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Authors: Alianne Donnelly
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endlessly
on one or the other, but if Bryce damaged the solar collection paint, there’d
be no repairing it, and the brothers would be walking their asses back home.
By the time Aiden stuck his head out, the howl had faded
into silence. Alarm spiked through Bryce. He strained to hear more, scented the
air to catch a whiff of the creature capable of making such a sound. His
instinct screamed at him to find it— now .
There was only silence, and the ghostly whistle of wind. No
hint of life. He could make an educated guess at which direction it had come
from, but it was vague at best. Somewhere among the skyscrapers of Downtown.
When Aiden sent him a questioning look, Bryce had no
explanation and no time to waste. The longer they waited, the stronger the
sense of danger became, until Bryce felt like he’d run the distance on foot if
they didn’t move. He pointed the way, and pumped his fist in a sign to step on
it.
“Okey-dokey,” Aiden murmured and brought the mule back to
life, rumbling headlong down the street.
Good, but not good enough. With that voice still echoing
inside his mind, Bryce grinded his teeth, limbs tense for a fight that would
not be forthcoming. He knew what brought out a howl like that: pain. It was a
sound of pure anguish and torment from a creature breaking under its onslaught.
He’d made a sound like that himself once. It had been the
last thing his tormentors had heard. The memory of it—of what they’d done, and
how he’d retaliated—made Bryce clench his hands in feral wrath. He wanted to
sink his claws into something, feel tissue rip apart. It was causing a physical
change in him, making Aiden cast tense looks his way. He didn’t care. Aiden was
the logical one, the thinker and strategist, but Bryce was the intuitive one,
his instincts honed by pain into laser-like precision. Thinking took time, a
commodity you didn’t always have in the middle of a fight.
He scented the air again, closed his eyes to better sort
through the smells. Industrial materials, cement, steel, rust. Decay was
pervasive everywhere, but here, he smelled the ocean, too, as if the fog that
rolled in each night washed away some of the stench. The airflow patterns were different
from what he was used to. Scents came at him from all directions, mixing
together and muddling the trail.
“B, talk to me,” Aiden said. “Where am I going?”
He didn’t know. The howl’s amplification had suggested a
specific set of physical conditions, but the echo had obscured direction, and
he didn’t know the city well enough to chance a guess. He needed Aiden in his
head to make sense of it, to think it through.
Or, at the very least, he needed his brother to drive
faster.
Instead, the mule slowed, and then stopped.
What the hell is he doing?
Aiden got out, heavy silver chains clashing around his neck.
Wolfen and converts secreted pheromones which, under normal circumstances,
either cloaked or outright repelled the other so the two species rarely crossed
paths. In Wolfen, silver reacted with the skin, triggering a higher pheromone
production. It made for shitty accessories, but it saved countless lives.
Something humans had quickly learned to exploit.
Aiden held his hands out in a “What’s up?” gesture. “This
might be one of those times when you have to actually use your words, brother.
What did you see?”
Bryce shook his head.
“Was it converts?”
A wordless no.
“Humans?”
No again.
Aiden scratched his blond head, his thick rings catching sunlight.
He used them in lieu of brass knuckles. They weren’t very effective, being
pliable silver and all, but they sure did make a statement. Bryce’s
fashion-conscious brother had adopted a misguided Mr. T sort of look, complete
with a too-small-for-his-muscles black T-shirt and lots of chains. “Don’t think
there’s any Wolfen around here, B, and that kind of runs us out of options.”
Bryce spared him a half-snarl in answer, focused on the
streets. A
on one or the other, but if Bryce damaged the solar collection paint, there’d
be no repairing it, and the brothers would be walking their asses back home.
By the time Aiden stuck his head out, the howl had faded
into silence. Alarm spiked through Bryce. He strained to hear more, scented the
air to catch a whiff of the creature capable of making such a sound. His
instinct screamed at him to find it— now .
There was only silence, and the ghostly whistle of wind. No
hint of life. He could make an educated guess at which direction it had come
from, but it was vague at best. Somewhere among the skyscrapers of Downtown.
When Aiden sent him a questioning look, Bryce had no
explanation and no time to waste. The longer they waited, the stronger the
sense of danger became, until Bryce felt like he’d run the distance on foot if
they didn’t move. He pointed the way, and pumped his fist in a sign to step on
it.
“Okey-dokey,” Aiden murmured and brought the mule back to
life, rumbling headlong down the street.
Good, but not good enough. With that voice still echoing
inside his mind, Bryce grinded his teeth, limbs tense for a fight that would
not be forthcoming. He knew what brought out a howl like that: pain. It was a
sound of pure anguish and torment from a creature breaking under its onslaught.
He’d made a sound like that himself once. It had been the
last thing his tormentors had heard. The memory of it—of what they’d done, and
how he’d retaliated—made Bryce clench his hands in feral wrath. He wanted to
sink his claws into something, feel tissue rip apart. It was causing a physical
change in him, making Aiden cast tense looks his way. He didn’t care. Aiden was
the logical one, the thinker and strategist, but Bryce was the intuitive one,
his instincts honed by pain into laser-like precision. Thinking took time, a
commodity you didn’t always have in the middle of a fight.
He scented the air again, closed his eyes to better sort
through the smells. Industrial materials, cement, steel, rust. Decay was
pervasive everywhere, but here, he smelled the ocean, too, as if the fog that
rolled in each night washed away some of the stench. The airflow patterns were different
from what he was used to. Scents came at him from all directions, mixing
together and muddling the trail.
“B, talk to me,” Aiden said. “Where am I going?”
He didn’t know. The howl’s amplification had suggested a
specific set of physical conditions, but the echo had obscured direction, and
he didn’t know the city well enough to chance a guess. He needed Aiden in his
head to make sense of it, to think it through.
Or, at the very least, he needed his brother to drive
faster.
Instead, the mule slowed, and then stopped.
What the hell is he doing?
Aiden got out, heavy silver chains clashing around his neck.
Wolfen and converts secreted pheromones which, under normal circumstances,
either cloaked or outright repelled the other so the two species rarely crossed
paths. In Wolfen, silver reacted with the skin, triggering a higher pheromone
production. It made for shitty accessories, but it saved countless lives.
Something humans had quickly learned to exploit.
Aiden held his hands out in a “What’s up?” gesture. “This
might be one of those times when you have to actually use your words, brother.
What did you see?”
Bryce shook his head.
“Was it converts?”
A wordless no.
“Humans?”
No again.
Aiden scratched his blond head, his thick rings catching sunlight.
He used them in lieu of brass knuckles. They weren’t very effective, being
pliable silver and all, but they sure did make a statement. Bryce’s
fashion-conscious brother had adopted a misguided Mr. T sort of look, complete
with a too-small-for-his-muscles black T-shirt and lots of chains. “Don’t think
there’s any Wolfen around here, B, and that kind of runs us out of options.”
Bryce spared him a half-snarl in answer, focused on the
streets. A
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