Vargr

by Cari Silverwood

  After a last study of her, he strode onward. She guessed that wasn’t the answer he’d wanted.

  It made her pout. She rather liked him, despite his pig-headed arrogance.

  The sun was limning those mountain-hugging scrapers with the first of its light. She wanted to go in there to look out the window at what lay below, at the bizarre world she now dwelled in, but she followed him.

  She only had verbal explanations from him, words, and the recent nightmare above to refer to. Seeing the destruction would make it real… Real-er. After all, what if this were a dream? Or a nightmare?

  “A little further to go, then there’s a place I can launch from that will take us across to the next part of Mercantor Quarter. Though there’s a footbridge several stories lower in an old industrial district, without beasters to cover us, flying you across is safer. We’ll stop this side, and wait until tonight.”

  The sun cast long, bruised shadows on the side of the opposite building.

  “It’s too dangerous to cross now?”

  He nodded toward the wall of glass far ahead. A railing curved to left and right. “Go through that gap in the glass, and you come out on a viewing platform. Daylight—there are snipers. Nighttime, less so.”

  Once more she longed to be able to stand there and simply look, just to gaze at a world not constrained by walls and more walls. How could she not remember this?

  “Can it really be that bad? I want to see.” As the yearning sharpened, she let her feet take her closer. “I will be careful.”

  “Stop. That’s not enough. You want to sightsee, save it for when we reach the tribe and take some humans out for sun, with our own men guarding.” He stepped across, blocking her way, and moved to cup her face.

  “Hey.” She swatted and ducked his hands. “Don’t treat me like a baby.” But he’d caught her wrist, so she twisted her arm then shucked it from his grip as if lubed in oil.

  With a shocking force that halted her, he grabbed both of her shoulders. “Stop!” His face twisted in vexation.

  Blinking, she thought through her actions. A wash of seductive nothingness hovered at the edges. She felt it there, waiting, nibbling away at thoughts, wanting her. But so subtle that giving in was easy.

  “I must,” she whispered.

  “No!” Vargr lightly slapped her face then regripped her shoulders.

  The sting helped.

  “The Lure?” She swallowed. Oh fuck no.

  Slowly he nodded. “Must be. I thought you were immune. You were yesterday. This high, it should’ve caught you when it was full-on daytime. Nighttime it wanes.”

  “What can we do?” Panic vied for supremacy with this unnatural desire. Her feet pushed at the floor. Go. There.

  Sunlight flicking over glass.

  “Hide you lower down?” He shut his eyes for a second. “Shit. Why? Why does it hit you now?”

  She tugged. “Get out of my way. I need…” She strained toward the edge of the building where the sun dabbled on the glass.

  “Gods.” He glowered. “You need to stay sane. I need to take you lower.”

  His big hands held her, tight, and somehow that made a difference.

  The confusion cleared. Cyn straightened.

  “I can think now,” she croaked, legs shaking.

  “Let’s backtrack to those stairs.”

  Shafts of sun broadcast the need, pouring in a torrent of want, an ocean that drowned her.

  “Crap. Cyn? Cyn?”

  The light spread into a blaze that blinded, and she saw the weakness in him.

  A twist, a duck, then run.

  The sun beckoned. The beautiful, beautiful light.

  She wrenched away, rolled, scrambled to her feet, and ran.

  Chapter 6

  Vargr caught her before she made five strides. It wasn’t difficult, he just launched and flew, scooped her off her feet. Keeping hold of her was more difficult. Cyn wriggled and kicked, struck at him, and she was stronger than a human, more slippery. He lost her again, caught her, then dragged her back to his pack and pretty much sat on her while he searched for and found the black collar and cuffs. He’d not used them for years.

  No one else wandered free. They’d had some use, early on. Lucky he’d not given them to the minders at the tribe. He didn’t have leg shackles because he’d usually made them walk. With Cyn that would’ve been impossible.

  “Damn you!” He ended up carrying her to the stairs, over his shoulder and with her legs trapped under his arm, otherwise she kicked.

  Searing pain tore at his back. Fuck! And apparently, she bit.

  Cursing, he lowered her to the floor, belly-down, then threaded his pants belt through her teeth and around her head, buckled it at the back. She growled at him while yanking at the wrist-cuffs where they bound her hands at her back. Least those held. If they hadn’t, this’d be a full-on wrestling match.

  Those red motes were doing a cha-cha in her irises.

  “If that doesn’t stop you, I’ll be finding duct tape,” he threatened, using the buckle to pull her head up so he could see her face. It was doubtful she understood.

  The Lure had her full force. He sure hoped she was worth this and set off down the twisting stairs.

  Of course she was. She’d been immune to the Lure for a day, so all he had to do was figure out how that had happened. She must have nanites in her. Hopefully the others would agree with that logic. The healing was unusual, though he’d heard of at least one beaster like her in that respect, a foot-soldier from the Worshippers called Rutger: a horned one, an immense man-beast. Rutger thought humans had forfeited their chance to be the rulers of this world.

  He could not currently argue with that.

  Vargr kept trudging downward, past the first landing, then the second. One more to go to reach the level the footbridge was on. Then he should wait for dark, and jog across. Flying across with this wriggly girl in his arms would probably get them both killed.

  Then what? When he brought her to the tribe, lure-addled, what would happen? The thought of some beaster rutting with her just because he liked the looks of her ass…

  His mood darkened.

  On the third floor down, he shoved open a battered, red metal door, leaving a dent in it, then staggered through into a corridor that led to a large room of generators, pumps, cranes, and shit.

  It was as dark as any other part of the scrapers where the sun didn’t shine, and the lights had gone out. His eyes adapted quickly, letting him see with the blue-tinged vision he was used to. None of them understood how their eyes did this. There was zero light in rooms like this.

  He’d find somewhere to hole up until night. Explore for a door going out to that footbridge.

  Probably nobody had been through here for five years. Except the rats, cockroaches, and insects. They didn’t scare him. Anything that wanted to bite him would break a tooth, except for apparently this female over his shoulder.

  He reached a wider open space that plunged another story. To go further he’d have to descend a ladder, a narrow metal ladder that looked made for skinny dudes, not him with his wings and massive legs and chest. Crates and metal containers sat in rows below, some stacks reaching as high as where he stood. Forklifts sat idle, as did a ceiling device with chains and straps dangling—a lifting and transporting device which must’ve helped shuffle the containers.

  The world was full of such sites. You could take anything and much of it had little value.

  Food, clothing, water, weapons, medicine, books, anything that helped you survive, those were the essentials. Pretty vases, fancy headphones, coats for your puppy dog, gym equipment, TVs—those were generally useless.

  The world had shifted on its axis, and now it favored the strong, the brave, and anyone who had the sense to keep away from Ghoul Lords.

  Vargr sighed. Use this ladder? Hell, no.

  “Fuck. Settled then.” He took a tighter grip on Cyn then leaped onto the guard railing and launched, flapping to maintain s
ome lift but also gliding, aiming for a clear space.

  Cyn chose not to struggle until he’d almost reached the concrete floor, then she bucked and spilled from his arms. He landed with her ankle in his fist and her dangling beneath him. Landed carefully, so he didn’t brain her.

  “Foolish woman.”

  They scowled at each other until he dragged her and a loose chain to a metal support column then chained her to the column.

  “Sleep.” He pointed at her. Fat chance of that. She was enraptured. With her bound to one spot, he may as well try to snooze.

  The way of things now was to sleep and hide deep in the middle of the scrapers in the daytime, when danger was out there. If they needed to go to the edges, they ventured there when it was dark. Mostly. Humans did need their sun to be healthy too.

  Hours later, he gave up on sleep. He’d tossed and turned and had found himself waking repeatedly just to check on her. It was possible she could get free. He knew too little of her weirdnesses.

  “What are you, Cyn?” he murmured.

  She merely cocked her head. At least she wasn’t wearing a groove in her neck or wrists trying to rip loose. There was some sense to her still. More than a pure human, if they were up this high.

  He rose and wandered off to find a distant place to pee, hoping she wouldn’t need to until dark came, when she should be more compos mentis.

  It must be past midday, he judged using his reliable inner clock. Another thing he’d gained with the nanomachines teeming in his blood. They’d said the nanites carried beast DNA. What beast had wings like his? Was he more animal or man, or was he a living machine?

  Some days it bothered him.

  Cyn was sitting with her back to the column, and he did the same, relaxing against a nearby one.

  Vargr rubbed his hands over his stiff hair, felt the hard spikes where some of his originally jet-black hair was welding together into rough flattened triangles, like hairy shark teeth. The ultimate fashion hair-do. Most beasters were still changing. It was what it was.

  He had to sort out what he was doing with her. Hands cradling his scalp, he peered at her from under his brow. Because it wasn’t so simple now the Lure could get her. She couldn’t protect herself, and some male would take advantage. He knew it, because he sure damn well wanted to fuck her.

  Even sitting as demurely as she was, with the shape of her legs perfectly outlined in those tan leggings and her tits making round bumps in the red top, yeah, he had to swallow and breathe in… and out, slowly, before he could think further.

  Beaster lust hit hard.

  Fucking her now would be despicable. With the Lure this high in her, it’d bond them irrevocably, but she would have no say.

  On the other hand, it was going to happen with somebody. She was the epitome of feminine beauty in his eyes with her inky hair that curled in unexpected whorls at her neck and her curvy litheness. There were muscles among those curves too. Whatever they’d fed humans on, it hadn’t turned her into a skeleton. Fattening them up, he guessed, like ducks or geese. His lip curled up in distaste. She was here now.

  There were loose laws at the tribe but nothing for this. Beasters were practical and more than a tad amoral when sex was concerned. He shifted his legs to relieve the pressure in his pants, then he cracked his knuckles one by one. Think. What was the best move?

  The loud crunch of his finger joints was background noise and nothing new. He ignored it. If the nanites were causing arthritis, no one knew how to reverse it. Same as shark-teeth coiffure.

  Think. This girl was giving him a headache, and she wasn’t even talking.

  From his pack he drew a notepad and pen, and painstakingly, with his thick, unbendy fingers, wrote down his ideas in wobbly letters, all the requirements to make this work. He went back and scribbled out a few times, rewrote. The paper became dented, smudged and probably a hen could’ve done this better. It was, however, a contract.

  He tapped the pen and smiled. Yeah. Perfect. Then he set it aside.

  He closed his eyes.

  If she signed it, everything would be fine.

  Sleep chose then to close in and pounce, heavily. He let himself slide to the floor, curled with his arm as a pillow and soon he heard snores in the foggy distance.

  When he woke, he found her watching him with fairly steady eyes. He levered himself into a sitting position and rubbed sleep from his eyes.

  The Lure seemed lessened in her. His internal clock said dusk was close.

  “Do you feel it still?”

  “The Lure?” She pulled at the collar, seemingly not quite aware it wasn’t attached to anything. “It’s there. The bastard thing. I want it gone,” she added in a whisper.

  The industrial strength chain was clipped about her ankle, with the simple hook at the end. Her hands he’d long ago unclipped. It had seemed safer, and as expected she couldn’t sort out how to free herself.

  She was in exactly the right state. Probably. Thinking, but lure-affected.

  Set this out, carefully, step by step. He stood and retrieved the notepad and pen.

  “Cyn, I thought this through. I would like you to sign an agreement. If I wait, bad things will happen to you. Worse than me.” Well, that was his opinion. “Here are the facts as I see them. He felt like an insurance salesman and was positive he was doing this all wrong.

  Fuck, he wasn’t into speeches. Not when sex was involved.

  * * * * *

  Little Mo observed from its perch high above the floor with its claws wrapped about a cable. Instructions said to report back to Big Daddy when she found a home. It had done so before when she’d remained on the top floor, then returned to record her for years, though having to overwrite some data to squeeze in the new days.

  Most of that time she spent eating and helping others to grow crops in the sun, until the final day when she was called to a Ghoul Lord. When Cyn severed a tentacle, a strange energy had spiked within Little Mo’s core. That had been satisfying.

  It clenched its tiny claws and made them sink into the insulation of the cable.

  Was this her new home? It decided the answer was no, and it squatted lower and waited. Though solar energy would help Little Mo regain power, it had reserves.

  Wait. Yes. And watch.

  Chapter 7

  Cyn listened with her mouth parted, with him looming over her, shuffling from foot to foot at times, and the Lure was there, shining in from the side. Glistening. She knew exactly which way to go, if she was free.

  But Vargr’s words rumbled through her brain too.

  “At the tribe someone will claim you. You’re pretty and…”

  “You want to know who you are, and I can…”

  “… my sister is up there along with the rest of humankind.”

  He faded in and out with the Lure, but she sensed the meaning, found his hesitancy quaint despite the seriousness of this. Wide-eyed, ears singing with a high distant tone, she listened more intently with every second.

  The Lure was fading.

  Vargr stepped nearer. His wings flared, now and then, with the red light behind him that lit this place creating a pretty aura above and around the beaster. He was, bluntly, impressive. To her. A siren call to her ovaries. He is also forbidden. Cyanide to her kryptonite. Bugspray to her zombie butterfly. And she wasn’t making sense in this, yet everything congealed into one beauteous, dark, message. Touch me and regret it, was scribed in every shift of muscle, every breath he took, in every word he spoke.

  And yet her hands shook. She wanted him.

  Fuck, he was gorgeous.

  She blinked then woke a little more from the glamor of the Lure.

  She wondered if he knew he punctuated his words with wing flutters. Those giant, grey-black feathers belonged on a god in a painting, a glorious bird, or an angel. He was such a pretty man-beast. Shimmery blue dots pulsed along the feather vanes like runway lights telling a plane where to land.

  “Mmm.” She encouraged him with small noise
s. All this was because he wanted to fuck her, and she’d said no to that before. Except now was different. The Lure made it so.

  If she went to the tribe and stayed, someone would claim her. Truth.

  If she left them, travelled on her own, the monsters he listed sounded daunting. There were nanite-mutated dogs as well as the stinkers and wild animals. Facing the Lure alone would be even more terrible. Would she climb up and be the Ghoul Lord’s prey again, eaten, chewed up, spat out as bones? This was life and death. Hers.

  And Vargr was so pretty. Why not?

  He’d help her find out who she was and who she had been before the world sort-of ended. For some reason, and it was probably the handwritten contract in the notebook, she believed him.

  One huge problem—she didn’t want to be his forever, or bound to anyone forever. Her distaste at that surged. She grimaced. Owned due to whatever chemical change this induced in her body?

  “No.”

  “What?” His thunderously thick eyebrows angled and met in the middle.

  “I won’t sign.” There must be reasons, good ones. “I was immune, that… may return. Or I can figure out how to get it again. I’m almost better.”

  “Temporary, always is. Each night the Lure lessens. I won’t risk transporting you while the Lure has you.” He raised his notepad, shook it. “You will sign.”

  “Hell, no.” Cyn found the ankle chain, began pulling at it, winding it in; the chain chinked and rattled. “I’d rather die than be fastened to someone like a leech. I will travel lower,” she added casually, “… to those understories of the scraper. That should work.”

  “No! That is stupid.” He took a step closer, leaned down. “Sign. Here,” he said, smacking the page.

  It would’ve been wise to stall him, wise to get unchained first. Then she could’ve run, though she recalled him tackling her easily before. Those yummy wings were an unfair advantage.

  His blue eyes fixed on her as if she were the most infuriating thing he’d ever seen.

  Mirth bubbled up.

  Fuck being wise. She wasn’t going to win this, but that gave rise to a new, unique exhilaration. This was more fun anyway—taunting him.