The Talon & the Blade

by Jasmine Silvera

  Jax sat back in his seat, considering her. “How can we help you?”

  “I have business with Professor Demos,” Ana said without changing her tone from mild curiosity. “And some questions for you.”

  “You can ask your questions,” Jax said over the subsonic rumble of the gathered crowd. “But the goat is on his way to an appointment.”

  Ana shot Gregor a glance. This was the pack they wanted.

  Jax misread the look and chuckled. “So now we see who calls the shots, eh, little one? Why don’t you come have a seat, Herr Schwarz. Let’s talk about your questions.”

  Gregor stood. The room recoiled at the smooth movement, but he shrugged off his fine wool coat and unbuttoned his suit jacket. She read the question in his eyes and nodded. He settled on the barstool and accepted his drink. “Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

  The few mortals in the room paled as an audible growl rolled through the room.

  “Affirmative action…” Jax smirked. “Is a bitch, ain’t it?”

  Jax knew how to play to his audience, reminding any of them who might have feared her by reputation that a small female stood before them. Laughter rose as they took their boss’s lead. Some things never changed.

  She was too old for indignation, too schooled for rage.

  The chill of a snowy night in the foothills of the Bitterroot Mountains settled over her. Once, long ago, she had tracked a gang of men more animal than these. When those hard men looked up from their campfire, drunk and satisfied by the spoils of their crime, they laughed at her. A foreign girl, dressed in a man’s clothes a size too big for her, carrying a pair of thin metal sticks. A few had even offered her money with the leering gaze she recognized in Jax now. She had not let the laughter touch her then either.

  “I’m investigating a series of kills up north,” she said, focusing on Jax. “Mortal and blooded slain. Dismembered.”

  “I missed the question.”

  “You run the packs from Juneau to the Cascades. Figured you’d have heard something.”

  She recognized the expectant stillness from the night by the campfire, so many years ago. Back then she had been more vulnerable than she was now, but no more afraid.

  Jax’s lips curled away, and Ana was struck by how, even in human form, wolves appeared to love baring their teeth. “And if I have heard something?”

  “I’ll let you walk away intact.” She cast her glance sideways. “I’ll even throw in Rathki as a gesture of good will and ignore whatever you have going on here.”

  Rathki bleated and started to babble. She wasn’t sure whether he was pleading with her or the weres. A solid thump in the solar plexus from the guard on his left reduced him to a doubled-over, wheezing old goat.

  “Are you accusing us of breaking Allegiance law?” Jax sat back in his chair, one massive hand spanning his chest, a look of put-upon dismay on his face.

  “I’m inviting you to tell me what you know about the wolves involved, who they’re working with, and for,” she said, scanning the room to take in the cowering mortals. “As for Allegiance law, you’ve been breaking that for some time, but I’m happy to overlook it if you cooperate and promise to clean up your act.”

  He did not move, but the latent violence in the room strained at the tethers of civility. “You consider that an invitation?”

  Once, long ago, she had answered another question. “What do you want here, girl?”

  “To know… what you did back there to the man and his woman.” Her heart cried a dead woman’s name. They had nothing. Why?”

  Raucous laughter had drowned out the mourning cries of her heart. His response sealed his fate. “Because we can.”

  With the answer, she locked her heart away and did what needed to be done. Not a single man had walked away from the campfire.

  “All right.” She fixed her gaze on Jax. “Tell me about your new ally.”

  Silence permeated the room for a heartbeat, maybe two. Jax started laughing, the boom of his voice making lesser men all over the room jump in their chairs before they relaxed into the shameless snickering of cowards behind a big dog.

  Gregor shifted on his seat. Ana’s brows knit. Would he sit this one out?

  He raised his glass. A savage pleasure rose in her. She bared her teeth.

  Jax and his cohort howled, laughter turning to something more savage. She could feel the coming break in the calm. Three. Two. One.

  Four of the closest men leaped toward her at some unspoken signal. Clumsy and uncoordinated, the attack seemed to rely solely on overwhelming her with size and numbers. How primitive. She sidestepped, drawing Onee-san with a twist of the saya and her hip for two long slashes that sent them sprawling in puddles of their own blood. She spun into the regrouping men, directing each into the singing edge of the blade. When she was finished, two of the four men attempted to drag themselves away. The other two lay still.

  “No deal?” she asked Jax, flicking blood from the blade to the table top and spoiling their fresh round.

  Maybe he had nothing left to lose. If he had made a pact with this other necromancer, he was dead either way. If the rival succeeded, he’d be hunted down and killed for a lack of loyalty. If Raymond survived, he’d be executed for treason. Maybe he just liked being a thorn in her side. Some people were just like that.

  In any case, he didn’t look the least bit reluctant as his face elongated before her eyes, his enunciation lost in a canine growl. “No deal.”

  “All right then, bitches.” The corners of her mouth tilted up as she softened her knees and readied her blade. “Let’s dance.”

  Twice. Ana tapped the hilt of each blade twice as she and Jax began their parlay. A small, reflexive movement, like a race car driver revving an engine before the start. Her face remained impassive at their laughter and her posture casual under the weight of the pack’s stare. Even the growing reek of men beginning to transition didn’t warrant so much as a flare of her nostrils. The only tell, Gregor noted, were those quick, repeated motions. Tap-tap. Tap-tap.

  Yet when the room exploded around her into snarls and flashes of fur, no one could mistake her for being caught off guard. Between one heartbeat and the next, Ana became a breathing weapon. She fell back, feigned, defended, and when the opponent pressed, she attacked. Nothing extraneous or flashy, simply flowing from one movement into the next.

  The bartender went for a gun. Before Gregor could draw, a slim knife flew through the air and pinned the man’s forearm to the wall. Gregor’s gaze snapped back to her. Ana winked.

  Gregor relieved the man of the gun and his consciousness, plucked the knife, and let him slide to the floor. He bounced the knife in his hand, tested the edge on his thumb. Frowned. Not bad. When he caught her eye again she lifted the hilt of the short sword to tip an imaginary cap.

  He gave a crisp bow before returning to his seat. He released the magazine and emptied the chamber, then crushed the barrel, grip and trigger in his grip. He dropped the crumpled metal on the bar and slipped the magazine into his jacket pocket, giving the rest of the mortals a long stare. “It’s not your circus either.”

  The black blade pressed against his spine, a tangible weight, hungry for blood. He held his seat. He dropped the remaining bullet into the amber liquid in his glass and tilted it at the nearest server. “Another.”

  After the initial rush and a brief frenzied response to the four downed men, Jax managed to rally his wolves. They moved like a pack now in human and wolf form—worrying, drawing, snipping. Trying to get Ana to let down her guard, to overstep her reach. Ana freed her short sword and things really got interesting.

  Every time she opened up, they came, unable to resist an opportunity, and she closed the door behind them, giving them no quarter. She was an elegant killing machine.

  In the commotion, Rathki made a run for it. Gregor sighed and tore his eyes away from the sexiest woman he had ever laid eyes on. Time to make himself useful. Finally.

  He collared Rathki ups
tairs, halfway to the door. “I’d hate to miss the end on account of you, Demos.”

  He dragged the satyr back down the steps, then dumped him on the floor at the foot of the barstool and pinned him with a heel on his neck.

  Three wolves remained: Jax—now covered in silver pelt—and two of his lieutenants. The one on the left, the head of the Seattle pack. The other, a skinny gray male with more cunning than strength. Of the rest, the lucky ones fled. The others would never run under the moon again.

  She met the Seattle pack leader’s attack easily, but the cunning gray managed to flank her in the distraction. When he went to press his advantage, she moved faster. She hamstrung him in one slash. He crashed to the floor with an agonized howl. She ended it with the short blade, turning to face the remaining wolf.

  Jax.

  The enormous male circled, head low, ears flat. The thunder of his growl rattled silverware across the room. He was older, wiser, and more patient. He’d spent the battle watching Ana, much as Gregor had.

  She drew upright. “Are you ready to behave, dog?”

  Jax lost his cool in a furious explosion of snapping jaws and flying spittle. Gregor sucked his teeth in disappointment. He’d expected a real challenge.

  Ana stood still, her face a mask. When the wolf struck, she stepped in as if accepting an invitation to an embrace. The wolf hit her shoulder, but she was already rolling away. As he passed, the short blade found the soft opening behind his ribs. She brought the hilt of the katana down like a cudgel at the base of his skull.

  He crashed to the floor, sliding to a stop. With a low, tortured whine, he dragged himself to his front paws. The hilt of Ana’s short sword quivered in his side as he continued growling and jabbering. Ana took him by the scruff and dragged him to the table. She had to throw all her weight against him, looking like a child with a large stuffed animal. She dropped him, grabbed the chair he had been occupying, and pinned him to the floor with it, straddling the seat. Her blade rested over the big vein on his neck.

  “Now we talk.”

  Ana listened. Internal bleeding would finish Jax off soon. If not, she would spare him as much pain as possible. The killing cold had left her when she sat down.

  On a night long ago in the woods, quiet had also been the only thing left in the end. There hadn’t been much of a battle. More than tonight, it had been a slaughter.

  “Gonna remember us for a long time, I reckon,” the leader of the gang said as she put the blade to his throat, ignoring the tears running through the blood on her cheeks and leaving salt and iron on her tongue. “Never forget your first kill. Might even regret it someday.”

  “You lot weren’t my first.” She opened his jugular. “I’ve forgotten you already.”

  Remember, yes? Regret? She hadn’t regretted a minute of it, and she never would. Not after the sight of the burned-out cabin, the gutted animals and household possessions strewn around the little clearing like so much flotsam and jetsam. Not after the sight of the body, the clothing charred and torn, and the small bundle of humanity wrapped in cloth that she clutched under one arm even in death. In one night, an entire future vanished.

  On the floor beneath her, Jax coughed between bloody teeth. The change came slow—it took a lot of energy to transition, and with every breath his life slid away. He was mostly man again, wolf pelt shading his arms and legs. His hands and feet still narrowed to paws. His laughter died in a wheeze. He spit blood.

  She’d killed enough to know the measure of dwindling life by the blood. He had no more than a few dozen breaths now.

  “She’s coming for him.”

  “She?” A chill ran up her spine. Across the room, Gregor straightened on his stool, listening.

  “Oh, she’s got a bone to pick.” He chuckled. “A whole burial ground full. And when she catches up with him—I’d be afraid. Whatever she is, ain’t right, that’s it.”

  Bones. Burial grounds. Gregor had been right in suspecting someone from Raymond’s past. Jax wheezed.

  “And the necromancer?”

  “Barnabas Huxley.” Jax coughed. The name meant nothing to her. “Send my regards. Once you meet him, I suppose I’ll see you in hell.”

  “Save me a seat.” She ended it and spent a moment staring at his empty face.

  The absence of any emotion in the wake of death no longer troubled her, but she contemplated it anyway. Then she stood up from the chair, sweeping the blood from her blade with a quick chiburui motion. She crouched and drew Imouto from Jax’s corpse.

  At the bar, Gregor shrugged on his coat and tossed her a bar towel. Rathki sprawled at his feet, bleating.

  “Thanks.” She nodded at the satyr as she wiped both blades clean.

  Gregor raised his still half-full glass. “Feels good to be useful.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She slid both blades home and surveyed the mess. “I think we’re done here.”

  Gregor collared Rathki with a shake and dragged the satyr to his feet. “Never have to clean soul steel.”

  Ana rolled her eyes as she headed for the door. “Noted.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  A team of official-looking SUVs waited outside the bar. Gregor recognized one of Raymond’s men—the one he’d sparred with—in the driver’s seat of the lead vehicle. The man had earned a measure of respect for his persistence in the sparring ring, but Gregor found the way he looked at Ana left much to be desired. Auger. The rest were undead.

  They must have been on a plane as soon as Ana reported the meeting with Fred.

  “Just the one?” Auger met them with a glance at Rathki.

  “And a cleanup,” Ana said. As in Azrael’s territory, the ruling necromancer’s Aegis also handled covering up any breeches of the law regarding grace bloods.

  He flicked a hand at four brawny-looking undead, sending them into the club. Gregor watched the mortals herded from the bar to the vehicles and wondered what would become of them.

  Ana stood, forearm resting on her sword hilt. Gregor imagined it humming with contentment after a job well done. He liked the image of the woman alone on the killing floor, the sword an extension of her body. She was the blade.

  The black blade pressed into his spine, weighted with unspent energy.

  Auger faced Gregor with a smile. He still bore the fading traces of their match. Again Gregor wondered about the healing ability Raymond had granted—or skimped on—his Aegis.

  “I’ll take that, Gregor.” He laughed, reaching for Rathki.

  Though he stood a head shorter than Gregor, he was broader. He had the casually violent air of a street fighter and a face for movies. Gregor decided he didn’t like him much. The muscles in his hand tensed, fingers inches from a fist. Ana looked up, inhaling. In one fluid motion, Gregor lifted the hunched satyr, dumping him at Auger’s feet.

  Without looking back, he stalked to the Audi.

  “What’s with him?” Auger asked as he handed Rathki over.

  Ana watched Gregor’s back as he moved to the shadows, the purposeful stride giving his silhouette a sinister cast. People like them were weapons first. She recognized the pent-up violence in him. “He sat this one out.”

  Auger looked offended. “He let you handle it alone?”

  “He didn’t let me do anything,” Ana snapped.

  Auger held up his palms, but the little smile still stretched his mouth. “I’m just saying, I don’t know how they do things in Prague, but I would’ve had your back.”

  “He did have my back, Auger.”

  This time Auger took a step back at the ice in her tone.

  Gregor had sat it out because the fight had belonged to her. Her territory. Her reputation. And, most of all, because she’d asked him to.

  “Gotcha.” Auger didn’t look convinced, but he knew better than to keep talking.

  Ana focused on Rathki. “Get him back to Raymond. The name Barnabas Huxley mean anything to you?”

  Auger shook his head. Ana swore at the thought of a necrom
ancer this powerful managing to stay off their radar for so long.

  “Then start looking into him. I want everything. Call in favors. Give them out. Do it fast.”

  “And you?”

  “We’re not finished here.”

  He seemed to want to say something else, but she had already turned her back and headed toward the Audi.

  Morning crept over the city. The water was still dark, but strands of light from the east filtered through the buildings to light the pavement.

  Gregor waited in the driver’s seat. Slipping into the car was like being in a cage with a hungry animal. The hair on her arms rose as the warrior in her turned over in response to the threat.

  He started the motor. “Where to?”

  She had blood on her jeans and her boots. Unlike demon ichor, it had an organic, salt-and-iron tang. It also stunk like unkempt animal. “Bike. Condo. Could use a shower.”

  The hand on the wheel flexed so hard the material groaned in response. She bit her lip. Her skin flushed hot and confined against fabric. Maybe he wasn’t the only one.

  The bike was where they’d left it. While the engine warmed up, she leaned back into the car. “Want to stop somewhere for breakfast on the way?”

  Glacial blue eyes settled on her, and the temperature in the car rose a few degrees.

  “With your taste in food?” Had he always sounded like liquid sex, or was that just the afterburn of her fight talking? “I think not.”

  “Race you.”

  Gregor gave up trying not to look at her ass one hundred feet out of the parking lot. Ana hit too many of his buttons to resist. So he allowed himself to acknowledge those twin mounds, and when she changed lanes, he followed the sleek line of her waist to her rib cage. The way her lower back arched as she leaned over the tank made him envy the bike.