burning spear of fire rips through the air from Lance.
His aim is perfect, and his firing position is from a slight downhill that gives him a line that sends the hypersonic pellet through two werewolves, one of them being of the pair holding Brandon’s pole. It drops to the ground and I’m up, charging the remaining werewolves as another stream of fire takes out another werewolf and then another.
“Hunter!” a werewolf howls before fully changing, his body tearing free of his clothing as he expands and morphs. It’s a momentary opening for me, and I strike. I’ve left my swords on my back for a reason, and from my hand, two knives fly, whipping through the air to impale the werewolf’s throat and drop him to the ground.
Drawing my swords, I prepare as a stream of werewolves pours from inside the base, and for a moment, I wonder how in the hell the werewolves are able to hold onto their territory in Bane when the realization hits me in a flash.
If they’re here on their dark god’s orders . . . they don’t care.
They keep coming, werewolves ignoring Brandon on the ground and attacking as soon as they see me. I fight a retreating battle, whirling as I slash in every direction, hoping I don’t have to keep this up for long. Thankfully, Lance’s attacks disrupted their formation and they attack one at a time, allowing me to have a precious moment between each enemy where I can fight in a series of one-on-one encounters.
And werewolves are fast, but not faster than the eye can see, so with the extra twenty-two inches of steel emerging from each of my hands, I have a lot of space to work within. Space to do what I’ve been trained to do.
One of the earliest lessons I learned under Lily’s tutelage after I got through the Hunter Academy is that the old adage of ‘shut off your brain’ is a bunch of bullshit. Maneuvers, reactions, those things must be instinctual and unforced, but I also keep my mind evaluating everything else that happens around me each microsecond as I slash and thrust.
But my abilities and years of training can only do so much. One non-fatal blow leaves an enemy behind, then another, and before I know it, five werewolves pressure me. I take a quick step back, cutting at one while another comes in, turning what could be a killing blow into another deep but non-crippling wound.
Suddenly, two of the werewolves attacking me literally have their heads explode simultaneously, and I realize what Lance is doing. He told us before that he couldn’t fire his Gauss weapons while using his ability to stop time . . . but that doesn’t mean he can’t fire, stop time, move, restart time, and then pull the trigger.
Even if his hand starts to get shaky, he can use surprise and movement, jamming the weapon against his enemies to kill a few more before he has to resort to his knives.
But how long can he keep going? Like Tym, using his ability for too long leaves him drained of energy, and I need him to drive. I can’t have two comatose companions if we’re going to get out of this alive.
Tym . . . perfect timing.
“You guys are fucked now!” Lance calls from somewhere, but I’m grateful to hear it’s further away than I’d expect. “The motherfucking cavalry's here!”
Tym’s appearance splits the focus of the werewolves, sending them into further disarray. He’s a one-man wrecking crew, his twin hammers smashing three werewolves before anyone can even recover. The wolves, sensing the new danger, turn to attack him, and I start cutting them down, saving the gymnastic maneuvers in order to inflict maximum damage.
But I’m just mop-up. Tym’s the shock troop, and even I have to take a moment to watch as he catches two werewolves at once with his hammers before kicking a third so hard it goes flying through the air five yards to bounce off the metal bunker doors.
His lineage might give him a instinctual fear of them, but right now, they’re as terrified of him as he ever could be of a wolf. They press their attack simply because we’re attacking them in what might be their home, but that doesn’t matter . . . Tym’s terror personified right now.
I run another werewolf through and move to check on Brandon, who’s struggling on the ground as the werewolves are finally pushed beyond their limits and start to retreat. With a single swipe of my sword, I cut Brandon’s bonds, and he rolls to the ground, his wrists still tied but his body free.
“You came for me,” Brandon says in wonder as he gets up. “You really—”
Suddenly, he pushes me back to the ground, throwing his hands out, and I feel more than see the dark energy that swarms out of his hands, hitting a werewolf that was creeping up on us until Brandon turns him into a blood balloon. It’s not fast enough, though, and Brandon catches a paw to the face that knocks him down to a knee, woozy.
“No!” I cry, my mind whirling with images of my battle with Crassus.
But before I can finish my cry and look for revenge, I see Lance pulling up with the truck. He must be exhausted, but he’s behind the wheel, his pistol in his hand as he points it out the window.
“You guys called for a pickup?”
“Wise ass . . . get him out of here,” I yell as I shove Brandon toward the truck. Turning, I see Tym still smashing, but he’s on the edge of passing out from exhaustion. “Tym!”
Somehow, my words cut through his rage, and he looks over, his eyes tightening as his hammers sag and he starts making his way toward us. He’s done it, his anger evaporating because of the bond he shares with me.
Tym takes two steps when a deep growl comes from inside the bunker and a werewolf steps out. He’s bigger than any of the others I’ve seen, his eyes glowing a greenish light in the dusky twilight.
“I don’t think so,” he growls, his voice barely intelligible coming from his lupine-shaped mouth. It tells me everything I need to know . . . only Alphas, very strong Alphas, can talk in wolf form.
“Lucian Tsavo,” I reply, stepping back and twirling my swords, gesturing him toward me. I hope Lance gets a clue. Get the truck out of here, get Brandon and Tym out of here . . . and if you have a chance, come back for me. “Nice to see you again. I was looking forward to finishing what we started back in Arroyo.”
“Ah, the Huntress,” Tsavo growls, reaching behind his back to draw out a huge claymore-like sword that looks barely bigger than a toothpick in his massive paw. “You steal from me, you destroy my city and my hospital, you stab me in the side, but you act like you have issues with me? Amusing.”
“You killed my parents,” I growl back, stalling for time. “I’m sure you were involved as well.”
“Of course, we were. Edward needed a cover, and they tasted delicious,” Lucian taunts. He whips his sword in an overhand slash as he darts toward me, and I block, turning the blade to the side as I kick, wishing I had power gloves. At least then, I’d be able to temporarily match him strength for strength.
Instead, I have to rely on speed, on rolling and dodging as I try to make it feel like I’m hitting him from two sides at once.
But Lucian’s older than me, more experienced, and I’m tired. I’ve already been fighting my ass off for minutes, while he’s a paranormal beast with powers that are growing by the second as the moon creeps higher into the sky. Night’s coming, and I’m losing sight by the second.
Lucian swipes with his left paw as I try to dive past him. For all his size, he’s amazingly fast too, and I feel claws rake down my back, not deep, but the agony is white fire to my skin. My breath is driven from me as I tumble, barely hanging onto my swords. In the split second I have, I roll to my side, desperate to try to gain some distance. We’re alone, but it can’t last for long. There’s no way he’s the only werewolf left in the bunker, even if we’ve killed a lot already.
My left foot grinds on something, and I realize that I’ve stepped in a shallow hollow of sand in the open area. Desperately, I flick my right sword down and kick up a cloud of dust just as Lucian attacks again, temporarily blinding him and diverting his sword tip.
“Bitch!” He coughs, blinking. “I’m going to dine on your spleen!”
I say nothing and instead whip my right sword up and over my head before flinging it as hard as I can at his chest. He starts to move but it still catches him in the shoulder, driving through his pelt and spinning him around in a circle. His screaming howl echoes through the air, rising even higher as I strike with my remaining sword, a two-handed cut that severs his left arm just above the bicep.
I keep twisting, but the edge of my sword barely bites into his side before it gets stuck in the bone and is wrenched from my grip. Stumbling, I fall to the side and roll on the dirt, getting to my knees just as Lucian clutches at his stump in agony, knocking my sword out of his body.
“Bane protect me!” Lucian screams as he lifts his sword and charges. All I’ve got is a single fighting knife. There’s no way I can stop him now. Suddenly, bright light blinds him, and out of nowhere, the truck comes flying back into view, ramming Lucian and coming to a stop.
They came back for me.
Looks like there was some divine protection, but it wasn’t from Bane. Or maybe semi-divine protection would be the better term to use as Lance comes to a stop, grinning at the aftermath of his action.
“Get in!” Lance yells, looking over his shoulder. In the back, Brandon and Tym are in the bed, Tym already passing out. “He’s got more coming!”
I want to finish this fight. Lucian’s down. But we don’t have time, and instead, I open the driver’s side door, pushing Lance across the bench seat and getting behind the wheel. Slamming the door shut, I jam the accelerator down and shoot off into the darkness.
“He dead?” Lance asks, quickly entangling Tym again before giving Brandon a blob to keep him from rolling around. “I’d make sure, but I’m out of ammo.”
“Not sure . . . hope so,” I hiss, the pain of not knowing worse than the pain in my back as I lean back against the seat. “I have a feeling that we’re not done with him.”
Chapter 15
Tym
Cerena pushes the truck until the batteries are nearly worn out and we find a hollowed-out shell of an old town that has a dilapidated wreck of a building that we can hunker down in. I woke up an hour earlier, but Brandon’s still out, something to do with the fight that I don’t remember. I carry him in while Lance carries the bags and Cerena parks the truck, hopefully out of sight.
While she’s gone, Lance and I get Brandon covered up, resting as comfortably as possible. “Makes you wish we were back at the fire station,” Lance says as he looks down at Brandon. “That was some pretty sweet digs.”
“Sure . . . if you didn’t mind the vampires up the road,” I remind him. “Or the zombie horde we had to clear out in finding the place.”
“Bah, zombies can be cleaned up after,” Lance says with a chuckle. “Seriously, man, that town was good. W
e had that whole cache of stuff . . . there were more clothes there than I think even the four of us could wear through. Water, plenty of open space, and more. We could have set up shop there quite nicely.”
“You’re sounding domestic.”
Lance laughs lightly, nodding. “Guess I am. Would it be so bad? I mean, even with Blender Boy here as part of the crew?”
I can hear tired, heavy bootsteps approaching, and Cerena appears, her face filled with so many emotions that it’s hard to clarify which is dominant, or even what they all are. She looks at the three of us and runs a hand through her hair. “Is he okay?”
“Sleeping,” Lance replies. “He’s out for the count.”
“Fine,” Cerena says, sounding almost angry. “Break out the rations, feed, and rest up. You both have to be exhausted after using your abilities so much today. I’ll keep watch.”
Without waiting for our reply, she storms out, muttering darkly under her breath as she leaves. We watch her go, and I look at Lance, who’s at least been awake this whole time. “What’s going on?”
“Well, she lost her swords,” Lance points out. “That’s gotta piss her off. I’ll be honest, though. I think she needs to just blow off some steam.”
“I’ll go check on her then,” I comment, standing up. “Her top was shredded across the back. She’s got to be in pain.”
“Yeah, well, I know that look. You talk to her now, you might end up throwing hands with her instead,” Lance quips, fetching the med kit out of his bag and tossing it to me. “I like my scratching and spanking to be for fun, not pain.”
“I’m sure. So, what’s with Brandon?” I ask, looking at him. Lance says he got hit by a werewolf, but he doesn’t look like he’s got a concussion and instead just looks like he’s sleeping deeply.
“Fuck all if I know,” Lance admits. “He stumbled to the truck and was out before we even got out the gate. Cerena says he used dark magic to basically vaporize a werewolf but still caught a shot from it. Still, we’ve seen Brandon in fights before. He’s a thick-skulled bastard, but that thick skull also means he can take a beating. He shouldn’t be down from a single werewolf punch, not this long.”
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