BEAST HORDE TRILOGY BOXSET: MFM SciFi Romance

by Cari Silverwood

  Willow’s brain will be fresh and feisty.

  The clone’s brain would not have her soul, her personality, but it would be most interesting to let her see herself hurt and pleasured and hurt again.

  He extracted the tentacle, wrapped it around her ankle, and hauled her upward, flipping her upside down, then he wrenched apart her legs and her mouth with other appendages.

  Beginning at the ankles, he began to dine while he tentacle-fucked her, and so on ad infinitum, almost. It did have to end. Blood ran down her body in streams and her writhing was exceptionally gymnastic.

  All in all, this was a good day, Avidex decided, as he chewed and swallowed.

  Of course, he knew how to keep damaged humans alive for a very, long time.

  At the end, when there was little left but for skeleton, shreds of muscle, and her feebly beating heart, he plucked her brain from its cavity and lovingly absorbed it into his core jelly.

  Then he squirted out one of the stupider brains and rocked this Willow to sleep. Nine was enough. He grew too heavy and slow with more. Let this one recover from the trauma before he questioned it and made it truly his.

  While it slept, he’d practice molding himself a new Willow using the molecular remains of her flesh as a template and a disposable human for the body mass. Ripping her DNA into a new body required large amounts of energy but he had the inclination, the time, and the bloody-minded need.

  He was ravenous for revenge.

  This was a friend of Cyn; he’d gleaned that from the last sleepy thoughts of his new Willow brain.

  Even better.

  So much better.

  Is this like build-a-bear, a brain asked him?

  He thought awhile.

  No. We shall call this build-a-human.

  Chapter 3

  They’d gathered outside the apartment as Rutger had said they might, had filed in to say words to the dead ones who’d been laid out neatly on the two beds brought into the one large bedroom. A timber box large enough for the four bodies was under them and the sides had made it easier to fill it with salt and garlands of flowers, with bottles of scotch and champagne, with a few of their older weapons across their chests along with some favorite possessions.

  Were these to help them in the afterlife, or symbolic only? It was clear this was a mix of many traditions, and Cyn wasn’t sure if it leaned more toward a Viking burial or an Egyptian one as Vargr had suggested. They created new traditions. Burning wasn’t an option when the whole scraper system, the entire quarter, might go up in a mammoth conflagration if the fire spread.

  She’d filed past like the others and had felt dead inside, herself. This was frippery, a way to soothe the living. It did nothing for these victims. The bodies had been perfumed but already the scent of death clung to the air.

  They were gone. Willow was fucking gone. Rage bubbled past the grim taste of this defeat and kept her sane.

  They left the apartment, and a winged soldier sealed the door with a crisscross of tape. A funeral notice written in felt pen was taped to the door. Plastic flowers were left by many, making a small colored pile.

  Made pretty, as Rutger had also said.

  Vincent walked up, one of the last to pay respects and leave flowers, his kimono swaying.

  The man was all bumps, no neck, and had a problem finding clothes that fit. The floor made crunching noises under his lumpy orange-brown feet. Troll. Maelstrom, like her. Vincent was a walking living rock, and in sunlight his kind had frozen into immovable concretions. Would they defrost and live again once darkness fell? That had yet to be tested.

  Fae. That was Willow. Had been Willow. Now they had no fae, and it struck her how essential Willow’s abilities had been.

  Everyone milled near the door, talking in hushed tones, and they seemed so lost that finally Cyn decided to speak. Gargoyles need laws and rules? Fine. She could certainly deliver a kick up the ass.

  She pushed her way to the front where there was a cleared spot and stood with her legs a solid shoulder-width apart before the door. Both Rutger and Vargr had noticed and were advancing. She gave them a throwaway smile then began her address.

  “We need to make decisions. The Worshippers tribe has suffered. We have lost our leader, Willow.” She belonged to their tribe now, she felt. Feelings counted.

  “I never thought I’d feel such sorrow at the loss of the woman who came close to demanding my execution. But there it is, I do. I mourn her. Even so, who will we get to be our next leader? You need someone strong.”

  Most of them began to voice agreement, including Maura, who followed Rutger and Vargr to the front to stand with her.

  “Cyn is right,” Maura said quietly, so quietly that the louder murmurings ceased so everyone could hear. “I’ve read Willow’s notes, all of them, and she set out many ideas. Some of those were, sadly, ones that might have prevented this.” She inclined her head. “We need a better system to detect incoming skinsuits as well as the stinkers. There is Little Mo, Cyn’s little dedicated bot that loves to stalk her.”

  That drew a laugh. Cyn nodded. Now they were getting somewhere. People were thinking. She almost said something but decided to let Maura keep talking.

  “But one detection system isn’t enough when the Lure can lay waste to four beasters, and skinsuits can drag away Willow, and no one hears anything. No one knew about it until I found them and went to Cyn and her bondmates.”

  “True. I still wonder why we didn’t hear screams?” Cyn scowled. Surely, she, Vargr, or Rutger would’ve heard screaming, if there’d been any?

  “Because there were no noises.” Rutger straightened to his full, impressive height. “Do not blame yourself, girl. None of us should.”

  “You know this.” Vargr rested his palm across her nape in that familiar, comforting gesture.

  “They died in silence.” Maura agreed. “Willow was dragged away in silence. The trail of rotting flesh was evidence of where she’d gone. It left a long and disgusting path to the edge of this quarter. I took samples from it, preserved them so we have the scent to use in future. Though it smells like corpse more than anything…” Her forehead wrinkled. “Little Mo says he can use it as a base.”

  Cyn grunted and wrapped her hand over her gun butt, feeling again the hot rise of a need to fuck someone up, a Ghoul Lord, somehow, someway. “Good. However, a leader? We need to vote for someone, and I think you all need someone strong who will get things done, who will make new rules that govern how we react to the Ghoul Lords.”

  They’d never be safe if they stayed quiet and did nothing new. They needed to get dangerous… more dangerous.

  “Who?” a wing soldier asked, one whose name she hadn’t come to know.

  “Me. I propose me.” She twisted her mouth—she had never thought she’d say this.

  “And I propose myself.”

  What? That had been Maura. Cyn raised her eyebrows. “You do? You’re only human.”

  “Not anymore.” Maura turned her hands over to reveal a blue winding trail running down her forearms, and for the first time Cyn saw the hint of blue brightening her eyes. “I’m new to this, but the fae nanites I injected have taken. I told you I would do this. I believe we need a fae to lead us.” She turned to face the small group. “I am Willow in some ways. I know the science behind what has changed us all. I’ve led small research teams. I am methodical, yet I vow I will take whatever action needs to be done. I agree with Cyn that we need new rules, new strategies. But Cyn…” She looked to her, smiled, and it was an inclusive, friendly smile, yet still it hurt. “You are too rash at times. Assure us you will remain steady in battle as well as outside of battle. Can you?”

  Well now, she’d been sidestepped or sidelined or something. She frowned some more at this human she’d once thought hers. She’d saved Maura from the Lure.

  “I rescued you.”

  “You did, that doesn’t make you the best choice.”

  True. She grimaced and reminded herself that she hadn�
��t really wanted this.

  “You think my tendency to want to kill my enemy ten times over without remorse or mercy, my love of affirmative action is a problem?”

  “That what she calls it? Affirmative action?” someone muttered at the back.

  The others, the wing and foot soldiers, the two dwarfs, Kiko and Locke—who stepped forward to stand with his bondmate, Maura—they stared at her but said nothing.

  Until one beaster emerged from the crowd. He inhaled, fluttered out his wings. It was a telltale bit of body language that said, I’m flustered.

  A big hunk of manliness, flustered.

  A grin twisted Cyn’s mouth. She kinda hoped it was she that bothered him.

  Then he spoke. “Pardon my bluntness, Cyn, but several of us have discussed this with Maura, once we knew the fae nanites were taking. We like the idea of another fae leader, temporarily at least, on probation, Maura. Also… a part demon, female or male, seems an unwise choice for a leader.”

  Fuck. Every muscle on her stiffened. The weirdest-ever discrimination. How could he say this when she’d seen no vote? Maybe she should kill this dude instead? Vargr tightened his grip on her neck and hissed.

  She calmed. Enough. Barely. No, no. Must not think that. Of course killing a random spokesman was bad.

  Where the fuck had that idea come from?

  “Fingers, girl,” Vargr whispered.

  Oops, they were on fire. How was it she felt no heat? With some effort, she figured out how to quash the flames, and put her hands behind her back. Body tells? Hah. And she was smirking at fluttering wings?

  Embarrassing.

  They’d remained silent while she made her fingers behave. She angled up a brow. “You seem to have the job, Maura.”

  “Thank you, Cyn, and also Bastion. I accept those conditions. I want to be a good leader and I promise I will listen to suggestions. Here are my initial ideas, based mostly on what Willow listed as urgent needs.”

  Well, her stepping forward had come to nothing. It was for the best. She should listen to Maura and remember not to set her fingers on fire next time she was annoyed.

  “We will find a way to tell when skinsuits are coming. I think Mo will help with this. We must seek out the War Quarter beasters, for our numbers are too few after these deaths. We will make new weapons, and we must communicate across the world with the other beasters in other quarters.

  “We will find out what happens at the Top and find new ways to overcome the Lure and the Ghoul Lords. Then, and only then, we will strike back.” She turned again to Cyn. “Are you with us?”

  Us? She almost choked. Even if she didn’t exactly want the job, it bugged the hell out of her to be gently scooted aside.

  “Okay.” Cyn nodded, stiff-necked. “I accept you as leader too, Maura. Mainly because I prefer the gorier tasks.”

  Vargr leaned down to whisper. “There now, see? I know the feeling.”

  In the right circumstances, blood could indeed be like the icing on a cake and a perfect accompaniment to anything deadly. She still grumbled internally.

  “The first task that needs doing urgently is for us to move to higher stories and meet with the War tribe. And we must stick closer together. Whatever we do, we are all there. After that, the drone needs to be recovered from where it landed in the gap between the quarters.” Maura’s pointed gaze zeroed in on her. “I cannot think of anyone else likely to succeed as easily.”

  Slowly, she looked to Vargr and Rutger. “Are we in?”

  “Yes.” Rutger raised his hand and Vargr nodded.

  “Okay. We will do it,” she said.

  “Can Little Mo help you locate it? It’s small, and out there is a mess. I couldn’t find any notes saying how to do this.”

  Where was he? “Mo?”

  At that, Mo chose to rattle forth from where he’d been hiding—in the flowers by the door. He halted next to Cyn’s ankle and raised one clawed limb that brushed her skin, as if he gained comfort from the contact. Possibly he did; it could be in his programming.

  “This is correct. I will see if I can retrieve the correct procedure to locate it from Big Daddy’s memory. If so, I believe I can find the drone, providing it is not too damaged.”

  “Great.” Cyn swung back to Maura. “That’s makes everyone. All for one…” She silly grinned at her guys and held her hands palm upward.

  Vargr groaned. “And one for all?”

  After an exaggerated eyeroll, Rutger echoed him in a dark mumble, as if he wished to shred her on the spot.

  Surprisingly, Mo piped up, “And one for all!”

  “United we stand, divided we fall.” Maura smiled grimly. “That’s the end of the Three Musketeers quote. And so true.” Then she stepped forward and hugged Cyn, to her absolute shock. A pleasant shock. “Thank you, for everything,” she whispered.

  After making sure her fingers were normal, she wrapped her arms around the woman who was now fae.

  Cyn sighed, breathed slowly. She needed this.

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for stepping up. I’m glad it’s you.” Strangely this was true.

  The hug lasted a while.

  “If only this wasn’t needed,” Maura said, rasping. “Willow, and all the others…”

  “I know. I know.”

  Oh Willow, I hope you are without pain.

  Chapter 4

  They’d been unpacking all the stuff from Big Daddy, again. The hasty decision to put everything back into him had been rescinded once they’d had a small conference with the remaining Worshippers. This bastardium-shielded room might seem safer than elsewhere, but it wasn’t necessarily so. Besides, how could anyone study the material stored inside Big D if they went up to the higher stories? It would take a day to climb up, a day down, and you’d be at risk of some stray creature trying to eat you.

  Cyn hefted a box of documents and marched out to where they’d stacked everything beyond the blue walls.

  A foot soldier put a box on top of hers, and she watched as others unpacked the boxes and shoved things into backpacks, methodically, taking notes of what went where, as much as possible.

  “Rest time!” someone sang.

  They were almost done, but for a single vehicle, Big D held mountains.

  She searched for Vargr and Rutger and took a folding seat beside them, swigged some water. Rutger stayed seated on the ground—mistrusting any seat, she assumed. They’d likely fail under his weight.

  Maura, Locke, and Little Mo also arrived. The five of them, six counting Mo, made a small circle, before Maura leaned forward in her chair.

  “Things need doing. New things.” A spark of eagerness in her eyes, her small smile, these intrigued.

  Those were her kind of words. “Keep going.” She raised her canteen.

  Locke ran his hand through his thick hair, tugged his beard, something she’d noticed he and Kiko did often. She had been wondering if dwarfs and beards were obligatory pairs, but so far hadn’t been courageous enough to ask.

  “I’ve conferred with Little Mo.” Locke indicated the bot hiding under his chair. “We’ve been looking for the drone procedure in Big Daddy, and I think we’ve got a new idea. Big D is not the sort of computer I thought he was. He’s quantum, filled with so many interconnection possibilities it’s almost infinite. This makes a difference. After he backs himself up, I can insert Mo into the system, and I think he can take over what’s left of Big D.”

  “Say that again?” Vargr scratched his graying serrated hair, only to stop as if he’d remembered you can’t scratch what’s close to being stone.

  The red in his eyes was muted compared to before. That made her wonder too.

  “Big D isn’t gone, he’s just lost. We think?”

  “We?” It amused her how Mo was considered a person by Locke.

  Mo scuttled over to Cyn and halted. She peered down at him. If backed up, she presumed that meant he could be in two places at once, which was novel, and it meant he wasn’t going to die if this didn’
t work. Didn’t it?

  “So you’re going to upload him.” Rutger waved a snack bar at Mo. “What if it only screws up the system even more? What do we gain if it does work?”

  “A functioning vehicle that should be able to move. Unless we fuck up the Big Daddy system entirely.” His thick eyebrows waggling, Locke regarded Mo. “Is that a possibility?”

  Mo sat back on his rear limbs, raised a front one. “I solemnly swear I will not fuck up.”

  “Well,” Cyn said. “Sounds good to me.” She had no real grasp of what this entailed. “It can’t hurt you, Mo?”

  “No, Cyn. I will still be present in the back-up, though if this insertion works, I will be something different in Big Daddy. I will alter. This is inevitable.”

  “I see.”

  But he would survive. All her friends had been dying. All the people around her—Tom, Orm, Mads, Willow. She was having a bad effect on the beasters. Before her, everything had been… quieter.

  She looked around at them as they continued to talk, appreciating this, that she had friends, lovers, even if she was a demon—part-demon? She had this inkling that part might become full with time—because look at Vincent. A demon forgot what friends were, and that would be tragic. She’d already shot Vargr.

  What might her future hold?

  Doing things, acting, was in her blood. Maybe she should think about doing them alone, except how could she when the Lure grabbed her if she didn’t fuck her lovers regularly?

  Maybe being demon would fix that part of her. What if she could boost herself to be more demon; what if waiting would make her so anyway? And what if she could get strong enough to kill off the Ghoul Lords above this quarter, at the minimum?

  She tapped the fronts of her boots on the floor, impatient to get going, to do.

  Nothing was happening now. Packing, unpacking, shifting boxes. Blah.

  They knew what they were—fae, demon, dwarf, and gargoyle, and it had changed nothing. She wasn’t even sure fae or demon could have fucking DNA. It fitted though—fitted what they were supposed to be. Whatever Dr. Nietz had dug up had led to them being this—horned, scaled, rocklike, and so on. Even so, it was only pinning labels on themselves. It wasn’t action.