“I heard that, you bastard,” Scotch’s irritated words trailed behind him. I corrected my earlier thought. Everyone needed two hobbies. Dispatching murderers and irritating their partners.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one that heard. Someone had been waiting for us and our race was over seconds after it had begun. Scotch was galloping his horse past a rusty-red outcropping of rock when the monster took him down. The cat leaped over and tackled him out of the saddle and to the ground in a movement so fast and fluid I barely saw it. Pinning Scotch to the ground, it saw me coming and lifted its head to unleash a growl that put the rumble of thunder to shame.
But it hadn’t seen me coming after all. It had heard me. It had no eyes, not ones it could use to see. Skin was seamed shut in ugly ribbons of red flesh where eyes should’ve been. Its ears were larger than they should’ve been as was its widely splayed nostrils that sampled the air while spraying pink tinged mucus. It wasn’t a monster, no matter how it looked. It was just another victim.
I hurt for it, something that should’ve been a glory of nature, hurt to my core. And while I knew it had to eat, same as we all did, I couldn’t let it eat my partner. I hit it clean-center with a shot between those two absent eyes. I almost felt guilty, but it was fortunate to be out of this world and hopefully on to a better one. Then again, it might just be dead and there was nothing more—nothing clean and pure. The dark magic could’ve destroyed that too, but if that were true, I still thought it was better off.
I vaulted off Pie and helped roll the big cat, heavy as I was at least, off Scotch. My partner had puncture marks in his upper chest with a small amount of blood soaking through his faded green shirt, but other than that and having the wind knocked out of him, he seemed all right. He coughed and wheezed, pulling in air, as I fisted his hand with mine and pulled him up to a sitting position. “I…still…won,” he panted.
“Yeah, if the race lasted four seconds and the finish line was being eaten by a big-ass desert cat, you won. What do you want for a prize? Pie can give you a big sloppy kiss. He likes the blonde mares,” I drawled.
“Braying…ass,” he hissed and glared.
“Nah, he’s not so much for those.” I waited a minute then when he could curse me without running out of air and his eyes rolling back in his head, I heaved him up to his feet. “You all right? You want to go ahead and make camp? We’ve been on this one son of a bitch for a week now. Another day won’t hurt.”
He shook his head. “No. It’s not bad and I’m tired of this one. He’s run too far, too long. I want him dead, Seven. He’s already killed two huntsmen. Let’s make certain he doesn’t kill any more.”
“You got it.” He was right. They’d killed the world, I didn’t want to see one of them kill a single fucking thing else, certainly not us…the ones who couldn’t put things right, but could make them pay. Vengeance was all we had, and it only made me want it even more.
Once up, swaying, but up, he looked at the dead cat, maimed—changed, then shoved fingers into his hair. “Why? Why didn’t they stay legends and fables where they belonged? Why did they have to be real? Why did they do this? Why would they destroy everything? Just…why?”
For the most simple of whys there usually never was an answer. For one like this, no one would ever know and thinking about it would only make you as crazy as the riders that were the talk of the outpost, the ones who’d eaten their guns. They’d probably thought why one time too many.
I shook my head silently, for once not having a smart-ass comment, urging him towards his mount then helping Scotch back up in the saddle. Once there he sat straight and if he was in pain, he hid it well. From the beginning, after all the confusion, the mourning, the despair, when we’d finally found a mission, coordinated, been partnered up, and sent to avenge what we couldn’t save, I’d told myself I’d make do with what I was paired with. Turned out Scotch was the best partner I could’ve hoped for. He’d never let me down. Not once. Now I did know what to say. I asked, “Did I ever call you a wuss? Wimp? Pussy?”
He took his hat I handed him and settled it into place. “Only every other day and in about a hundred more imaginative ways.”
My lips quirked as I smacked his mount on the flank. “Good. Don’t want you forgetting that.”