Authors: Elle Hill
Reed watched with disgust as, like a game of dominos, the act touched off chains of events that culminated in something every bartender in the Old West could identify. When another Hunter swooped in to aid Orli, Carnelian slammed the edge of her plate into the younger woman’s forehead. Another Hunter jumped up from her chair, and Quina kicked her from a seated position.
Blood flowed, sweat blossomed, refined voices morphed into grunts of exertion and impact. Even the humans seemed caught up in the fray, although Reed lost track of who they fought.
He waited, and sure enough, Maricruz barreled out of the melee toward him. He’d expected her to attack him; he hadn’t expected her to have a knife in hand.
Using moves Paul had taught him just two weeks ago, Reed leapt to the right, dropped down, and extended his foot to trip her. With a toothy smile, Mari jumped over his leg and swung her knife-wielding hand toward his head. Reed stumbled backward, managed to catch himself with his left hand, and sprang upright once again.
Mari lunged at him with her knife extended. He blocked her arm by bringing his upward, and she used the opportunity to punch him. Too late, he saw her hand and moved slightly, taking the punch on his collarbone rather than his throat. Needle-sharp pain jabbed through his chest.
Mari pulled back and shuddered. “Tasty, Reed. You’re still fighting defensively, even after everything. Still think women are weaker?” She feinted with her fist, and Reed was in enough pain to fall for it. While retreating from her punch, she lashed out with the knife, cutting into his chest and arm. The pain felt icy and slight compared to his clavicle, but he cried out and stumbled.
Mari didn’t fall for it. Instead, she smiled and lunged forward with her knife hand outstretched. Reed brought his arm down on hers with all his strength. The knife lightly pierced his stomach and skittered downward as Mari stumbled very slightly. The pain in his chest flared.
Shuddering and smiling at the rush of feeding off his pain, knocked slightly off course, Mari remained off-balance for a fraction of a second. During that time, Reed decided to use his greatest asset in this fight: his height. He extended a leg to sweep Mari off her feet. She managed to step out of the sweep, but while she was distracted, he brought both fists down on her arm. She cried out and the knife trembled wildly before clattering to the ground.
She drew back from him. Even though he currently had the advantage, he let her. He’d learned very not to underestimate the strength of women, but his many, subsequent years away from the Clan were hard to overcome.
“Why do you serve them?” she spat at him.
Reed shook his head. “I don’t serve anyone, Mari.” Given a second to rest, his arm and stomach started hurting in earnest. “I worked with them because your sleeping Hunter program disgusts me. This isn’t an us-versus-them thing. It’s about decency.”
“Then why all . . . this with the human?” Mari asked.
“Because that’s wrong, too,” he snapped. He glanced around them and found the fighting dying down, as it we—
Mari kicked him in the stomach. Thank god she wasn’t wearing high heels or he’d be a giant pincushion right now. Still, he stumbled backward, gasping. She was upon him in a second.
Think
, he ordered himself in between dodges and blows. He blocked one of her kicks with his leg, sending his black dress shoe flying. He kicked off the other one. The next time her foot snapped out toward him, pushing him ever further against the wall, he jumped backward, thought feathery thoughts, and clung to the wall. Even with socks on—
ha!
Mari smiled at him and tensed her muscles, ready to jump after him.
Reed opened himself to his pain. His neck, his chest, his stomach and arm, all throbbed in a dozen shades of pain. Below him, Mari closed her eyes and shuddered in delight.
He leapt forward, knocking her to the ground. Superhuman or not, she weighed less than half of what he did. She landed hard, breath slamming out of her lungs. He moved atop her and felt an unsettling grind of broken ribs: luckily, hers.
He grabbed a handful of hair from her pretty hairdo. “Leave my human and me the fuck alone,” he growled, and smashed her head against the hardwood floor. She didn’t black out, as people are so conveniently supposed to do, but she was dazed and that, combined with her broken ribs, kept her on the ground when he rose, groaning, to his feet.
Looking around the room, he found the Clan had won this fight. No surprise there. He saw a few bodies lying on the floor, one or two on cell phones, and one performing first-aid on one of the humans. Just another fucking skirmish between the Clan and Broschi.
He stumbled across the room and fell at Katana’s side.
She eyed him blearily. “You look awful,” she whispered.
He scanned her face. Battered, bloody, eye and cheekbone swollen into a knot of tissue. She even smelled.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
As they’d promised before he accepted the mission, the Clan provided him afterward with funds to move into a new apartment. Since he’d given up his old job and apartment for them, Reed felt it was fair. Katana had lost her apartment and all her belongings, but she assured him the only thing she missed were pictures of her family. After convincing her to move in with him, Reed visited her Aunt Ilsa and afterward presented Katana with a shoebox of old Polaroid and Kodak pictures.
Katana called it her new beginning, although she still had anxiety attacks before going to bed and woke up almost every morning from a nightmare.
Reed got his old job back and Katana restarted school, although no longer at LAU. She intended to get multiple degrees in Psychology and help trauma victims.
The first morning they awakened together, Katana in tears from one of her nightmares, Reed asked her to marry him.
She gulped in surprise, kissed him, and declined.
He asked her the next morning. And the next. She said no every time.
Epilogue
Katana knew to expect the wary look when Reed got home from work. If it wasn’t a class night, she usually waved to him from the dining room table before diving back into the book of the night. Tonight she stood in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove.
She felt very domestic.
“You can wipe that look right off your face, mister,” she warned.
Reed approached her from behind, slipped his arms around her waist, and kissed her neck in the shivery spot. “Baby, you know I love you, but why do you keep pretending you can cook?”
“It’s going to be good tonight.” She stole a Reed-ism: “For real.”
“Mmm-hmm. How about you go sit down, and I’ll fix us a couple of sandwiches?”
She batted at his hands, and he stepped back. “We have company tonight. You’ll never guess who.”
“I can’t imagine,” he said dryly.
“Not Jade,” she said smugly. She stuck a spoon into the boiling water and stirred. Was pasta supposed to clump together like that?
“Cor, then.” He pulled the fridge open, grabbed something crunchy, and began munching.
“She’s coming over to talk about my scholarship.” Katana switched her attention to a white, gluey substance bubbling away on a back burner. She’d never seen Alfredo sauce with
quite
that consistency.
“Blood money,” Reed growled.
“Blood money they darn well owe me,” she said absently. It was an old argument between them. A few months prior, the Broschi had sent Cor to offer to continue Katana’s full-ride scholarship, including books and lodging. Her man of principle, Reed had been appalled at their blatant attempt to buy her silence. Ever practical, Katana had accepted. Leeches had stolen almost everything from her; they could sure as stars pay for her education.
“I made salad,” she told him, her version of an olive branch.
“Hmmm.” As clearly as if she were a Psychic, she could hear his thoughts, pondering how anyone could mess up a salad.
“I homemade the dressing,” she admitted.
“Ah.”
“Reed.” She turned from the stove and found him standing by the refrigerator, celery stick on its way to his mouth. He needed a haircut again.
Her beautiful man.
“Yeah?” he asked, smiling slightly and chomping into the celery.
She hesitated. Something on her face prompted him to straighten and take a step toward her. She held out a hand. “Honey, if I . . . if you could find out the identity of the man who, you know, fathered you, would you?”
Reed’s face shifted into what she thought of as Broschi-face. He drew back into himself and slammed the shutters.
Katana rushed ahead, worried he would retreat too far away. “I know all about the burdens of the past, but, you know, some good can come out of knowing where you come from and how you got here.” She remembered Paul’s words about her reflecting him like a child echoes their parent. Right before she’d used a glass shard to slit his throat . . .
Reed stepped forward and hugged her. “He’s gone, baby,” he whispered, stroking her hair.
She inhaled and drew back. Being this close to him, talking about matters of life, death, and parentage, reminded her of their time together in the dreamworld. “I know,” she said. “We’re talking about you right now. Would you want to know?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I used to think it was really important, but I’m not so sure anymore. You inspire me to be here every day instead of wallowing in what could have beens.”
She smiled at him. “Living there is stupid, but it’s smart to know what seeds were planted yesterday so you can reap today’s crops.”
“Damn, girl, you getting all metaphorical on me?”
“I did get an ‘A’ in English Lit.” Once again, Katana stirred the lumpy mass of noodles in the pot. She was sure they came unglued once they were done. Of course.
Reed retreated to the dining room table and chewed in as much silence as a celery stalk can allow. No more than a quarter of an hour later, Katana saw from the window in the kitchen a figure walking the sidewalk in front of their apartment building. By then, the noodles had semi-dissolved and the Alfredo sauce had burned. She was lucky Reed always insisted they keep sandwich fixings on hand.
“Reach a verdict yet?” she asked, drying her hands on a cheap kitchen towel.
Reed spoke slowly, thoughtfully. “All right, Miss Hints, let’s say I do want to know. What good things can come out of knowing?”
Pleased her excellent planning had perfectly yielded this moment, Katana quirked her mouth at him. “How about another sister?” she asked.
Six sharp raps cracked against their front door.
Reed stared for a moment at her, his eyes round and shiny. Ten seconds passed. “Does she know?” he finally asked, his mouth barely moving.
“Who do you think told me?” Katana asked, smiling.
Reed rushed the eight steps to their front door and flung it open.
“Hey, man, th—” Cor squeaked in surprise when Reed snagged her in a fierce hug.
Katana wandered forward, nodding to Cor over Reed’s shoulder. When she got within range, Reed dragged her into their embrace.
A few minutes later, Cor disengaged from their trio, apologizing in a mumble for “blubbering like a kindergartener.” Eyes red, nose dripping, she sped to their tiny bathroom and slammed the door close.
Katana turned to Reed, smiling. His eyes sparkled and his lips smiled wetly as he rested his forehead against hers.
“Marry me,” he said.
It wasn’t even morning.