“Two of usdead. Two wounded.”
“Vampire is my guess.”
“She’s a vampire?”
“Impossible.” Though they laughed, it petered out.
The weapons aimed at her remained steady as they closed in. The accusations grew louder, wilder.
She might’ve killed Vargr or Rutger, she’d been that intent on destroying the Thing. Why had Vargr seen wings on her? She’d shot him, could’ve killed him, yet could not recall him being in her way. Not recognizing him in the midst of her fury was perhaps the worst of this.
Desperate, she tried to get him to look at her and mouthed, “I’m sorry.” He turned away. She touched the back of Rutger’s leg, but he only sighed and studied her. The wariness in his eyes was devastating.
They thought her a vampire? That was insane. She clutched her hands around her middle where the hunger bit, only to have her head pain remind her it existed too. Her state wavered from wanting to throw up to wanting to collapse. She began to shake.
Really, she did not know what she was either.
You love killing, her mind reminded her,and blood.
Not helping me, brain, not at all.
Shivering, she curled into a ball, too distraught to do anything except let them capture her and bind her. They pulled her to her feet.
They thought she’d killed Dr. Nietz. It had told her lies as it died. One big one:I am your father.
Fuck no.She frowned and looked around her, at the beasters hustling her across the Parklands. They held her upper arms and looked at her as though she’d spawned horns… well not those, half the beasters had them. They thought her evil.
She tightened her mouth, fuming, angry as hell.
What had the Thing thought she was? Stupid? That line from a movie would never be her epitaph. It had fooled the others, made them believe it was the doctor, but not her. It would not take her down after its death.
It would not!
Her stride picked up strength and forthrightness.
She drew a deep breath, another, inhaling through her nose. The headache was fading.
This too shall pass. Somehow.
Besides, she wasn’t a goddamn vampire. Finding out what she really was would be… interesting.
Regaining the trust and love of her men seemed impossible… Had it been love, ever? Anyway, she was tough, determined, and she had an octopus tattoo on her butt. She would do this.
Behind her she heard the scuttling of Little Mo’s legs.
Before her was a heap of discarded stuffed toys and teddy bears. Lost toys. Without breaking stride, she booted a bear to the heavens and watched it fall.
Fuck yeah.
28
What werethe odds they were going to kill her? Fifty-fifty? Worse? Chin leaning on her manacled hands, Cyn listened to the beasters gather outside the door. She should’ve taken a bet against herself. Winning money might be the only good thing that could come of this. Wait, no, the last banknotes she’d seen had been used to light a fire. Money was only a reminder of the good old days, before the Ghoul Lords came and destroyed the world so they could make humans into the biggest-ever all-you-can-eat buffet.
The steel door opened, and a six-foot-plus, horned foot-soldier was framed in the door space. Not as big as Rutger, not as blue where Rutger had healed impossible wounds, not the owner of a piece of her heart.
God, she’d swallowed a poetry book today. Cyn slid her knee beneath her, then pushed herself to her feet.
“It’s time. Behave yourself, please.”
