“Why’s that?” Tym asks, and I lay my head back, smirking. That he’s the one asking is ironic, kind of. He’d be the one member of our little group who’d have been hurt most by this, I suspect.
“It was the town library,” I reply, looking up at the ceiling. “It must have been special to the town. The whole thing was thick-walled, real stone. Almost no windows at all, which I guess is how anything survived the war.”
“Interesting, but not shocking,” Tym says. “I remember hearing that long before the war, they built a lot of buildings that way. Government ones, at least. They were copying some other famous culture, apparently. And no, Lance, it wasn’t for orgies.”
Lance chuckles at the shared joke. “I just said all that to be entertaining. So, the library?”
“It was sad, like really grabbing me by the guts at times. Somehow, the books survived the war and the post-war,” I answer, thinking back to the rows and rows of books, “and the building was strong enough that the weather didn’t completely ruin everything either. I went into one of the rows and I saw a book called A People’s History of the United States. I reached for it, but almost as soon as my finger touched the book, the whole damn thing just . . . turned to dust.”
I swallow, suddenly emotional about the image, and wipe my hands on my pants. “I tried again and again, and each time, the books flew apart. I couldn’t even see if there was a picture on the cover or what they were. And all I could think was, these books are like me. All my memories, all I know, turning to dust and leaving me with just a few surviving words gleaned from the spines of the books. I mean, what does 1776 mean? Why is Pearl Harbor important? Where the hell is Montreal? Who am I? Where do I come from? What . . . what’s the world expecting of me?”
That last question’s unexpected, and heat flushes my face as Tym looks at me knowingly. “I don’t know,” he says quietly, his voice deep and resonant. “While I have my full memories, I often face the same questions. Those questions have become even more pressing over the past few months.”
“I know, but . . . listen, this is just a roundabout way to say I’m sorry about being a dick before,” I mutter. “I’m not good at apologies.”
“Like I am?” Lance asks with a smirk. “Face it, you’re a dick, Brandon.”
“Okay, I’m a dick,” I admit. “But you don’t make it easy, Lance. Or you, Tym. I feel like I’m working with a walking practical joke and Mr. Perfect the Philosopher half the time.”
“Mr. Perfect . . . I like that nickname,” Lance quips before grinning. “As for my philosophy—”
“Whatever,” I interrupt him. “All I’m saying is . . . maybe we need to say a few things to each other. Like, we sort of had this discussion before we broke Cerena out of jail, but it needs to be said again. Expanded on.”
“What needs to be said?” Tym asks. “That this foursome is joined by a very unique lynchpin in very unique circumstances?”
“End of the fucking world, the fourth horseman on a pale horse, and he sums it up as unique circumstances,” Lance says, shaking his head. “Why not just say it? If it weren’t for Cerena, the three of us wouldn’t be working together at all.”
I nod, rubbing my face. “We wouldn’t. But this isn’t just working, Lance. At least, this isn’t just an action team . . . and what we’re doing with Cerena seems to have become a lot more than just getting our rocks off with her.”
“Some people have boulders, and others have pebbles.”
Tym rolls his eyes at Lance’s attempt at being humorous and philosophical at the same time but otherwise ignores him. “So, how do you feel about this? About Cerena?”
“It’s not what I’d planned. Well, I’m not sure just what I planned in life, but you get my point. If I had ever thought of doing a multi-person relationship, I’d have seen myself surrounded by a bevy of beautiful women. Not the other way around.”
“What man hasn’t thought of that?” Tym asks, his lips twitching in a smile. “I can tell you for certain that I’ve entertained that daydream from time to time. I also have pondered a future where I would be left alone, nearly a hermit. And of course, my little shop in Solace.”
“Yeah, that last one ain’t gonna happen,” Lance says with a chuckle. “We’re pretty much Public Enemy Number One there and in Bane right now. As for me, I’ve never really had harem fantasies because I didn’t think I’d ever find a woman willing to put up with my ass. My best was the idea of skipping from casual fuck to casual fuck, skipping out the back window when Mr. Right showed up. But Cerena’s willing to let me . . . be me.”
I’m tempted to make a biting comment about Lance’s open secret of liking a bit of bondage, but instead I nod. “I guess that brings me to my point. This isn’t just a mission, and it isn’t fucking. Are we all comfortable with that?”
“I am,” Tym says. “Brandon, the question is, are you? Because I’ve thought about this. I know what to expect with Lance, and I know there will be times when he has what Cerena wants more than I will. And there will be times I’m what she needs. I’m at peace with that. I can be at peace with you being in this group as well. But you must be at peace with yourself.”
“At peace with myself?” I ask, sighing. “You’re asking the guy who’s apparently awoken dark magical powers, might have light magical powers inside me, and who can’t remember last summer to be at peace with myself. That’s a big request, Tym.”
“I don’t mean totally with yourself,” Tym says, “although that would be good for you. I mean with this situation.”
I think, nobody saying anything for a few minutes until I clear my throat. “I want to be. I feel like . . . I feel like I’m better with Cerena, better with you guys, than I could ever be on my own.”
“Shit, man, we all feel that way,” Lance says quietly, his voice light, but there’s no smile on his face. He’s being serious. “I’ll be honest. I’ve always looked out for number one, and that’s me. But with Cerena . . . I’d do anything for that woman.”
I nod, knowing what he means. “Me too.”
“Sounds like an answer to me,” Tym says. “Because I will follow Cerena’s orders from here to the deepest pits of hell if need be, and I’ll protect her with my life if she asks.”
“Don’t have to get fucking poetic about it,” Lance says, chuckling. “Just say you’re into her like we are and call it a day, man.”
“I’d rather have some of Cerena than none at all,” I continue. “So I’m gonna stick too. Besides, if things keep going like this, I’ll have a chance to meet Bane. And when I do, I’m gonna shove my spear so far up his ass that he’s going to look like that rabbit we roasted the other night.”
“Disgusting . . . but cool,” Lance says with a grin. “So, is there anything you guys won’t do for Cerena?”
I think, then shake my head. “Nothing coming to mind right now.”
“And if she says she finds the image of two buff, muscly studs going at it really hot?”
I laugh and look at Lance, lifting an eyebrow. “Then you’re going to be walking funny for a few days there, buddy. You’re fit enough for the muscled part.”
Lance laughs, lowering his voice when he realizes we could wake people. “Anyway, I think I’m gonna catch some Zs. Wanna join me, Brandon?”
I snort and stretch out in the back of the truck. “Think I’m good here. ’Night, guys.”
Chapter 25
Tym
The night stretches out long and quiet, but I don’t mind. I can hear the Whites, Cerena, and Lance sleeping in the other room, and based on their breathing, I can tell exactly how deeply asleep they are.
Lance, of course, is the least asleep, barely unconscious as he’s mostly just conserving energy and letting his body repair before tomorrow.
Next is Cerena, who sleeps like any other regular person but always keeps that ten percent of her mind that allows her to wake up in a near-instant, ready to fight and move.
The Whites I don’t know well enough to
really separate one from another, but they’re all slightly troubled, tossing and turning as they try to deal with sleeping in a new place, in danger, with new companions.
Brandon’s in the bed of the truck, sleeping behind me. He’s a lot like Cerena, sleeping like a normal person even though he’s obviously anything but. Still, he’s changing slowly, and I’m encouraged by our conversation tonight.
Suddenly, I sense movement outside, and my attention focuses on the potential external threat. I can’t see anything clearly, but I know something is out there.
Reaching back, I jostle Brandon’s ankle. “Psst! Brandon!”
His eyes snap open, and I’m glad he’s a native of Bane. It’s ingrained in him to wake up nearly as fast as Cerena. “Yeah?”
“I want to check something outside. Watch the door,” I tell him, picking up my hammers. Brandon’s eyes narrow, but I don’t say anything else as I ease myself under the gap in the door and out into the night.
It’s not cold, at least not for me, but I can see almost nothing as I try to find what set off my senses. Out of the corner of my eye, I feel movement off to my left, and I turn, looking but seeing nothing.
“What is it?” Brandon whispers from inside, keeping his voice low. “Should I—”
“No,” I whisper back, still searching the dark night. “Keep an eye open, and don’t wake the others unless you see something. I’ll be back.”
It’s not the smartest idea, but Brandon doesn’t object as I leave. I walk quickly but silently in the direction of the movement, keeping my senses alert. I still don’t see anything other than unclear feelings of something as I leave the small town and emerge back into the Scorched Earth.
Suddenly, the clouds in the sky part and I see what I’ve been following. It’s a bear, but not just any bear. This is a bear unlike anything seen since the shadowed eras before men built their first cities, when they lived in caves and huddled together in fear against the terrors of the night.
This bear comes from that time, before man mastered fire, tamed a dog, or planted his first crops. Shaggy, the brown and silver fur alternates light and dark in the moonlight, and when he turns to face me and rears up on his back legs, he’s easily twice my height or more, with paws the size of my head.
My entire life, I’ve been bigger than most of my peers. It’s a common trait for those of my bloodline, and standing six foot six, I tower over many other residents of the Scorched Earth. Even most Alpha werewolves have to tilt their heads up to look me in the eye. And I’m broad, wide and thick through the chest and back. That build’s been enhanced through a lifetime of hard work, but I’m still bigger than most.
But this bear makes me feel like a waifish child, and when it opens its jaw and roars, I barely have time to move before it’s nearly upon me.
I dive out of the way, losing one of my hammers in the process. On the positive side, my left foot isn’t taken off by the bear’s snapping jaws.
What the fuck? This bear is not only huge, but fast. I’m barely to my knees when it turns and charges again. I’m prepared this time, whipping the flat head of my hammer around in a sharp blow driven by all my strength.
My hammers are customized, twenty-pound heads with short two-foot-long handles. I don’t need a longer reach but have enough grip that I can swing them with enough force to shatter concrete walls in a single blow. I can wear them across my back or hold them in my hand easily, and nothing has ever resisted me before.
It’s a perfect blow, and my hammer lands true, catching the bear in the side of the head. If this were a normal bear, or even some paranormal offshoot of the werewolf that used a bear as its template, the fight should be over. The last time I hit a werewolf this way, I was covered from head to mid-chest with doggie skull fragments.
The bear doesn’t even flinch. Instead, it bowls me over, sending both of us flying backward.
I feel fiery hot pain in my leg and realize the bear’s clawed me across my thigh. My bellow of pain and rage echoes through the night and is met by an equally savage roar from the bear.
But the bear’s made a mistake. Because by hurting me but not crippling me, he’s unlocked the rage inside me. Getting to my feet, I feel the surge of power that is my birthright. The strength of a father who literally held up the entire world on his shoulders at one point, a father whose blows create the lightning, and a father who can slay giants surges through my veins.
The bear regains his feet and turns to me, roaring in anger at my continued fight, but there’s something else in the scream. Something . . . different.
It does not matter now. Now is about the thunder in my heart, the lightning in my nerves, the power in my body.
The bear strides in, rearing up on its massive rear legs as it gets closer to swipe at me. But despite my power being unleashed, I’m not blinded by anger. I’m powerful, and I can feel everything but think clearly . . . I am, for the first time, complete.
I see the paw come swiping toward me, and I step in, grabbing the arm and pulling with strength that could tear down the walls of Solace, flipping the huge beast over my head and to the ground.
The impact reverberates through the earth, shaking the bear loose. It rolls, coming back to its four legs quickly and charging me. We tumble to the hard turf, the impact smacking my head against the ground and making the world spin.
Slavering jaws and stinking breath descend toward me, and I jam my left arm into the maw of the beast before it can bite my neck in half. I can feel sharp molars, teeth designed to grind food into helpless pulp but not designed for cutting flesh press excruciatingly into my forearm as I press upward with all my strength. It’s only leverage keeping my arm from being bitten in half, and with my right hand, I punch the bear in the throat as hard as I can.
I know I can’t kill the bear this way. I just want an inch, half an inch of space. It is not just the strength of my father but his martial wisdom that fills me as my hand finds the haft of my knife and I pull it free of the scabbard at my waist.
My left arm is fire, the muscles being turned to pulp and the bones inside creaking, but I twist as hard as I can to expose the bear’s neck. I thrust my knife up, finding the gap in the bear’s defenses where I can pierce deeply, slicing the carotid artery and jugular vein in one sure blow.
The bear fights, driven by something beyond this earth, but even divine animals cannot resist the hot flow of their blood escaping them. Instead, it sags, falling onto me, and I roll us over.
Instinct floods through me and I stand over the bear’s corpse, plunging my knife into the bear’s chest and exposing its chest. Punching as hard as I can, I shatter through the protective ribs until I find what I’m looking for, the still pulsing, hot heart of the bear.
Taking it in my fist, I rip it out, holding it to the sky and screaming a war cry that comes from the very core of my soul. It echoes around me, rising up and filling me with more strength than ever. I bury my teeth in the warm flesh, not stopping until every bit of the bear’s essence is now within me.
I can feel it.
I can feel the circle complete. For Tyr, the wolf is not the only animal that holds special meaning. The bear also holds great meaning, and as I roar to the sky again, I feel something passed from my grandfather to me.
You’ve done well . . . little one.
A silent flash fills the air, and I’m suddenly standing in the middle of a dirt lot, not on some empty Scorched Earth battlefield but just down the street from our hiding place for the night. Still, as I take a deep breath, I swear that the fight was real, and when I take a step, I feel the pain in my leg.
The moon’s out now. I quickly undo my pants and pull them down to examine the damage. On my left thigh, just where I was clawed, two fresh scars run over my skin. Wide and long, they start just below my hip and end at my kneecap, pale, wide pink streaks in my dusky skin. They’re not in the muscle, just on the surface . . . but they prove to me that whatever just happened, it wasn’t a hallucination.
“What do you . . . how long was I gone?” I ask, surprised. I followed the bear for at least a mile, and the fight felt like it took a very long time. I should have been gone at least an hour, maybe more.
But Brandon snorts. “Dude, you just walked around the corner like, two minutes ago. You know, if you wanted to take a piss break, you could have just told me.”
“It wasn’t that,” I whisper, shaking my head.
Brandon tilts his head. “What was it? What happened?”
I shake my head again and sit down on the tailgate of the truck. “You may not believe me if I told you. Either way, it’ll save until morning. Get some more sleep.”
Brandon nods and curls up in the back of the truck. A minute later, he’s snoring lightly, and I’m left to ponder about Tyr’s gift.
He wouldn’t give it if he didn’t think I needed it.
Chapter 26
Cerena
“Well, that settles it,” I comment as we come to the nearly destroyed bridge. “There’s no way we can keep going in the truck.”
“That’s an understatement,” Lance says as he hops out of the back, his boots crunching on the torn up ground. “That thing should support us, but I’d still be happier with a set of wings.”
I know what he means. The bridge is clearly rotten, with huge chunks missing in the steel trestles underneath the concrete supports. The roadway shows it, with holes like rotten teeth pockmarking the entire surface.
“So, what do you want to do?” Brandon asks. “I doubt there’s going to be another way into the mountains without backtracking a good distance.”
“Which I wouldn’t recommend,” Tym says, lifting his pack out of the back. For the past two days, he’s been quieter than normal, not surly or sad but withdrawn and introspective. Also, I would swear he looks bigger somehow, stronger, if that’s even possible. His eyes look different too, the normal golden brown becoming almost electric blue at times.
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