Chapter Twenty-Seven
The next morning dawned bright and clear, and I lay there, pretending to sleep as she got up and walked around my bed to slip into the bathroom. As soon as she was gone, well, I let out a groan unthinkingly.
I wasn't sure I'd gotten any damn sleep at all.
At one point, she'd gotten up to go to the loo, and when she'd walked past, secure in the knowledge that it was pitch black in the room? Well, the T-shirt had ridden up and exposed a beautiful ass.
I'd spent the next hour trying to decide if I should disturb her or just accept that it wasn't happening and go into the bathroom and have a cold shower or a damn wank.
Sod's law, I kept telling myself if I did? That'd be when she'd actually decide she was interested, and I'd be left with the desire and no capacity.
Now, I stood and moved to the bag of clothes, finding clean boxers and dressing swiftly. By the time she came out, I sat on the balcony and the kettle was boiled, a cup of tea in my hands.
"I didn't know if you liked tea, or . . ."
"Coffee," she replied, smiling shyly as I got up and slipped past her into the bathroom. "Sorry, I didn't realize you were waiting."
"It's okay." I smiled as I closed the door and attended to nature's needs.
A short while later, still tasting the toothpaste, I wandered out of the room and paused, grimacing as I took a drink of the tea, some shite blend I'd never heard of, rather than decent Yorkshire tea, which was the good stuff. Whatever it was, mixed with toothpaste, it was goddamn awful.
But Ingrid?
She sat on the balcony, hair pulled back into a tidy braid that flowed down one shoulder, the neckla—torc on her lap, and a wondering look on her face as she admired it, one finger gently tracing the patterns on it.
I moved out, my increased size meaning I was slightly damn clumsy as I edged through the narrow balcony doors to sit across from her.
"So what's the plan?" I asked her, and she cocked an eyebrow at me. "With those, I mean. I take it you don't want to leave them behind?" "Wherever I go, these go!" she said without a second's hesitation.
I stifled a smile. "Okay, so have you thought about how you're going to do that?"
"A backpack," she said, grinning. "I'd say handbag, but they're stupid prices here and—"
I shrugged and gestured to the money on the table.
"Help yourself to anything you want," I offered, and she paused, looking at me for a long time before speaking.
"Steve . . . look, I can transfer some money from my savings, you know. You don't have to—"
I held up a hand. "Ingrid, I know you don't really know me that well, but seriously, money isn't an issue for me. Not at all," I clarified. "If I need more, I can get my hands on it easily enough, so go get some clothes, if you want?"
"I'm fine, but thank you," she said, smiling. "Thank you for yesterday, though. I'll get a bag, and that's all, and that's out of the change from yesterday I still have."
"I didn't think I gave you that much?"
"You gave me a thousand euros, Steve. I felt like a whore taking it," she said slowly, her cheeks coloring. "I spent half the night expecting you were going to climb into the bed and expect your money's worth."
Instantly, I felt like shit, having not even thought about that. I was massively glad I hadn't made a pass at her or done exactly that, misreading the signals as I must have been.
"Shit, I'm sorry. We should have gotten separate rooms," I started to say.
"No!" She shook her head emphatically. "No, seriously, Steve. It doesn't help that I kissed you before, so I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd thought—"
"It's okay, don't worry. I'll leave you alone like that," I said quickly, standing up. "You don't have to come—"
"NO!" she almost shouted, standing as well and grabbing my arm before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, then looking up at me. "Steve? Please, sit down and let me explain."
"Okay," I said, sitting as she asked and waiting.
"Steve, you're . . . you're not what I expected, okay? You're everything I like in a guy, and nothing like I normally go for, as well as frankly confusing as all hell."
I frowned, really not sure what the hell was coming.
"You're the kind of man I get all hot about in action movies. The bad guy with the heart of gold, like in the racing movies where they blow everything up! One minute, you're really nice, then the next, I find out you're a wanted murderer. Then it turns out you're basically fighting criminals and rescuing antiquities. You're the kind of guy we love to watch movies about, and that, yeah, I'd fantasize over."
She looked away, cheeks flaming red as she admitted that, and again one hand reached out to lightly trace the carvings before her on the torc. I noticed she never actually touched it. Her fingers stayed just clear of them, as if she couldn't bear to touch it but desperately wanted to.
"I tend to date guys that are . . . a bit more like me?" she went on. "You know, normal, a bit dull, but nice? And meeting you, you're exactly the kind of a man I wanted to meet coming here, and it scares the hell out of me."
"I—"
She glared at me, and I shut up.
"I'm saying this so you know where I stand, and then you know where
you stand, okay?" I nodded, and she smiled tightly. "Good. Okay, so, you're the kind of a man I desperately wanted to meet, and you terrify me, because I spent half the night frightened that you'd climb into the bed and demand your money's worth out of me—"
"I would never—"
"—and the rest of the night hoping you would!" she finished in a rush. "I slept in just my T-shirt so I could get it off quickly, if you did. And when I got up this morning, I don't know if I'm relieved or really, really pissed at you that you didn't! I wanted you to know, so that you knew how I felt, and . . . and . . ."
I stood up and moved around the table, going down to one knee, so that she wasn't having to look up at me. I reached out, cupping her cheek in one hand, and I kissed her.
It was gentle at first, but in seconds it wasn't.
I felt our teeth clashing as we desperately kissed, our tongues wrapping around each other, driving into each other's mouths, her lips hot and her hands even more so as she wrapped her arms around my neck and turned to face me fully.
The next thing I knew, she'd slid off her chair and was straddling my leg while I traced kisses down her neck, moans rising from deep in her throat as
I did, one arm around her back, and the other.
I slipped my fingers up under the hem of her T-shirt, feeling the smooth,
silken texture of her skin under my hand as I lifted the fabric higher. A slight giggle escaped her as my fingers brushed ticklish skin on her side before cupping one breast, feeling the padding and the lace.
My other hand was already moving, twisting and flicking the hooks free on the back of her bra, even as she reached down and tugged my top up over my head.
She stood, lifting off my leg as I raised my hands over my head and let her take my top off, tossing it aside as she backed into the room.
I stood, grinning, as she reached down and tugged her top up and over her head, shucking her bra off in a motion that made her tits bounce fantastically.
I reached for her, pulling her into my arms and kissing her again before putting my hands on her hips and holding her there as I lowered myself down, kissing my way down her neck, then down the slope of her chest, trailing kisses around her left nipple, breathing on it, seeing and feeling it stiffen even more as she ran her fingers through my hair and guided my mouth to it.
My hands were as busy as my mouth, undoing her belt, and then her jeans, peeling them down her beautiful long legs until she stepped out of them, leaving her panties, as I kissed my way slowly down from the breast, down her stomach, curling my fingers over the top of the silken material and . . .
"WAIT!" she suddenly cried, shoving me aside and racing out onto the balcony. I toppled over, barely catching myself on the edge of the bed to stop me going sprawling.
I looked over, totally confused, the little head having drained the brain. When I realized what had happened, I broke into a laugh. She darted back inside as someone below wolf-whistled up at her.
She bumped the door shut, arms full of priceless jewelry, red-faced with embarrassment as she looked back over her shoulder and then down at me.
It took a few seconds to overcome her hesitancy, then she began to laugh as well. I stood, and she set everything down on the little table inside the room.
"Sorry," she whispered sheepishly, and I grinned, reaching for her and pulling her close.
"It's fine!" I laughed, kissing her and running my hands down her back, one cupping her beautiful ass, as the other reached up for her breast.
"Ah, ah!" she whispered, breaking off the kiss and reaching out to my belt. "You've got lots more on than me now. That's not fair . . ." She slowly kissed her way down my neck as she undid my jeans. Her fingers slipped inside, gripping me and drawing a groan from my lips . . . before she slid down to her knees, tugged my jeans and boxers down, and started to kiss me even deeper.
The rest of the morning was lost in a haze, one that left us both exhausted, sticky, and satisfied, laid panting on the floor in front of the air conditioning unit as we both tried to cool down.
"I think you've broken me," she whispered, half slumped across me. "I'll never be able to sit on that bike now."
"Is that a complaint?" I asked her, unable to keep from grinning. "Because I think the bed was your fault, you know." We both glanced across at one of the beds, and the leg that had snapped off it as she'd been . . . bouncing . . . enthusiastically, at one point. It'd tipped us both onto the floor, and as close as we'd both been, neither of us had given it more than a glance before I'd picked her up and pinned her to the wall.
"Cheap bed," she whispered, laying her head back and closing her eyes. "Could have happened at any time."
"Yeah . . ." I grinned. "Definitely not your fault, eh?"
I kissed her forehead, and she half-rolled over, laying one leg across mine and kissing me before tapping me playfully on the nose.
"Is that a complaint?" she countered.
"Hell, no!"
"Then shut the hell up and let me catch my breath," she ordered me. I
grinned, stretching out and grabbing a pillow from where it'd fallen off the bed at one point.
She eyed it, then shrugged and settled into my shoulder more comfortably.
Ten minutes or so later, the pair of us were just drifting off to sleep when her phone's alarm went off. She groaned, trying to reach it. Then, cursing, she got up.
Standing over me and walking to the table, Ingrid picked it up and sighed.
"I have to make a call," she apologized.
I nodded, curious and a little apprehensive, until she walked across to me, squatting next to my head to give me a long kiss. "Don't worry. It's my sister. It's her birthday."
She kissed me again, and I grinned, loving the way she was totally unselfconscious about her body now.
Mind you, considering the things she'd been begging me to do earlier, well. I felt a twitch just from the thought of that, and I rolled to my feet, standing and stretching before heading for the shower. She wrapped a dressing gown around herself and stepped out onto the balcony, already speaking in Danish to someone.
By the time I was out of the shower, clean and wide awake, if hungry as all hell, Ingrid was finished on that call, and was on the phone to one of her friends.
She'd clearly missed me getting out of the shower, and with the door tugged closed, she was giggling over something they'd said, as I focused and listened in on the conversation.
". . . believe me, I'm not in any need of that right now." ". . ."
"Seriously! I can barely walk!"
". . ."
"Well, that'll teach you to go back with the first guy you meet!"
"No! I told you I can't say, he's a really private person, buuuut . . ." ". . ."
"All I'm saying is he's rich, he's amazing, and . . ."
I stopped listening at that point, already having a big enough head and feeling pretty embarrassed about listening in at all. After all, the conversation I'd have had with Dave about meeting her wasn't one I'd want her to hear . . . despite it all being good things.
That thought made me wonder what had happened to my friend, and I silently wished him well.
I found my clothes and dressed quickly before sliding the balcony door open and stepping out. The heat of the midday sun hit me after the airconditioned bedroom, and Ingrid sat up quickly, cutting off whatever she was saying.
"It's okay," I said quietly, and she nodded, going back to her call as I leaned down and gave her a light kiss. "Do you want a drink?"
"Something cold?" she whispered, covering the handset with one hand. I nodded, disappearing back into the room to raid the minibar, setting two tiny bottles that were probably horrifically expensive on the table between us as she finished the call and put her phone back into airplane mode.
"So," she said slowly, smiling at me and toying with the rim of her bottle. "What do we do today?"
"It's up to you," I said honestly, smiling back at her. "We can stay here, go for round two as soon as you feel like you've recovered enough," I offered winking and enjoying the way she nearly choked on her drink, before going on. "Or we could go to the site we talked about, and while we're out, we could have the manager swap our things to a new room? One with a bigger bed?"
"I'd . . . I'd like that," she decided, blushing a little before sitting up and wincing. "But what about the cameras?"
"Not a problem," I lied smoothly. "I hacked them last night. They're not recording anymore. I'll fix it when we leave, but for now, when we need to, I can adjust them."
"How can you do that?"
"It's . . . it's simpler than you'd believe," I said, wincing. "Let's say that, when you know the right back doors, all sorts of things are possible."
"So many comments, so little time," she said, then went bright red, standing quickly and taking a drink, swallowing, and setting it down on the table with a faint clink.
"On that note, I'm going for a shower," she declared, face flaming red. "Want some company?" I called after her.
She paused, before leaning back around the door and giving me a tight
smile.
"Yes . . . but no. If you come in that bathroom, there's no way I'm going
to be able to sit on the bike later, so behave!"
"Behave? You sure you want me to?" I asked.
Again, she hesitated, mouth open, before grinning again.
"Okay, I really don't want you to behave, but only later! When we get
back tonight, you can misbehave however you want."
I reached out and grabbed her hand, tugging her back out onto the
balcony with a little cry and a stifled laugh as I pulled her into my lap, and she kissed me.
A minute later, she straightened up, and glancing around at the balconies on either side and the street two levels below, where we could be clearly seen, still, she opened her dressing gown and straddled me, making sure the sides of the dressing gown hid her from anyone else's gaze.
From where I sat, though, I had a hell of a view. She kissed me, starting to slowly rock back and forth atop me.
"You say no, then you do this?" I asked her, my hands full of tit and ass, before I lowered my face, kissing her nipple.
"You remember this morning when you tied me to the bed?" she whispered, pushing my face back and kissing her fingertips, before sliding them down her stomach as I watched.
"Oh god, yes," I whispered, watching her and hearing her tight groans.
"Well," she whispered, leaning forwards and putting her lips to my ear, "payback's a bitch."
Then she lifted off me and ran for the door, turning when she was safely out of reach and taking the dressing gown off before kissing her fingertips and blowing me a kiss.
"Oh, you little—" I cursed, stunned and hard enough I could probably hammer a hole through the stone surround of the balcony.
Then she was gone, closing the door behind her, the lock echoing in the air as she turned it.
I was left there on the balcony, aching and torn between kicking the door down and laughter.
To be fair, I totally understood why she was getting her own back now. I'd teased her for ages, but still, I'd also taken care of her needs, rather than leaving her the way she had me.
I took a deep breath in, then forced it out in a quick shu, before going inside and getting my phone.
I'd done the basic setup last night, all the usual crap, and now it was ready for the more important work, as I needed to get it safe for me to use, and I needed to assign the two War, and the two Harvest Points yet.
The Harvest ones were the easiest, and I assigned them both without hesitation. There were three different options in Harvest: Stat, Nanite, and System Replenishment, and the first two were both useful. Stat Harvest would literally steal a point from my opponent, be that Body, Mind, whatever, and the second one would increase the usable nanites that I could harvest by ten percent.
The Full System Replenishment option, though, that kinda freaked me out. It was a good choice; I knew it was. Hell, it was a perfect way to dispose of a body, even if it would take a little while, I guessed.
It basically stripped an opponent down, using their biological components to repair me, swapping out literally any damaged cells and more, breaking them down as it went. I'd get everything, from the nanites to the white blood cells to fragments of DNA and everything in between.
I was left with a mental image of a grey goop left behind, and that was it.
I knew it could be useful—it really could—but I also had an impression of time, like it'd take a while to actually carry out the process. But it would be useful if I was badly injured.
I'd already gotten a point in Nanite, and while I really wasn't sure about the System Replenishment, I took one point in it anyway, figuring if I was really in need, then I'd be glad of the option one day. Then I took a point in Stat Harvest as well, mainly because an extra point every time I killed a fucker would come in damn handy.
Needless to say, once it unlocked, I found that it was a percentage-based chance to get the point. Ten percent, in fact, and I growled to myself before moving on, pulling up the War tree.
I'd used the War tree more than any other so far, but considering that I was taking Ingrid somewhere that might, might, go seriously wrong?
It was time to make the most of the tree now.
I had two points to spend, and between the massively useful Infiltration and Assault trees, I'd certainly got my money's worth I knew.
I examined the Tactical Enhancement Systems Upgrade tree, remembering the massive difference that changing the Harvest tool to the Harvest Blade had made, and I couldn't help but smile as I looked the options over.
First, I could invest in the Harvest Blade again if I wanted to, altering it further. There was an impression of it becoming more efficient, and possibly larger, but while the efficiency was great, I could already change its shape with a thought, so changing the size to an even larger version?
It seemed like I'd be trying to compensate for something . . . even though the thought of forming a great axe did seem seriously awesome.
I moved on.
Unarmed increased my unarmed capability, unsurprisingly, making me stronger, faster, and deadlier, which I liked, but in all honesty, I really liked
being a stealthy fucker. The capability to vanish had already saved my damn life time and time again.
I checked Ranged, finding it had several options that flowed from it, starting with making my nanites detachable.
That was fairly awesome in itself, as I could literally make throwing knives of nanites, throw them—obviously—and then collect them again later, or, thanks to the detonation ability that I'd gained earlier, they could explode on impact! It'd destroy the weapon, but . . .
I moved on, seriously tempted when I found I could also integrate myself with a ranged weapon, such as an assault rifle, improving the accuracy, the power, all of it, essentially absorbing the weapon and reproducing it entirely of nanites if I needed to.
That was tempting . . . but aside from the gun on the drone and the guns the assholes had taken with them, well, I'd not seen any more.
The drone!
It was tucked into the largest pannier on my bike, but it was awesome, or at least it could be.
I flowed back up the tree, all the way to the top of the War tier, finding that I'd taken two of the three options, gaining a stealth capability and an overlay that guided me in combat, but I'd yet to take the third option.
Command and Control.
Selecting it, I brought up the breakdown, nodding to myself as I read. It was basically a remote control system. Along with the Hack systems, I'd be able to take control of computer and technological systems easier, make them more efficient, and control more of them at a time, as well as upgrade them using my nanites.
I chose that straight away, knowing that Ingrid could be out any minute. As the data started to download, a wall of it flowing out to overwhelm my brain, I thought of Ingrid being in danger, and I selected the Tactical Enhancement Systems Upgrade, sinking the second and final point into there.
It felt like the world exploded, or at least my brain did, and I sat there, teeth gritted to the point they were close to cracking, breath hissing out, and I shook uncontrollably.
The world zoomed in and out, systems overlaying each other constantly, a million technological devices—or so it seemed—popping up and demanding my attention, even as my pupils altered again and again,
focusing in on everything in sight that could be used as a weapon, and that was literally everything.
I'd more or less recovered, when Ingrid came out of the bathroom half an hour later to sit in the bedroom drying her hair with a hairdryer that had a motor that would have had issues running a mouse's car. I struggled to my feet, lifting my hand to my chin, cursing under my breath as I felt the wetness of blood, and I looked down at my top.
It was fairly soaked, but thankfully, the angle I'd been laid at meant it'd not gotten anywhere else. As I sat forwards, lifting my top, I managed to catch the last dregs of it, pulling my top up and over the back of my head, keeping the front balled up to catch the blood as I shuffled back inside.
"Hey, I was starting to think you were in a huff . . ." Ingrid started to say, her voice trailing off at the sight of all the blood.
I waved to her that it was okay, and moved into the bathroom, dumping the top in the bath and leaning over the sink to let the last of it finish.
It only took a minute to finish, and I could feel my nanites flexing inside my head as they sealed the damaged sections, then repaired them.
Hell, I could sense the minimal number of my nanites that had been carried out and were sat in the tub, in my blood now. Ingrid had been speaking, and I'd totally zoned out, I realized as I bent over and rinsed my face clean before cursing at the state of my chest and starting to strip as I reassured her that it was nothing, just a nosebleed.
I saw the hesitation and the clear worry that it was her fault somehow, and I laughed it off, reassuring her that, unless she wanted another go, she'd better get dressed.
She glanced down, seeing that she'd left the towel when it'd fallen in her hurry to reach me, and we were both naked.
Again.
She shook her head and backed away, smiling at the attempt, and the reassurance that if I was okay enough to try and get her to ride it, then I was fine after all.
Half an hour later, we were walking down the stairs, hand-in-hand, my phone in my other hand as I ostensibly "hacked" the camera in the foyer, while she looked on in confusion.
I used the remote link to shut off the camera's recording, while showing a mass of random data on my phone's screen and tapping at it with a thumb randomly.
"What are you doing?" she asked, confused. I winked.
"That's not the camera, is it?"
"It's the data feed. Trust me," I lied.
She frowned, before smiling as the manager from yesterday walked over to us.
"Ah, good morning to you both! Or . . . perhaps I should say good afternoon?" he asked, a wide smile on his face, and I snorted at the look he gave us both, then our entwined hands. "So . . . how can I help?"
"Turns out we'd like a different room, if possible?" I asked him, and as he started to frown, I clarified. "One with a bigger bed?"
He glanced at us both, then grinned widely.
"Of course! I shall arrange it now. Will you be out long? Do you wish your things moved or . . ."
"If you could, please," Ingrid said with a smile. All she cared about from our room, now in the bag she held onto tightly in her other hand, and she kissed me lightly on the cheek, then jogged across the road and into the same shop as she'd visited the day before, nodding as I'd told her to use the cash.
"And . . . I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name last night," I said, turning back to him.
"Valentine. Call me Val," he said with a smile.
"Steve," I said, shaking his hand. "You know Ingrid's name already, obviously." He nodded. "So, I had a bit of a nosebleed earlier—"
"It's fine. I can have it cleaned," he started to say, and I smiled.
"Well, as I started to bleed, I rushed to the bathroom and tripped over the bed and broke the leg off," I told him, pulling out a two-hundred euro note and handing it over. "I'm very sorry."
"It happens, it happens! Don't worry, not about such things, my friend!" he said, smiling and winking as the note vanished.
Who knew what he thought had really happened, but the money and the clear fact that Ingrid and I were now an item meant he didn't give a damn.
"Thanks, Val. Yeah, if you could move our things across, and maybe put a cold bottle of good champagne in the room for tonight?" I asked, pulling out another note and handing it over, not even bothering to look at it.
He smiled and took it, nodding.
I winked at him before heading down to the bike.
I opened the pannier, the largest one, and looked down at the folded-up drone, well aware that the charge it had was almost totally depleted, and that I didn't have a clue what kind of a charger it needed, never mind anything else.
I looked around carefully, and extended one finger, focusing as a slim line of nanites flowed out of it and into the drone, absorbing the systems and adjusting them. A menu popped up for me, making me grin.
Upgrade Options Available: Range
Armament
Function
Range upgrades will extend the possible drone range, including additional options to survive inclement environmental conditions.
Cost: 1,000-10,000,000 Attuned Nanites
Armament upgrades are varied and require several tiers of upgrades, breaking into subsystems of Targeting, Caliber, or Nature, and Charge
Cost: 1,000-10,000,000 Attuned Nanites
Function upgrades are highly varied, offering three basic tiers that offer further variations and allow for a wide variety of missions:
Offensive: 10,000-10,000,000 Attuned Nanites Defensive: 10,000-10,000,000 Attuned Nanites Espionage: 10,000-10,000,000 Attuned Nanites
Looking them over, I couldn't help but smile; the details weren't great, and I damn well knew straight away that for the higher options, at least part of the cost was to include an on-board power core, but hell, I had a vision of altering the drone all the way and surpassing that alien-looking jet motherfucker that had come for the dickhead Lord Shamal.
I pulled up my available nanites, wincing as I saw how many I'd burned through in the fights in the catacombs, as well as by deploying the weaponized razor wire strings.
I had eighty-seven thousand and forty-two corrupted nanites, forty-three thousand, nine hundred and eleven attuned, and thirty-eight thousand and three weaponized.
I checked as well as I could to make sure that nobody was watching me, and I ordered the conversion of the majority of the corrupted stock to weaponized, approving the message that popped up asking if I was sure.
That gave me a hundred thousand weaponized nanites again, my maximum storage or just enough to form two pieces of armor.
I'd have loved to get the helm, despite the fact that I couldn't wear it around Ingrid for fear of the questions about where it came from, or hell, I could get both sections of the leg armor.
I'd have much, much preferred the helm, or even any other piece, to the part that I had to buy first.
I needed to spend a hundred thousand—and that was attuned nanites—on upgrading the storage capacity of my body. Until then, the nanites . . . well. I just had to focus on collecting them and converting them.
I could use all the nanites I had currently to start the process, but it was going to be horrifically painful, and I just didn't see the damn point until I had them all.
Instead, I'd just crack on converting them, I decided. Well, most of them.
I had nearly forty-four thousand available attuned to use, and checking to ensure nobody could see me again, I poured eleven thousand into the drone, selecting the first level of Range, for one thousand and the first level of espionage for ten thousand.
The drone started to change, even packed away as it was in the pannier, a dozen variable designs appearing before me. I scanned through them quickly, selecting one that still used an electrical charge. But that replaced the four motors with three individual directional pressure modules, and a stealth system coating that rendered it functionally invisible, both to radar and to the eye, although the heat it gave off was still a problem, I was warned.
The gun that hung underneath was absorbed for mass, as was part of the pannier, and I casually emptied the shit out of the others into it, getting rid of anything I could, fueling the change.
I could see the finished design, or at least the intended one, in my mind's eye, but it'd take a few hours. In the meantime, seeing that Ingrid was standing in the queue to pay in her shop, I took the chance to duck into a car parts shop that was nearby and bought a few packs of steel nuts or something similar. Not a clue what they were for, but I recognized that they'd be nearly enough mass, and a car battery.
The sales assistant nodded to me, utterly uncaring as I paid and left, tipping them into the pannier and wincing when the top wouldn't close thanks to the mass of the battery.
I considered leaving it behind, then dismissed it as stupid. I might need the fucker, after all. Checking inside, glancing up and seeing that Ingrid was finally getting served, I smiled as she waved, then glanced back down again.
The drone was covered now in a writhing black mass of nanites, and they were breaking the battery down at speed, the stored electrical charge, as well as the chemical mass absorbed as fast as it escaped.
"Come on . . . come on, come on, come on!" I muttered at it, smiling back as Ingrid hurried over, grinning at me.
"I'm sorry," she said, stopping next to me and quickly kissing my cheek. "They had a problem with the till, and it took forever to fix! They wouldn't just take the money. They needed to check it first, they said, and when I offered to pay on the card . . ." She shrugged. "Damn tills."
"It's all right," I said, smiling as the lid of the pannier clicked, bouncing slightly.
"What—" she started to say, and I reached out, pressing it down, locking it, even as the faint smell of burning rose. "Is that . . . on fire?!"
Her eyes widened.
"No, it's the battery," I said, shaking my head. "It's an old one, that's all. Needs an additional battery."
"But—"
"Let's go," I said quickly, sitting down and passing her the helmet. She slipped the bag she was carrying into the backpack she'd bought and shrugged into it before taking the helmet and clambering on the back of the bike, lifting her legs up and wrapping her arms around me. I started the bike up, heading back into the town, then out the far side for the Minoan Palace of Phaistos.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As we left the town, I pulled the map up in my vision, my phone already locked down to me in a way that none had ever been before.
I'd literally spent seconds using my Hack and Command and Control abilities on it, and it was already so secure I could laugh my arse off if the FBI and the phone's makers spent ten years fighting to get in, considering that I'd erased more than half the system, overwriting it with one based on my nanites, keeping only the most basic functions and the internet.
Using that and the map it displayed overlaid before my eyes, I picked out a dozen different routes, dismissing the fastest, as it required us riding straight past bloody Malia again. Instead, I chose the one that I thought was the best choice between speed and the sheer fun of the ride, as well as the clear beauty of the view.
We stopped off for fuel, then we were on our way.
The prediction was two hours. Well, the official prediction should have been three and a quarter, apparently, considering the route I chose, but fuck it. I still managed it in less than that, seeing the "predicted time" more as "time to beat."
By the time we pulled up outside the Minoan palace, it was quiet, only three cars and a single bike in the carpark. By then, even I was happy to get off the bike, and the groans that poor Ingrid gave off . . . well.
I resolved that, if we were going to go and pick her friend up, considering it was the far side of the island, and tomorrow night?
We'd get a car.
"I don't think I can walk . . ." She groaned, straightening up, then doing a small series of stretches. "Oh gods. You broke me." I couldn't help but grin at that, my ego sufficiently stroked, until she added, "Well, the bike has, anyway. It's like the first time I rode a horse."
I decided that could be taken either way, and that it was still a compliment, as I cracked my back, then popped open the pannier and pulled the drone free.
It was massively different from the original, now looking more . . . organic, I guess was the word. It was smooth, as if it'd been made from a single piece of plastic or metal or whatever, and it was warm to the
touch, with the battery inside having been extended and upgraded with all the capabilities I'd selected.
"What's that?" Ingrid asked, amazed, stepping in close, her discomfort forgotten.
"My trump card," I said with a smile, holding my phone in one hand, and then throwing the drone up hard, before she could see it too closely. "Watch . . ."
I held the phone and pressed a few buttons, none of which had anything to do with the commands I was sending to the drone, doing system checks, powering the cloak, testing the engines, all of it.
The drone performed flawlessly, and as Ingrid watched the screen, amazed, I zoomed in and in, until we could see ourselves on the phone.
She stared at it, then at me, and back again, before trying to spot the drone overhead.
"That's amazing," she whispered, covering her eyes from the glare of the sun and trying to focus on it as it lifted higher and higher.
"It was a gift from a friend," I lied easily. "It's a prototype I'm testing for him, thought you might like to see what it sees from above?"
I handed her my phone and she took it carefully.
"How do I control it?" she asked, and I paused, thinking quickly.
"You tap on the screen where you want it to focus. That's all. It's
following a command to stay close to the phone, but to circle overhead."
"It seems so . . . oh!" She broke off as we made it up to the doors, and I spoke to the staff, handing over a few of the smaller notes and getting some change and a pair of red wristbands, then I got directions from the staff to
the nearest taverna "for dinner" after we'd explored the site.
As we moved through the old turnstiles, their clack-clack made me think of similar things back in England when I was a boy, but once we were
inside?
Well, we clearly saw two different things.
I looked around, seeing a handful of half-collapsed walls, and areas
where it looked like the locals had stolen sections to rebuild their own walls and so on. Fuck knew it happened all the time back in the UK.
Farmers had their ancient dry stonewall techniques that resulted in walls for their fields that ran for miles, fitted together perfectly and capable of taking a head-on collision from a truck with barely more than the local section being damaged.
The thing was, if you looked at them carefully? In a lot of areas around historical sites, you'd be able to see the same damn stones that the archaeologists were all happy about finding; they were just mixed up in the walls, because the sneaky bloody farmers had been nicking them for generations and using them.
Here it looked the same. There were hundreds of collapsed walls, and little areas where seemingly random stones were stood one atop the other.
I took one look and bet that the locals had some interesting-looking garden walls . . . probably painted over so that nobody outside the "wink- wink, nudge-nudge, if you know, you know" of the groups who did it were aware.
Ingrid was enthusing over the stones, and the scuffed and practically unintelligible ancient, tiled mosaics, while I saw a bunch of random rocks, and so spent most of my time admiring Ingrid instead.
It wasn't until she was bent over and looking at a particular mosaic that a whistle was sounded. I blinked, realizing we'd passed our allotted time.
I hazarded a glance at the front entrance, a little further along the hill. As the man on the gate changed the sign, I saw that the red bands were required to leave now, and that the blue were allowed in.
It was a bit bloody pointless, considering it was late afternoon, and they were closing soon . . . not to mention there was literally one person besides us here, but . . .
"Do you want a bit longer?" I asked her, and she bit her lip, then nodded.
"Just a little, ten minutes or so? It's so fascinating!" she pleaded, and I nodded, setting off, walking across to the booth, and handing over some more money.
I'd explained the situation, and that she just wanted a few more minutes . . . and the bastard still charged us both for another full hour.
I grunted, taking my change and returning to her side, getting a quiet "thanks" and a kiss when I did.
Half an hour later, we finally reached the exit, and I tried not to sigh in relief as we left.
"That was wonderful," she said, fingers of her left hand entwined with my right as she stared at the screen, looking at the site from the air through the drone and shaking her head. "It's so different seeing it like this, so clear!"
I couldn't help but smile at her, at the wide-eyed amazement and innocence, a state I felt like I'd lost forever ago, even before the army, let alone the current situation. I had to admit, even if only to myself, that I really liked it.
We walked down the hill to the carpark, and I sat on the bike, getting a frown from her as she gestured upwards to the drone.
"It's okay, it'll follow us," I assured her, taking my phone and slipping it back into my pocket. "I'll keep it circling high, so that if we need to make a quick getaway, I know."
"You've barely watched the screen," she pointed out.
"We shouldn't be in any danger yet," I replied, then muttered, "Just wait until we get to the dog fights."
"Are . . . are we going to see them fighting?" she asked hesitantly.
"Honestly, I don't know," I admitted. "We need to find them, and to do that, we go to the people who rescue the dogs and see if they can give us the next piece in the puzzle."
"I don't really want to see dogs fighting."
"Neither do I," I agreed. "But we can make a donation to the people who rescue them, and that's a good deed, right? Then we can see."
She nodded, settling herself behind me, and we drove down the hill, following the directions I'd been given earlier.
The taverna was small and simple looking, a square-ish building with a dozen bikes outside, two cars, and a truck with cages in the back, letting me know we'd found the right place. We pulled up and parked, the carpark dry and dusty, a mass of steamrolled stone that had been painted white sometime long ago.
Now, like the building, it was scuffed and dirty looking. The howl of dozens of dogs rose from somewhere behind as I got off the bike, taking Ingrid's hand when she reached for mine.
We'd parked under an olive tree, one of what seemed to be hundreds, all covering the hillsides here, and as we headed for the door, the Little Olive handwritten sign creaked slowly in the warm breeze, welcoming us.
Stepping inside, we both hesitated. It was close and dark inside and reeked of dog. As our eyes adjusted, mine far quicker than hers, we saw several locals inside watching us.
"Hi," I said with a forced smile, leading Ingrid to the bar and doing my best to ignore the way the hairs on the back of my neck were climbing.
I could sense a higher-than-normal nanite presence instantly. But they weren't too high, not at the "oh fuck" level of the vamps—or worse, Hans and his kind—but markedly higher than I was used to from the ambient mass of humanity.
"What can we get you?" a gruff, older woman behind the bar asked, polishing a glass.
"A cold beer for me, and for you?" I asked Ingrid, getting an unsure look before she forced a smile and nodded.
"That'd be great," she said quickly.
"Two beers, then," I confirmed, and the woman reached under the counter, lifting two up, setting them before me.
"Ten euro," she said flatly.
"Cold . . . beers," I repeated, having seen they were literally sat on the counter, as opposed to the fridge behind her, where there were dozens of bottles sat chilling.
"That's cold," she said nodding to the bottle.
"No," I disagreed, touching the bottle for emphasis. "It's not."
"Ten. Euro."
"Cold. Beer," I replied, sensing the way that people were moving around
the bar, drawing their chairs back and clearly ready for something.
"Make it three," called a new voice, and I glanced to the right, spotting a large, hairy man who was half slumped in shadows in a booth, a notepad
and scattered papers before him.
He'd not been visible when we entered the room, thanks to the layout,
but my hackles rose as soon as I saw him, and I felt . . .
"Fine," the woman snapped, turning her back and pulling three bottles
out of the fridge, then passing them over, not bothering to take the caps off. I laid the ten euro note on the countertop, ignoring the sneer, and led Ingrid over to the man in the corner, setting the third beer down with him, and noting the elongated nail on his thumb as he flipped the cap off, nodding to me, even as my senses screamed in hunger at the mass of nanites
I could sense in him.
I nodded in return, then led Ingrid to the back of the room, sitting at a
table with my back to the wall.
"What—" she started to ask.
I shook my head, the gesture small but clear to her as I drew her around
to sit next to me, facing the rest of the room. "What's wrong?" she
whispered. "I thought we were going to give them some money and ask—" "And ask what?" the man called, having heard her clearly, even from his
booth a dozen steps away, despite her whisper.
"Fuck," I muttered, looking around the room. "Keep your back to the
wall, and do whatever I say." I got a worried glance, then a nod from her. The man in the corner gave off a low chuckle, shifting around the table and standing, rolling his shoulders and taking a deep drink from his cold
beer.
"So . . . you came to give us money? Generous, that," he grinned as I
sipped from my beer and watched them all.
There were eight of them, counting the barmaid, and clearly I'd made a
massive mistake in coming here.
"We came to make a donation to the dog rescue center, and to get a beer,"
I said, my voice cold.
"Well, you've got the beer, and we appreciate the donation," the leader
said, smiling widely as he spread his arms.
"Yeah. Bit pointless, though, isn't it?" I suggested, sliding out of my seat
and pressing Ingrid back when she started to stand as well.
"And why would that be?" he asked.
"Because you're not rescuing the dogs," I said, the pieces falling into
place as the drone arced around the kennels outside. I could see the dozens of injured dogs in the cages, as well as the meat that was being prepared for them.
Most of it looked like it was dead dogs . . . but there was also a clear hand I could make out in the screen in my vision.
"You're a quick one," he replied, smiling. "Might be there's a use for you after all."
"I don't think you're going to like what happens if you try this," I suggested. "Let the girl go."
"I don't think so," he said, shaking his head. "She knows too much, and as for you—"
"What's going on?" Ingrid asked, clearly afraid, but grimly determined when I looked at her.
"You know that knife in the bag?" I asked her, referring to the one that I'd wrapped in a towel from the bathroom, and that was coated in the neurotoxin.
"Yeah?" she asked slowly.
"You might need it. If they get past me, stab the fuckers with it." "Now that's not very friendly," the leader offered as I examined him.
Pack Leader Biological Weapon Variant
One of several successful BWVs that were granted further augmentations, the line designated as Lycanthrope spawns several greater strengths that warrant greater investment, including a greater pack mentality that results in easier integration and control.
Capabilities:
BITE: Lycanthropes have an infectious bite, transferring an awakened strain of their nanites into their victims. The awakened strain will overwrite the baseline nanites, instilling an intense hunger and a basic devotion to the one that infected them.
Shifter: Lycanthropes can shift their form, assuming an animalistic form with greater strength than the original. Stronger and higher-evolved versions may learn to shift partially.
HP 200/200 Lycanthrope
"Yeah, I'm just like that," I said firmly. "So, you pretend to be rescuing the dogs, then you use them in the fights yourself . . . and you kill anyone that finds out, did I miss anything?" I asked them, getting a slow clap from the barmaid, who was grinning at me for the first time.
"It used to be an actual rescue group," the leader said, smiling. "I saw the potential"—He gestured around, then back at me—"but I'm curious . . . most of our prey isn't so observant, even when my pack are unfriendly on their arrival. What gave it away?"
"Honestly, you stink," I said simply. "I could smell the wet dog as soon as we set foot in the place, and under that? Blood."
"Could have still been a rescue center," the leader suggested. "It could have been," I agreed. "But not with you."
"Me?"
"I can smell you," I growled.
"You can . . . smell me?" he asked, sniffing and stepping forward, then taking a deep breath, his head shifting as he followed a scent, focusing on Ingrid.
She pulled the bag open, unwrapping the knife and exposing the only thing she'd not cleaned the scent off yet.
"Ahhhhh!" he growled, before turning back to me. "Tressspassser!"
The last was said with a growl as he started to change, muscles popping and cracking, growing taller, broader. His muzzle elongated, ears climbing the sides of his head, eyes deepening and taking on a yellow glow, even as chuckles arose around the room where the others started to change as well.
I heard the indrawn breath from Ingrid, ready to scream, when I threw my bottle at the barmaid, catching her in the side of the head, mid-change.
She staggered, then fell from sight behind the bar, the bottle having shattered and given her a concussion with the force of its impact.
"Nowwww, that wassssn't very niccce!" The leader chuckled, and I lifted my right hand and smiled at him.
"Oh I'm all sorts of 'not nice,'" I clarified. "Don't worry, Ingrid. They're just a bunch of puppies, that's all. Not what I was worried about. Still, you might want to close your eyes."
"Why?" she asked, clearly terrified.
"Because I'm going to slaughter them," I said flatly as the leader gestured to one of his pack, sending him striding forwards.
He was taller than me, well-built, heavily muscled, with coppery patterns flowing through his fur. He stopped before me, looking down, and growled, curling his lip in contempt before flexing his claws. Then he lunged forwards.
I caught his hands in mine, sensing his nanites and knowing instinctively that despite his massive size, he wasn't that much stronger than me.
We stood there, fingers interlocked, arms extended, as he leaned forward, trying to use his greater weight to force me back as I held him in place.
I looked at him, seeing the bulging of the muscles and the way his toenails were digging into the wooden floor, the way he was huffing trying to crush me . . . and I grinned.
I felt the nanites flow out, overlapping my arms, coating them in a thin, black mass and doubling my strength easily. They responded at the speed of thought as I squeezed harder, making the werewolf whine, before snapping his hands back, broken. Then I twisted them and forced his elbows inwards, past their limit, snapping both his forearms.
He howled in pain, then lunged forwards, maw opened and gleaming teeth flashing for my throat.
I sneered, releasing his hands and gripping the top and bottom jaws, then snap kicked him in the balls, yanking his head down, then twisting, until he was kneeling on the floor, head facing upwards. I stared at the leader through his underling's forced-open jaws.
"Bad . . . dog," I ground out, then yanked my hands apart, tearing the top of the werewolf's head off in a shower of blood, dropping the twitching corpse to the side, where it kicked erratically.
"Oh my god!" Ingrid gagged from behind me as I tossed the top of his head to land at the feet of the pack leader, who growled at me.
"Youuu don't know usss very welllll if you think that'ssss going to stopppp usss," he snarled.
"Oh, I do. I found your last nest in the catacombs, and I cleaned house there," I growled, seeing the way his eyes widened. "And I met Davos. Little pissant got what was coming to him for challenging me."
The leader's eyes widened further before he hunched forwards and growled low in his throat.
"Killlll him!" he roared, turning and running for the exit.
The remaining seven burst into motion, racing forwards, several throwing tables aside as they came.
"Motherfucker!" I snapped.
I slammed my right fist out to the side, coating it in nanites as I activated my Harvest Blade, forming it into a thick blade with a wide tip, razor-sharp and three feet long.
The next to reach me arrived just as it finished forming and let out a little whine as I punched it through his chest, cleaving his sternum and the heart beneath in two before ripping the blade back and kicking the fucker off.
I focused and formed my nanites into a rough shield on my left arm, blocking slashing claws from the third as I activated the combat overlay. Time slowed and I now had a full minute to use it, the second level having granted a fifty-percent increase to the timer as well as a slight increase in capacity, making my opponents seem to move even slower.
I twisted, slashing the blade across the top of my shield, neatly beheading the third and using the motion to carry myself into a spin, leaping into the air and kicking the barmaid, now victim number four, in the face as she vaulted over the bar.
Her muzzle looked like she'd run headlong into a wall, crumpling up as teeth flew in all directions, and I barked out a single word to her.
"SIT!" I couldn't help but grin as I landed, ducking down and sweeping my sword around as I turned in a full circle, chopping through three ankles that came in range, even as she collapsed to the floor, stunned, with her legs curled up under her.
I shot back to my feet, facing Ingrid as I shifted my blade. Forming a punch dagger with two blades, I drove the thin spikes under the chin of the werewolf on my right, victim number five, even as I grabbed the outstretched right arm of number six with my left hand. I caught him as his missing feet made their status known, and I spun again, yanking the punch dagger free of number five and ramming it into the stomach of six over and over before tearing a single blade through his heart.
I dropped him, even as the others collapsed, leaving the seventh and final of the pack.
He'd been running forwards and apparently decided he'd forgotten something really important elsewhere, possibly a sick mother, who he really needed to go and visit. He twisted around, scrabbling at the floor, trying to change his momentum.
I grabbed him by an ankle and hauled him back towards me, stabbing my Harvest Blade down again and again into the back of his leg, then his ass, lower spine, and then as his legs went dead and he rolled over, the desperate whine changing to a growl, I rammed it home in his eye.
He stiffened, then collapsed, dead.
There was sudden silence in the taverna, broken only by the whimpering of the barmaid, the dripping of blood from the walls and ceiling, and the low-level panicked Danish muttering coming from Ingrid.
I turned to her, the drone already following the fleeing pack leader as I stepped forwards, ignoring the barmaid entirely. I reached out and picked up a pile of mostly clean napkins, tossing the top one aside, then using them to wipe my face clean of the splattered blood.
Ingrid was repeating a phrase in Danish over and over, apparently praying, when I spoke.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," I said, stepping over and pulling the chair out across from her and sitting down. "But for the record, I did tell you you'd never believe the truth of where I got things, and who was hunting me, and who I was hunting in turn."
"They—you—" she started, one shaking finger moving from me to them, and back.
"They're lycanthropes. Werewolves, these fuckers. Simple, but still dangerous. The jewelry? It was from a werecat. A lot more intelligent, it seems, but a fuckload more cowardly."
"They just . . . you killed them!"
"Yeah, it's kinda the job I gave myself. If I left them alone, they'd just kill everyone. Look, here's my keys," I said, laying the bike keys on the table. "I need to finish this nest off. If I leave the leader of the pack to run . . . dammit."
"What?"
"He's gone underground," I muttered, turning to the barmaid. "How many more in the pack?"
"Sikth," she mumbled around a mouthful of shattered teeth. "Six. Great. Underground?" I asked, and she nodded.
"Just you dickheads or have you got a master with you?" "Jutht uth," she managed, and I sighed.
"Well, I can always hope. Last question . . . is the nest connected to the catacombs, or is it just a cave system?"
"Don't know," she muttered, and I saw the way she shifted her claws, ready to attack.
"Good girl," I said, standing and swinging my right hand down. The blade slid out again, and she snarled, leaping forwards, only to meet the blade midair.
I extruded a flat ring around the blade eight inches behind the tip, stopping her dead as the tip cut into her heart, then I pulled.
The nanites in her streamed into the Harvest Blade, called by the law of attraction. In seconds, her corpse fell free, drained.
I spoke as I moved around the room, ramming the blade down into each of the werewolves' chests, draining them of every nanite I could.
"So . . . I did warn you you'd never believe me, if I told you where the artifacts came from," I repeated, seeing the way Ingrid was watching me in shock. "If I don't do this, then the fuckers will heal," I clarified. "It's a shitty job, but . . ." I sighed. "Look. I need to go and kill the rest of them, or they'll just scatter, and I'll have to hunt them down individually."
I moved to the nearest corpse and the torn remains of their clothes, sorting through them until I found a set of car keys.
"Can you drive the motorbike?" I asked her, and she shook her head. "Just as a passenger, eh? Okay. Can you drive a car?" She nodded slowly.
"Okay. Here."
I threw the keys underarm to her, wincing as she just let them clatter off
the wall, staring at them in dismay as they fell to the floor.
"Right. I'd ask that you don't tell anyone what happened here, who I am, or what I do. I'm not threatening you. Seriously, but there are others out there who make sure people don't know about these things . . . and they don't like me culling their pets. It's literally for your own safety when I say
that you shouldn't tell anyone about me or this."
I sighed, hating the way she flinched when I retracted the blade, and the
confusion and horror written all over her face.
"Take the car, take the artifacts, go back to the nearest city, and get a
coach or a taxi back to your friends. Meet your friend from his flight tomorrow, and forget about me. It's for the best, I guess."
"What . . . what will you do?" she asked, having to swallow twice to get the words out.
"I'll hunt the rest of the pack, and I'll kill them. They view humans much the way a dog looks at a chew toy. Something to play with and discard when it's broken." I shrugged. "If I find any other artifacts, I'll drop them off at a museum. You have my word."
"And . . . where will you go?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "I'll be on the island a little longer probably, seems like there's a fair infestation, but . . . then I'll be gone, following the trail, I guess." I glanced around the room and winced. "I am sorry, though. I would never have brought you if I thought it was going to be like this. I genuinely thought it'd most likely be some criminal dickheads, and I was planning on you being a bit disgusted by them and the shit they do, and then you'd not go searching in the catacombs."
"So it was the catacombs you found the artifacts in?" she asked slowly.
"Yes, but believe me, these?" I gestured around me at the corpses that were already starting to stink up the room. "They're nothing compared to the stuff that's down there."
"Like . . . like what?" she asked, clearing her throat and taking a drink with a shaky hand.
"You really don't want to know," I said firmly. "The big fuckers? I ran as soon as I saw them, laid traps, and slaughtered more of these on the way out, but . . ." I shrugged. "I didn't have a chance against them, seriously."
"I . . . I need to know what's out there," she whispered.
"No you don't," I said firmly. "I've not seen much, but from what I have seen? There's the entire range of mythology, plus more. If there's a legend about it? It's down there . . . or out there somewhere," I said, gesturing down, then outwards.
"Where will you go then? After here?" she asked me again, and I shrugged.
"Straight down after the pack leader. I need to clean the nest out, and I'll dispose of the bodies here as well, so don't worry about that. Once I've done that?" I scratched the back of my neck. "Depends really, are you going to report me?"
"To who? And what are you? Some kind of monster slayer?"
"Something like that," I said. "Basically, I needed something to do, and they needed killing." I tried a smile. "Kinda match made in hell, you know? But . . . if you're not going to report me, I'll go back to the hotel tonight. It's nice enough, and at least they've got decent rum."
She nodded slowly before sliding out of the chair and moving towards the door, skirting wide of both the bodies . . . and me.
"Is it safe?" she asked, looking towards the door. I paused, frowning, then nodded.
"Yeah, there's nothing out there."
She nodded, accepting that, then opened the door . . . and left.
The door swung shut with a bang, a breeze catching it and tearing it free
of her hands. I watched her in my mind's eye, one of the other lenses from the drone focused on her, zooming in, as she tried to catch it, then flinched at the bang.
She stood for a few seconds, then moved, pressing the keys and looking about, seeing the BMW at one end of the carpark flashing as it unlocked, and she ran to it, getting in and locking the door.
She didn't even hesitate, just backed up and tore off, raising a cloud of dust as she went.
"Well, so much for finding the perfect woman," I muttered to myself before closing my eyes and focusing.
I had gained a fuck load of corrupted nanites in cleaning this place out, and I formed them into a ball, hanging it on my hip, leaving some space for later, before marching out of the door and across the scrub that grew around the olive trees.
Time to finish this.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It didn't take long to find the entrance. Hell, the tracks were clear enough, as was the goddamn smell. I winced as I reached it, wafting one hand before my face as I shook my head.
"Smells like a fucking kennel," I muttered before entering, my eyes adjusting as soon as I moved from the bright sunlit hillside into the dark of the passages.
They were familiar as soon as I moved inside, narrow, rough-walled with dirt floors and hair everywhere, not to mention the stink. The deeper I went, the more disgusted I was, until finally, after a few minutes, I reached a large crossway. Three paths radiated off left, ahead and to my right, and the scattered tracks before me were no help. Seemingly, there'd been a mad scramble recently, and the tracks ran in all directions.
I glared down before closing my eyes and focusing, going from my normal senses to my enhanced ones slowly.
I focused again and again, burrowing down until all that existed for me was the sounds all around. I slowly became aware of distant sounds, snarls, the crash of shifting rock, howls of pain.
My eyes flew open, and I started to run, blurring down the right-hand passage as fast as I could, feet almost seeming to fly as I went. The passageway walls flashed past, branching corridors ignored as I focused, dipping down, and sinking deeper and deeper into the ground.
Fifteen minutes passed before I skidded into a large chamber dropping to the floor and rolling aside as a great gout of flames erupted where I'd been standing.
I activated Conceal, feeling my cloak flow across my skin. I jumped to my feet then dove back the way I'd come, as the flames let loose again, bathing the area I'd been heading in.
I stopped dead, my instincts telling me to flee, but . . .
There was utter silence as my opponent tried to find me as well, and I stared at it in shock.
It was a small figure, emaciated, maybe three feet in height, with a head that looked like a skinned horse, or a thickened dog, but with flat teeth, a short, seemingly humanoid body that was swathed in a tattered black robe,
and . . . and it was holding a small rod in two hands. The hands were slight, three fingers and a thumb, with black as midnight stubby claws at the ends, and the rod . . .
It seemed to be solid, so where the hell the fire was coming from?
Wytch Biological Weapon Variant
The Aniba were a failed experiment, combining the ingenuity of Variant #774574 with the sadistic determination of variant #44512. The Aniba were created and found to be highly attuned to Elemental Resonances, able to both create and use a wide variety of Elemental Weapons.
Capabilities:
Manipulator: Wytches have the ability to manipulate the ether through elemental Foci, resulting in massive potential damage. Despite their frail existence, they hold tremendous power.
HP 76/76 Aniba - Wytch
I glared at the little fuck, and, moving slowly, I rose, stepping to the side, slowly circling the creature. The pack leader was busy on the far side of the chamber, surrounded by the remaining six pack members as they dug, casting rocks aside, clearly determined to open a previously closed passageway, despite it apparently causing them pain, considering the snarls and hisses as they threw the rocks away.
"Dig fasssster!" he commanded before spinning and staring at the Aniba and towards me. "Did youuuu get himmm?"
"There's nothing here," it responded, its voice high and nasal. I stepped closer, using the sounds of their called conversation to mask my approach.
"I smell himmmm!" the pack leader howled, and the Aniba turned back, glaring around, rod in hand . . . before whipping its head back towards me!
It'd clearly seen a distortion or something in the air as I moved, but it was too late for the little fuck, as I hacked my sword down, taking both its head and its left arm off at the shoulder. The body collapsed, and the pack leader howled in fury, grabbing one of the diggers next to it.
"Kill himmmm!" he snarled, and the werewolf snapped back at him, before getting a slap that must have nearly knocked him senseless, leaving bloody claw marks down the side of his face.
"Fuckinggg Johnny!" the leader growled, shaking his jowls. "Alwayssss useless, always thinksss he knows bessst! You wantttt ttto lead? Prrrrrove your worrrrth!"
The one marked as "Johnny" stood slowly, spitting on the floor and glaring at his leader before stepping towards me, sniffing, and hunching down on all fours, moving slowly as he tested the air.
"Clearrrr the patttth!" the pack leader sent towards the rest, digging in and throwing rocks aside with abandon.
"Therrrre'sss . . . nottthing herrrre!" Johnny called back at him, turning his back on me as the others paused, looking over.
I took a final step closer, pausing right behind him as he glanced back at them, snarling something about how he'd "scared off the intruder" before seemingly catching scent of me and whipping his head around.
The nanites blocked off most of my scent, it seemed, when I was concealed, but not all of it. His eyes widened; he'd sensed me now. Be that by the beating of my heart or my scent, I didn't know.
And I didn't care.
I rammed my right hand into his mouth, extending the blade forwards, spikes erupting in a six-pointed star pattern around the blade, sucking the nanites from him even as he grunted and shook, legs giving out under him as he sagged.
"Johhhhny . . ." the leader said, wondering what was going on, until I ripped my hand free, removing his head with it.
I retracted the blade, the mouth sagging open and sliding down my hand, until it met my foot coming up, and I punted it across the cavern.
It landed, bouncing, and rolled to a halt between us, making the werewolves freeze in terror.
"Two of you can live," I called out, becoming visible as I strode forwards. "Two only. Kill the others if you want it to be you."
"You'd let usss live?" one called, a short, grey-furred one that looked to have mange, considering how little hair he had, and the scabby flesh.
"Two of you can carry word to your masters, . . . but only two," I said clearly, stopping a dozen meters away. "You have until I count to ten. If there's more than two still standing, then you all die, and I'll carve it into your corpses."
With that, I slammed the blade out again, making it look as evil as possible, even as I made my nanites mimic the wings I'd designed for my
armor's backpack.
I unfurled them, making them flinch in terror as I started to count.
"One . . . two . . ."
"He lies!" the pack leader started to say, but he was too late.
Of the remaining five, two turned on the others straight away, the ones on
either side of the one with mange deciding to take out the smallest first. He snapped back, sinking his teeth into one of them.
The pack leader spun, barely blocking the first attack of the last werewolf, then kicking his legs out from under him and snarling at the others.
"It'ssss a trick!" he snapped before the two that had killed Mangy looked at each other, then leapt at him, biting and snarling.
He blocked the first with a vicious downward swipe of his claws, sending him into the floor, minus most of his face, before howling at the other as it slammed into his waist, driving him back a step.
He sank his claws into its back, gripping and holding him in place before biting down on the back of his neck and yanking his head sideways, snapping it.
He'd not gotten off uninjured, though; while he'd been biting and clawing at one, the other had been shredding his guts, claws tearing at the thick, corded muscle that covered his intestines.
The pack leader snarled, tossing the body aside, then howling in pain. The first one he'd put down had crawled forwards and sank his teeth into the leader's lower leg, ripping a dripping chunk out.
The pack leader fell on him, instinct taking over as he bit and tore, determined to kill his challenger.
He tore at the other bodies as well, frenzied, well aware of the regeneration his kind enjoyed and the knowledge that, unless he tore out their hearts, they'd come back.
I stepped up, pausing a meter away, waiting until he was done. The only survivor, wounded and panting, lay on his side. He watched me, sense slowly returning to his eyes as he looked up at me.
"What . . . what messsssage?" he panted, and I couldn't help but grin. "Oh, don't worry, I'll tell them myself," I said, winking. "And . . ." "Yesss?"
"You were right," I admitted. "I was never going to let you live,
dickhead."
Then I stabbed the fucker through the eye.
There was a moment of silence in the cavern, as if even the gods were a bit shocked that I'd done that, but fuck them.
I realized suddenly that I was in a goddamn foul mood, because I knew what I had to do, thanks to these assholes.
The dogs outside in the cages were all trained to attack, and not just each other. They were members of a lycanthrope pack and had been taught to eat human flesh.
I couldn't let them live.
I was going to have to go and slaughter the entire lot of those dogs, and I fucking liked animals!
I felt the body shaking below me, and I glanced down, growled.
My blade had been responding to my anger, flexing and forming spikes, then sinking deeper, and now . . .
I looked down at the unrecognizable mess of bodies and couldn't help but glare at them.
It was just so much torn meat now.
"Fuck!" I snarled before hearing a sound.
I looked up, staring at the pile of rocks and hearing the sound again from
the far side. There was something there. Something on the far side . . . something that wanted to come and play.
And I really wanted something to vent my anger on.
I stepped back, taking a deep breath then stabbing my blade into each of the bodies, draining them to the point that I felt like I was going to explode.
I was at maximum capacity, with a ball of corrupted nanites on either hip, each fifty thousand nanites, a hundred thousand weaponized in and on me, and fifty-one thousand and twelve attuned.
I'd also gained two points, both in Nimbleness, which was a bit of a relief, considering that it had been my lowest score.
I waited, growing more and more annoyed as the boulders shifted, until . . .
"Fuck!" I snapped, stunned as a small section rolled free, revealing a black mass of flesh. It squeezed and flexed, pulsing as it forced its way free, expanding over and over on my side of the fallen rocks, and I had a sudden horrified realization.
They'd been opening this up, a passage they'd sealed previously, probably a long time ago. Glancing about, I saw a second exit from the
room to my far left.
I suddenly suspected that the plan hadn't been to flee down it, but instead
to let this fucker out. Then it could kill me, or I could kill it, but either way, the bastard werewolves would have used the chance to run!
I snarled, shifting my feet and triggered examine again.
Reta Biological Weapon Variant
The Reta Variant, one of several original compositions was thought destroyed long ago, but apparently it survived long enough to spawn at least one offspring. These mindless creatures exist only to feed, and are unable to stand sunlight, silver, or iron, and can survive extreme injuries.
Capabilities:
Flexible: The Reta are able to flex and form any shape they desire, resulting in terrible slaughters committed across the cosmos.
HP 10/10 Reta - Spawn
"Ten health?" I muttered. "Seriously, that's it? Fuck's sake!" I snapped, stepping forwards, and flexing my Harvest Blade into a sword, I swung it down and cut the creature in two.
The sides flowed apart, then back together. I froze, before jumping back as it leapt at me, then diving as it flowed with insane speed.
I slashed the blade around in circle, seeing a section of it fall free, and the HP ticked down by one point . . . then it flowed back to the main mass, and it ticked back up again!
I backed away, blade spinning frantically, twisting and stabbing, hacking at the form as I tried to get enough space to think.
I'd made it halfway across the room before it stopped, and I realized that, due to the way it'd been moving, I had my back to a solid wall, and it was . . .
"Fuck!" I snarled, lunging forwards. It was feeding on the remains. There were no nanites in them, not now, but then I couldn't sense any in it, either!
I hacked and slashed, driving it back from one of the corpses, finding it'd eaten half of it, and the damn thing was up to twenty-three health now!
I attacked, trying to drive it back, before swearing and back-pedaling as fast as I could. The middle had been backing away as I attacked, but the damn sides had been moving to encircle me!
I kept on the move, frantically trying to gain the time to think, but . . . Everything I did seemed to have no effect!
I stood on the corpse of the wytch, snapping one of the pathetic little
skeletal arms and feeling my foot start to roll out from under me, barely catching my balance as I moved on, then darted back, grabbing the rod with a flexible tentacle of nanites.
"Right, you fucker!" I snarled, pointing the rod at it and squeezing it.
The creature paused, its one eye in the middle of the mass flicking its gaze from my face to the rod, then back, and a pseudopod lashed out, latching onto the end of the rod and tugging.
"Shit, shit, shit!" I snarled, suddenly locked in a tug of war with the damn thing, and it was at least as strong as I was.
I snarled, yanking back and flicking the blade around the end of the rod in a circle, carving the mass away, but as quick as I managed to cut it away, it attached more, until the room grew even darker, the few flickering torches on the outside blocked away by . . .
By the encircling mass.
It closed the noose and fell in on me, no longer interested in the rod.
I dropped to one knee, pulling my blade in and frantically pulling my
nanites around myself into a protective cocoon.
I felt a mass land on me, slithering over the nanite coating . . . and then it
fell off.
More slapped onto me, the pseudopods trying desperately for purchase,
as it tugged and rubbed against the nanite coating, until eventually, it wrapped itself around me and pulled tight.
I sat on the floor, entirely encircled by this thing, and once it'd found that it couldn't get ahold of me, it seemingly decided to wait me out instead.
I sat there, in total blackness, trying to figure out what the hell I could do. Clearly, this creature was old and seemingly starved, but for it to have been buried and left?
Why the hell hadn't it simply dug its way out?
I pulled up the description again, noting this time that it had more than thirty health, so the fucker was still feeding on the corpses, I guessed.
I might be able to just walk out with it wrapped around me, maybe? I guessed, but that seemed unlikely. After all, it could literally tie me up in knots and just let me burn myself out.
Eventually, I'd run out of energy; even if the nanites could operate for a long time, my body couldn't.
I'd need air, food, water . . . hell, I had no idea why I wasn't dying of asphyxiation already, and with no way to figure that out, I just dismissed it. I should be able to cut holes through it as I needed. Even if they didn't last long, they'd last long enough.
I kept coming back to the wall. It'd been buried there, and . . . and the werewolves had been snarling at each other as they tried to dig it up!
They'd looked like they were burned, I suddenly realized, thinking back to the way they'd acted, like their hands or paws were being burned by acid or . . .
"Silver!" I snapped, then grinned. "It's a fucking silver deposit, and it held you trapped!" I focused, trying to guess at the direction I needed, then when I couldn't, I reached out, pulling on the drone.
It was far enough away I could barely sense it at all, thanks to the rock and more, but . . . but I could, even if only just.
It took forever, or it seemed it, before the signal grew strong enough that I had control over it again, and then it was faint, the system operating on some kind of autopilot directed by the nanite clusters responding to my demands.
When I could control it again, though?
It was flying down the passages at breakneck speed, before slamming to a halt as all the engines went into full reverse. It'd found the cavern, and there I was, in the middle of a massive blob of pseudoflesh.
I forced myself to stand, feeling pain as I had to use the nanites to augment my muscles, the thing that clung to me not wanting to move.
I formed the Harvest Blade and started to cut, slashing it in all directions, freeing myself enough to move a little, then growled, finding that yeah, I was facing the wrong damn way and had started walking even further from the bloody rocks.
Turning back, I pushed hard, feeling like I was pushing against a giant rubber sheet, one that was growing stronger with every inch as the drone showed additional pseudopods flashing out and grappling onto the walls.
I hacked and sliced, the breaking of the sections gaining me tiny respites in which I managed to force myself a little closer and closer to the wall.
Soon, it was all I could do to hold on, and I swore, digging deep and converting one of the balls of weaponized nanites to a pair of gauntlets,
hissing in pain as they formed, flowing up over my flesh.
In order for them to join to me fully, I needed them to touch my flesh,
and to do that . . . the nanite coating peeled back, and I screamed.
It was over in a flash, but even in the literal second it took, the goddamn creature had managed to shred more than half the skin from the backs of my
hands and forearms.
The gauntlets soothed the torn skin in short order, but still, it'd fucking
hurt, and I'd lost at least two feet in distance.
Now, though, now I had claws.
I sank them into the ground, digging into the rock and dragging myself
forwards.
Without the blade to cut the connections, it was even harder, but I had
something to focus on. The flex of my fingers, creeping forwards, millimeter by millimeter, inch by inch, and fucking meter by meter, I continued.
Eventually, I sensed a difference, as the creature seemed to decide I wasn't worth it, separating from me, the pseudopods unravelling . . . and I knew what I had to do.
I literally had a few meters left to go, and uncovered my lower legs, screaming as I did so.
The pain was horrific as the goddamn thing started to feed on me.
The others had been food for it, and after so long entombed, it'd been desperate, so even the drained and broken corpses had been good, but they were lacking life-force . . . and I wasn't.
It went into a feeding frenzy, digging into me, devouring flesh, and forcing pseudopods inside me.
I felt them close on veins, sucking hard, dragging my blood into the creature. I frantically closed off the damn things, my own nanites forming a tourniquet.
It earned me precious seconds before the creature had devoured the legs almost entirely. The only thing keeping its interest was my nerve channels, and it burrowed into them, making me scream in pain.
I dragged myself forwards, hands closing over rocks, clawing my way through the hole it'd made coming out, now thankfully much larger. Then I was past and collapsing down a slope, rolling, bouncing, as the creature finally felt something besides its hunger and pleasure at feeding.
It felt pain.
It felt fear . . .
I grabbed the fucker as it released me, trying to drag itself up the mound of silver ores.
I wasn't having that, and nanite tentacles flashed past it, dragging the rocks down atop it.
It screamed, each impact of the hated silver leaving burned and bubbling skin. I remembered the blackened state of it as it managed to escape, and I compared that to how it appeared now, a dark red in color, and I knew it'd been burned by the passage through . . . but it'd managed it once, and it'd do it again.
"Not on my watch!" I snarled at it, sinking my claws into it and pulling, feeling like I was trying to hold onto fresh egg whites as it flowed around my fingers, until I touched a section that was in contact with the silver ore.
There? There it was solid.
It couldn't shapeshift, not while in contact with silver, and I grabbed two rocks in the tentacles and started hammering them down atop the flowing mass.
Determined to hold onto it, I dug my claws in and pummeled the fucker.
It seemed to take forever, but eventually, I started to see sections curling up and falling away, dried, flaky, and no longer able to flex.
Grimly shredding and hammering, I continued, laid there, my legs stripped to the bone, kept alive more out of sheer bloody-minded hatred than anything else.
I pounded the fucking thing, over and over, reducing it in size until it was the size of a table, then a shoebox.
Going and going, I was barely able to think, to do anything but hit, when a stray thought, a distracted mumbling more than a plan, echoed around my mind.
Who, or whatever had imprisoned it originally must have had a way to contain it, right?
I started looking around the small cavern feverishly, even as tentacles continued to pound and batter, and I saw it, laid on its side on the far side of —of course—a small altar.
It was a tarnished silver box, the lid popped clear and hanging on one hinge, the other having given up long since.
I realized what it was, and a tentacle flashed out, latching onto the altar. I pulled and dragged us all across the short distance, my body screaming in
pain until I rolled to a halt.
The tentacle released, and instantly the thing started to drag us
backwards, away from the refined silver.
I grabbed the box, the tentacle flipping it over and slamming it down atop
the fucking creature, making it scream in agony as more than two-thirds of its mass burst into flame.
I rolled clear, barely able to do that, and grabbed the lid, seeing that the inside was coated in jade, with only the lip and outside being solid silver.
I growled to myself, forcing the second ball of corrupted nanites to convert to weaponized and then forming more tentacles, enough to lift myself into the air, holding myself upright, half slumped over as I glared at the quivering box.
It was moving, and I knew the damn thing was trying to work its way free, so like putting a sheet of paper under a glass holding a spider, I lifted one corner and slid the lid on.
The remaining mass, cut off by the touch of the refined silver, burned up and fell away, leaving the damn thing trapped inside.
I focused on it, knowing that it'd escaped its confinement once already. Somehow, and I wasn't having that happen again. Not after letting the bastard eat my goddamn legs.
I looked around, seeing other weird ass shit: carvings on the walls, boxes —hell, there were remains that looked like they'd once been bodies in armor, probably guards that had stood watch over it, their weapons . . . and their shields!
I grabbed the two shields, seeing they were arced slightly, and set them back to back, with the box inside them.
It was thin and small, and I sagged with relief when the solid silver shields sat flush to each other.
Seeing that it'd worked, I let myself collapse onto the floor and rest.
Time passed. I had no frame of reference for how much, but it seemed a long time before I finally managed to gather the strength to move again, dragging myself slowly up the mound of silver, only to collapse at the top.
Exhausted.
More time passed, and more, my nanites recovering enough of a charge slowly to jolt my tired mind into a degree of sentience, and I'd start forward again, dragging myself a few more feet, a few meters, and then I'd collapse again, insensate.
Eventually though, something changed as heat and light fell upon me, and a voice that I dimly recognized cried out.
Hands turned me over, and water fell onto my face. I blinked, feeling the nanites' hunger, the automatic instinct to latch on and drain the suddenly provided source of life. I blinked, a second away from approving them to do just that . . . when I managed to focus my eyes.
Ingrid.
She was holding me, tears pouring down her face, cutting tracks in the dust and dirt, holding something that gave off enough light, just, for her to see me by.
She was weeping.
"I'm so sorry. Please, please don't die," she whispered over and over.
I managed on the third attempt to lift one hand, to touch her face. She
flinched, having been so grief-stricken she'd barely realized that I was aware again. She hunched over me, her soft lips on my forehead and her hand catching mine, holding it tight to her face.
"I'm here, I'm here!" she whispered. "I'll get you out of here. I can get you to the hospital." She nodded then, as if that was it decided. "I'll get you there, and they'll make this all right. The police, they'll understand, and if they don't, it's okay. I'll protect you . . . I'll fix it all."
I kept trying to speak, but my voice was coming out as a weak croak, and by the time she managed to make sense of it, I was almost insensate again.
"What?" she asked.
"The . . . bodies . . . need them," I managed to get out, and she froze, then nodded.
"The bodies? The ones in the taverna?"
I nodded and she nodded back, shifting around and laying my head flat to the ground, before kissing me.
"I can do that," she swore to me, nodding and wiping the mess of dust and dirt, and now my half-dried blood across her cheek, before kissing my lips gently. "I'll . . . I'll be back," she promised, and then that was it, she was gone, and the world seemed less . . . just less again.
I lay there, the flashing of my notifications beyond my capacity right now, and I simply stared at the rock ceiling seemingly far above me.
I saw patterns, and . . . shapes? Shapes that were repeated over and over, crossing the cavern . . . and after long seconds, they clicked into place, the regularity of the room, the shape? The evenly placed shapes?
"Pillars," I whispered, staring dumbly upwards.
It felt like I stared at them for mere seconds, then she was there again, Ingrid, and next to her . . .
It was the body of the barmaid. She'd dragged it all this way, and I managed to roll myself sideways, before croaking out a single word to her.
"More . . ."
She nodded and staggered off, even as my nanites flowed free, wrapping around the corpse.
System Replenishment Available: Estimated mass available: 17% Begin?
I didn't have the energy to say anything, but my nanites understood my approval, and they began the process.
Chapter Thirty
It took three more bodies before I was regenerated enough to think properly, and by that time, well.
Ingrid was slumped, barely able to function next to me, staring dull-eyed as my nanites consumed the corpse, the flesh of my legs bubbling up as she watched.
"What . . ." she whispered for what had to have been the hundredth time, shaking her head. "What are you?"
"A man," I croaked back at her.
She jumped, having clearly not expected an answer.
"A man?" she asked slowly, before shaking her head. "I've never seen a
man do that before . . . or fight things like those, like the werewolves and the—the black thing!"
"The thing," I whispered, glancing back towards the entrance to the hidden section. "How . . . it hasn't come out?" I asked and she shook her head. "You didn't go in?"
Again, a shake of her head.
"Oh, thank the gods," I muttered.
Then I looked at her, really looked, and winced. She was filthy,
exhausted, and clearly broken by what she'd had to do, and by what she'd seen.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered, reaching out to her gently, expecting her to flinch from me, especially after she'd seen me feeding on the corpses. Yeah, it wasn't like I'd been biting them, but still.
Instead, she flung herself into my arms and clung to me, crying like a dam had broken. I clung to her as well, holding her against me, feeling great sobs wracking her body as I lay there, having been sitting when she'd thrown herself against me and knocked onto my back.
We lay there, with me gently stroking her hair and assuring her that it was okay.
It wasn't.
Hell, at the very least, she was probably going to need serious therapy for the rest of her life, and that was just to get over today, but . . .
Eventually, she stopped crying, letting out a snort and a bubble of snot as she slapped at her watch, before wiping at her face, clearly mortified.
She'd realized at some point that I could see her in the dark, and she started to say something before her watch chirped again and she snarled, slapping at it, and stopping the alarm.
"What is it?" I asked, and she sighed.
"My alarm. It's six in the morning," she explained with a little laugh. I paused.
"How long have I been down here?" I asked her, my mind prodded into motion.
"Just the day. We—I left about twelve hours ago?" she guessed.
I sat for a second, stunned. If she'd asked me, I'd have guessed at a week or more, but that meant . . .
"We can fix this," I whispered, and she looked at me, clearly not understanding. "Can you find your way out?" I asked her, before shaking my head. Of course she could; she'd found her way in, after all, and she'd dragged me four goddamn corpses down here as well.
"Go," I told her firmly. "I trapped the Reta variant in there. It's in a casket. Silver hurts it, but sunlight? That should kill it! We can still kill the fucker, and then, if I can dispose of the bodies? This can be yours!"
"What?" she asked me, confused.
I couldn't help but smile.
"There's a shitfull of carvings and some artifacts back there," I started to
say, pointing, then grabbing her arm as she started to stand to go look. "No!" I said quickly. "You're literally a meal to that thing."
I paused, looking down at my decimated legs. They were regrowing, but still, they weren't right yet, and bending them, trying to use them to stand?
It was painful, and they moved all wrong.
The worst part was that I would have to go through all of this again sometime soon when I rebuilt my bones as storage facilities.
I started to get back up, with Ingrid helping me, but when I was on my feet—or what was left of them—I couldn't help but sway, even when leaning on her.
"Fuck this," I muttered, and nanites flowed down, punching into the ground in four tentacle-like legs, lifting me into the air to hang suspended as she backed away, awe on her face as she shone the light of her phone's torch over them.
They gleamed in the light, like wet leather or oil, but with a structure, billions of tiny forms all working together flawlessly as they carried me.
"Okay, clearly there's a lot to explain to you," I admitted, seeing her face. Unable to help myself, I spread my hands, and did a version of jazz hands, sprouting two more arms to do it with. "Taaa-daaa?"
"You think?" she said, shaking her head. "Yesterday, you were an exciting guy, strong but sweet. A few hours later, you're a tentacle thing that fights werewolves."
"Yeah . . . got you wondering about the tentacle porn, haven't I?" I tried to joke, getting a perplexed frown as she clearly missed the reference. "Okay. Whoo, boy."
I started towards the rock pile, carried aloft on my new "legs" as I spoke.
"So, these are nanites," I started, not sure how much to tell her, especially considering I was literally in on the holy grail of secrets as far as she was concerned with the ship and all. "I think some of the details need to wait, but creatures like the werewolves? They're like that because of nanites, ones that are broken and replicating in error. They bite another and the nanites spread, infecting the victim, making them into a new werewolf. I hunt them, amongst other creatures. I found a way to wipe the nanites, and to make them obey me. Essentially, all you're seeing is me consciously controlling them. The blade I used to fight them? I use it to tear the nanites free, absorbing them."
"Where . . . where did the nanites come from?" she asked slowly, walking alongside me. "Do you work for some corporation or something?"
"No, nothing like that. It's just me, and as far as I know, I'm the only one like me . . . but others want the nanites, and so, we're back to me being hunted, and the real reason I stay hidden, away from cameras and so on."
"And the people you killed?"
"All criminals, and all in self-defense, but . . ."
"Yes?"
"Honestly, the nanites can repair me from pretty much anything, given
power and materials, so . . . I think I'm pretty much functionally immortal." "What?"
"I know, kinda weird. I get that, but it means that if I'm literally likely to live forever, then . . . frankly, I needed a purpose. That's why I hunt them. The werewolves and the others of their kind, as well as generally scumbag
criminals as well. We all have nanites in us—no, I honestly don't know why, not really."
And that was true, I reflected. I really didn't know why, just that the aliens had seemingly given us them, then fucked off after a few rounds of experiments.
"I have them in me?" she asked, one hand going unconsciously to her chest as I nodded.
"You do, but they're dormant. Almost everyone's are. I managed to activate mine, and now I can sense them; that's how I knew we were in trouble back there. I'd hoped that we could bluff our way through, but clearly that didn't happen. Okay, I'm going to go and get the creature, and we'll take it out to face the sun. I want you to go now, get out of the tunnels just in case. You don't want to know what this thing will do."
"I know."
"What?"
"That's why I'm here," she admitted, reaching into one pocket and
pulling out . . . my phone. "I saw it. I saw it all. When the drone came to you. I could see the fight and what it was doing to you."
"Crap. Bet that wasn't a fun thing to watch."
"Yeah . . . that's an understatement," she agreed, turning and looking around the room. "Where's the drone?"
"Uh, no idea," I admitted, looking around, then grunting and pointing at the form that lay in one corner on the floor. "There. The batteries are dead."
"What—"
"Can you take it?" I asked her. "If you take it out, we can recharge it out there."
"Of course." She nodded, hesitating, before stepping in close and kissing my hand, my face being too high to reach, suspended as I was. Then she was gone, hurrying across the cavern, grunting as she picked the drone up, then heading for the passage out.
I turned from her and focused, my tentacles reaching out and tossing the rocks aside, widening the entrance so that I could climb in, rather than dragging myself through a small gap.
Actually conscious and sane for the first time as I entered the room on the far side, I shook my head in amazement.
I had no clue why the section on the far side was so well-preserved compared to the rest of the complex, but guessed it had something to do
with the creature that even now tried to escape the box it was trapped in.
A faint, metallic shiver came from the shields as they slowly separated, the creature inside clearly working, until I pressed down on the shield on top. The sound stopped instantly, and I lifted it, carrying it out of the small
room, and into the main cavern again.
As I went, tingling and itching sensations running wild on my legs as I
was carried out. The creature started to try again, clearly testing its boundaries, and I couldn't help but speak to it.
"You're in for a treat, you little fuck. Nice sunrise for you." I felt it stop then start flexing again, pushing against me. I didn't know if it had understood, or if it was reacting to the close proximity of food, but either way, I picked up speed, the legs powering me forward with tremendous strength, catching Ingrid in only a few minutes, then scooping her up and carrying her as well.
Seconds later, we were picking up even more speed, racing full tilt as it started to push, to force its way out, hissing in pain as it encountered solid, refined silver all around it.
Then we were out, the faint light of dawn on the horizon as I dropped Ingrid and the drone and moved a few dozen meters clear of her, to stand in the middle of a clear patch of land.
The light grew stronger as the creature quivered inside the shields, clearly sensing something. I pressed the shields down on the ground, grabbing the rim of the top one and getting ready.
I held it there as the seconds lengthened to minutes, and the sunlight bathed the clearing.
The liquid gold crept across the floor, inching closer and closer. Then I yanked the far edge of the shield upwards and exposed the box.
The Reta variant burst free, ballooning up to form a shroud before me, a tentacled monstrosity that was somehow still alive, the pseudopods flashing out as it reached for the ground, frantically dragging itself across the rocks in search of shade.
Until I slammed the shield into it, driving it back into the light.
It screamed soundlessly, a buzzing vibration that made my insides twitch and my asshole clench. The hated sunlight burrowed deeper and deeper, the first layer of flesh falling free, crisped, breaking into ash and carried away by the warm, early-morning breeze.
I slammed the shield into it again and again, my tentacles flowing out, picking up the other shield and using its reflective surface to hit the thing with sunlight from every angle.
It twisted around, digging claws into the ground, attempting to burrow down . . . only to have them sliced apart by my blade.
I threw myself at it, gauntlets covering my forearms to fingers, claws flashing as I shredded the fucker, snarling in fury, as more notifications flashed up. I ignored them, determined to kill the bastard.
It seemed to take forever, but the more I tore at it, the worse the screams became and the faster it burned.
I dug my claws in and tore left and right, up and down, each cut taking slightly longer to heal as I used the split seconds of resistance I felt to make sure it was kept above ground, yanking it up and up, holding it into the sunlight.
I punched my fist into the mass before me as it shrank smaller and smaller, more of it being carried away with every second. I lifted it upwards, the sun illuminating it, as a final notification popped up.
FINAL CHANCE
The Reta Variant accepts you as its master and offers a nanite- enforced slave contract:
Accept/Refuse
As soon as I saw that, a new section popped up, as my eyes lingered on "Slave Contract."
A nanite-enforced Slave Contract forces the enslaved to serve the master for life, rendering them functionally unable to act against the master's wishes and sharing both the Slave's genetic strengths and encoded memories with the Master, if so desired.
I hesitated a split second, wondering; what if?
Then I growled and lifted it higher, wrapped around my gauntlet, and focused the reflected sunlight onto it from all angles.
"Fuck you and your contract!" I snarled at it as the last of it burst into flames, dissolving to ash and floating away.
QUEST COMPLETE
Deal with the Reta Variant
You have chosen to eliminate one of the last members of the species, possibly the very last, relinquishing access to their ancestral memories, in exchange for personal satisfaction and a considerably lessened risk to your species.
Reward:
+1 Greater Perk
Select your Greater Perk:
Epic Design: Gain Access to a random Epic-level blueprint
Nerve Impulse Upgrade: Improved nervous system alteration Breach: Enables maximum electric discharge into targeted system Enslave: Create Nanite enslavement tools
Tracer: Enables memory overlay of previous paths through data
systems
Nanite Creator: Enables the formation of complex creations with
your nanites
Override: Includes blueprints to upgrade nanites to create
specialized Hack devices
Commando: Upgrades all stealth-based systems by one rank Emergency Wipe: Upgrades attuned nanites to perform emergency
cleansing of corrupted nanites
I scanned over them, seeing that most of the notifications were gone now, superseded by the "quest complete" option. Clearly, they'd been offering me choices and rewards if I did certain things.
Dammit.
The perks were good, I wasn't going to lie, but . . . I'd used the vast majority of my nanites to repair myself, and I'd still had to feed on the bodies as well. Hell, I knew I was going to have to use the same capability on the rest of the corpses yet, and then find some way to get rid of the blood in the taverna, but . . .
I could have the option of wiping the nanites instantly?
The others were cool, don't get me wrong. I mean, the gamer in me screamed for the epic blueprint. I was practically salivating at the thought of what it could be, but . . . I also knew it could be an epic-level toenail clipper.
It might be totally fucking useless to me, be geared for an aquatic species, or hell, something that breathed liquid hydrogen. It could be anything, so I had to refuse that.
Despite the little internal voice that told me it could be a goddamn spaceship or a railgun.
No!
Be strong.
I moved on, tempted by the nervous system upgrade, but I suspected I'd
get that anyway as I continued to upgrade myself, so no need to waste a perk on it.
Breach? That was tempting, especially thinking about when I intended to return to the ship, but . . .
No.
That was a specific thing that I might die before I ever got the chance to do, so no good for me for now.
Enslave? Not my style.
Tracer? Maybe. If I could see where I'd been in the systems previously, like the police station, I might be able to Hack a lot faster, but . . . no.
It'd literally save me a little time, that was all. Experience would do that anyway.
Nanite Creator? Now, that was tempting! Why make my drone into a bigger version when I could change my own nanites into a missile around me? Or more? Hell, could I do that anyway? It didn't feel right. The process I'd used on the drone had created solid changes, and a massive upgrade in capability, but the nanites were locked into that form now, so if I made, I don't know, a jet backpack, it'd be a one-use thing.
So no.
I couldn't go leaving high tech all over the place, after all.
Override was tempting, seriously so. I used HACK a lot, so I kept that as
an option, moving on.
Commando . . . no. I liked it, but again it came with the impression that it
was simply a few steps down the road I was already walking with my Infiltration and Assassin options.
Emergency Wipe, though? I got the impression that was an expensive process, but . . .
I nodded to myself, accepting it and hissing in pain as the knowledge unpacked into my brain, letting me know that yes, it was horrifically
expensive, fifty-percent losses were considered "good," but . . . but it meant I could cleanse corrupted nanites instantly. When I had the time to do it the normal way? Yeah, fine, I'd do that, but in an emergency? This was literally a lifesaver.
I turned to Ingrid as she moved closer, looking at me in concern as I winced, then forced a smile.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"Just a side effect of the nanites," I explained unhelpfully. "It's not important. What matters is that it's dead, and now . . ."
I reached out, tentacles flowing around to pick up the pair of engraved shields, the jade-inlaid, carved silver chest and its lid. I lifted all four around and offered them to her, holding them out as she stared in wonder at them.
"These are . . ." she whispered, reaching out and touching them. "They're beautiful."
"You're beautiful—these are just old," I corrected her, looking at her as she sniffed and touched her hair self-consciously.
She was filthy, literally. She had dried blood and more covering her— dirt, filth, dried dust, and . . . fluids . . . from the corpses had all combined to stain her clothing, but still, even with in this state, with her hair half undone from its braid, she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen.
"I need to examine these," she whispered.
"The taverna," I said calmly. "I need to sort the bodies anyway, and you need somewhere to sit and examine these."
"And . . . the dogs?" she asked with a wince.
"They've been raised on fighting and fed human flesh," I said gently. "I'll take care of them."
"I wish—" she said, cutting off and nodding. "I understand."
"I hate it, too," I admitted. "But they'll have been trained to kill. If they were 'tamed' and ended up attacking a child? Killing them? I don't want that on my conscience."
"Me neither," she admitted, clearly as sad as I was about what we both knew had to be done.
We moved quickly then, me carrying the shields and box, her carrying the drone, and we entered the taverna, getting out of sight before anyone passing by on the main roads further down the hill could see us.
As soon as I entered the taverna, I gagged.
Ingrid had been in and out of it, and she managed to ignore the smell, but this was the first time for me since I'd killed them all, and I winced.
There was blood everywhere; the bodies were . . . they were a mess, and the smell, not to mention the flies?
It was disgusting.
"I . . . I'd rather sit outside if I can?" she asked. I nodded, stepping out to set the chest down for her, then the shields, and vanishing back inside to bring out the cleanest table and a pair of chairs.
Then it was a bottle of cold beer and a handful of packets of crisps set out for her, and I was closing the door behind me, depositing the drone next to an electrical outlet and nodding as it formed a nanite chain to the wall, starting to charge itself. I paused as I surveyed the room.
Ingrid was already deeply engrossed out there, and I was nearly fully healed, so I collected the bodies as closely together as I could and went to work, stripping them of anything I could use, all the way down to a cellular level, and absorbing it.
That alone took another hour, an hour where I started to hear the sound of cars and trucks rumbling past, and I worried constantly that someone would come wandering in.
Fortunately, either people avoided the place, or they just didn't want to come in yet. By the time I was done, I essentially had a mass of grey . . . crap in place of the bodies.
That was the best way to describe it.
It looked like a mix of porridge that had gone off and the kind of a fungus that lived in damp, dark places.
I formed a scoop of nanites, and started collecting it together, pouring it into a garbage disposal in the kitchen and grinning when it was readily processed and washed away.
That done, I moved back out to the main room and started on the blood. I'd been planning on using the mop and bucket, which was going to suck, but . . .
I remembered the nanites processing my blood, when I'd had it on my chest and more. The nanites had absorbed it somehow, and with a thought, the little darlings stretched free of me, sucking it up and refining it down.
I didn't want werewolf blood in me, so instead, the nanites collected it and separated the water from it, forming a tiny block of refined cellular
mass, that in turn was shredded to dust and discarded, even as the purified water was poured down the sink.
Two hours after I'd started, the room was filthy, but clean in that it no longer resembled a battlefield; now it just looked like a taverna in dire need of cleaning.
I moved out the back door, entering the area set aside for the dogs, hearing them go insane when they saw me.
There were dozens of them, and not a single one appeared scared or cautious.
Instead, they attacked their cages, frantically trying to get at me. It was as I'd expected, and as I approached the nearest ones, I sensed the nanites in them.
They'd been fed human meat, and the nanites had spread through them, altering them in small ways, making them stronger, as well as more vicious. I focused, standing firm on my own feet, now fully healed, and two, then
four, then eight tentacles shot out, punching through the gaps in the cages and ending the lives of the corrupted beasts around me.
I stripped them the same way as the bodies inside, breaking them down into a cellular mess, harvesting the nanites and the pure fragments of them I could use.
It was disgusting, yet . . . I felt amazing by the end.
It was as if I'd been turbo charged. My body felt like I'd spent a year eating exactly what I should, getting a proper night's sleep, and exercising. Hell, I felt perfect.
It was like the way all the adverts always portrayed we would feel, if we just spent all our money on their shite instead of whatever their competitor was selling, like I'd suddenly be able to rollerblade or some crap.
I moved through the kennels, absorbing all the animals, as well as the rotting remains of the bodies they'd been using to feed them, finding another half-dozen bodies laid inside a cold room, stacked like cordwood.
I checked their IDs, seeing that they were all tourists, and that they'd been killed by a single blow to the backs of their heads, cold and surgical.
I put the IDs back, using a thin blade to remove all the nanites from the dead, but beyond that leaving them alone.
Yes, it'd be easier if I disposed of the bodies, but unlike the werewolf fuckheads, these people had done nothing wrong, and their families deserved to know what happened to them.
I moved through the building, pausing and stripping out the money that was in the till and safe, making it look like they'd been robbed, then moving to sit next to Ingrid.
She looked up at me, and paused, her face white with shock.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"The thing you fought," she said slowly. "It was old . . . like insanely
old." "Okay."
"No. I mean these shields, they tell a story. The Minoans, the people who lived here"—I nodded to her—"They were the guards for it. Hell, their entire empire? It was dedicated to hunting these things down. They weren't dictators or conquerors . . . they were heroes!"
She gestured to a section on the shield.
"Look here," she demanded, pointing out a carving that showed three hoplites in full armor, or something like it. Across from them was the traditional minotaur standing over a body and looking fearsome. "They weren't telling us stories that were meant to carry lessons, like that you shouldn't be greedy or judge others, and all that rubbish people think!"
I glanced at her, seeing the animated and amazed gaze, and I couldn't help but stare.
"They were telling us about the things they were fighting! They were praising their warriors and more! You know what that means?"
I shook my head, and she went on breathlessly.
"It means we've been looking at it all wrong! If there are things like werewolves here, now? And that creature you fought? The 'Drak'nb'aut'—"
"Reta variant," I added, and she glanced at me, her line of thought derailed.
"What?"
"It was named a Reta variant," I told her. "Part of the nanite integration is that it brings up details on the creatures I see, like the lycanthropes; that's how I knew that sunlight and silver were deadly to it. Iron as well, but that's not important."
"They tell you that?" she asked carefully.
"It's more like a popup, you know, like when you used to surf for porn, and you'd get all those ads?"
"Not really, but go on."
"Oh really, because you never watched porn?" I asked her with a grin, seeing her cheeks coloring a little as I struck a nerve.
"No, I like porn, good porn anyway, not the violent stuff," she clarified. "Although a gentleman wouldn't have suggested that. I meant that I have popup blockers, you know, like anyone with a brain."
"Touché," I muttered. "Anyway, go on, but yes, the nanites give me information."
"We'll talk about that later," she said slowly, eyeing me carefully before going on. "So, the Reta variant or whatever, they fought them. They captured this one, and they were charged to keep it safe. They didn't want to kill it—it was kept as . . . as a kind of doomsday weapon. They had it in case of something they were afraid of . . . like a nuke today, we have them as deterrents. They had this."
"And I killed it," I said slowly. "Fuck."
"Yes, but that's not important. Well, it is, but don't you see?"
"Not really."
"It means that the ancient Greeks weren't telling us tales!" she said,
jabbing a finger towards the carvings, and specifically the one in the center. One of an island surrounded by concentric rings and canals. "Atlantis . . . it was real!"
"Yeah, that's a bit of a leap for me," I said, shaking my head. "Look, surely we'd have found evidence by now? People have been looking for how long?"
"Thousands of years," she admitted. "Plato said it was destroyed nine thousand six hundred years before his time, and he was talking in, ummm, 360 BC?" She winced a little, clearly running the numbers before going on. "So we know it's not going to be too accurate, but if the timescales are even slightly accurate? Eleven to thirteen thousand years ago, there was a massive island that essentially was the base of all modern civilizations."
"Yeah."
"Or—"
"Or?"
"Or . . . Plato was bonkers, at least a bit. Thera exploded three thousand years ago. And that wiped out most of the local area, as well as destroying the Minoan culture. If the Minoans were as good at monster killing as they seem to have been? They might have wiped most of them out, leaving only
a few for the ancient Greeks to do later on. Then the loss of the Minoans' records makes it look like they're made up stories."
"What about the bodies of the monsters?" I asked.
"Well, either we've just not seen them, or not recognized them. I mean, most museums have storage areas packed full of bones that they can't identify, so some of them at least will be there, and . . ."
"And?"
"Well, a lot of cultures believe that eating bits from powerful animals makes them stronger, and ground up bones make tea."
"Tiger's pecker ground up, if yours stops working," I muttered, remembering a program I'd watched on eastern medicine. "Bonkers shite like that."
"Exactly." She stood, looking back up the hill. "You said there's more up there?"
"Yeah," I admitted, standing slowly and looking around. "I suppose there's no need to hang around here."
"Then let's go!" she demanded, bouncing to her feet and trying to gather everything together. I moved in and helped her, picking things up and pausing as she grabbed the bag and the various gems and jewelry, before walking back across with her.
We left the drone charging, as well as one of the phones, needing the damn light on the other for Ingrid.
Once back inside, she ran from corner to corner, unable to help herself as she found more and more details, racing to take photos, to make notes. Hours passed as I sat there, watching her, before the battery died on her phone. I picked her up, carrying her in a princess carry across my chest, walking back out and down to the taverna.
It was late afternoon by now, and she plugged her phone in, cursing as she was forced to wait for it, needing access to her notes.
"Steve," she said suddenly, as a thought occurred to her.
"Yeah?" I asked, having been busily examining the WAR and Hack skill trees, passing the time.
"You know that money . . . could . . . could I borrow some?" she asked slowly, clearly not wanting to ask.
"You can have it, no need to borrow," I said, smiling. "I get it from these fuckers after all, and in the taverna? They had a few thousand in the safe."
"Can I have that?"
"Sure," I agreed, shrugging and reaching into a pocket.
"But, rather than giving it to me—"
"Yeah?"
"Could you go and buy me a tablet? Or two? And some lights?" she
asked, smiling hopefully.
"Uh, yeah, okay, no worries, we can go to the—"
"No, I mean can you go and get them?" she repeated. "Leave me here. I
can work still, and—"
I shook my head. "No chance."
"But—"
"No," I repeated. "You remember what I had to fight? There'll be more
out there. Fuck knows where, but I already cleaned out two sites. Well, cleaned some of them. There's no way I'm leaving you here to be taken. As long as you're inside here, I'm with you."
"But—"
"We'll need to leave soon to go and meet your friend from the airport, anyway," I reminded her. "We can leave in an hour, no more. I'll use the drone to make sure the rest of the complex is clear as well."
"I know, but—"
"No, seriously, Ingrid. Until you make the discovery public, I'm not leaving you here alone. And when you do? The only reason I'll back off then is because the government will go nuts to protect it, and they'll make sure no fucker comes near."
"I know," she admitted. "It's just . . . you really don't understand! This is like every archaeologist's wet dream! This is the kind of discovery that changes all we knew, all we think we've ever known."
"It'll get you in the history books," I agreed, smiling.
"Well, yeah, but . . . you don't understand what it means. Yeah, we all want to have our name known, but . . . it's the knowledge."
It took two hours, all told, by the time the phone had charged enough and the drone had been sent off mapping the site, before I managed to get Ingrid back onto my bike, and even then it was only with the greatest of effort, including, at the end, physically picking her up and carrying her out, while I promised that everything would be safe.
I'd made her leave the majority of the jewelry behind as well as the shields and chest, almost reducing her to tears of frustration as she worried over the possibility of looters.
We made it outside, and I set her down before forming a great scoop from my nanites and beginning to dig.
Ten minutes was all it took to entirely cover the entrance, and by the end of it, she was finally reassured. Yes, it was obvious that the ground had been disturbed, but that was fine, because then when we uncovered it again, it could be claimed that she'd dug it up.
We bought tablets—after the store security cameras were hacked remotely—and then, much to her relief, we hired a car.
It was a decent one, a BMW X4, all the trimmings, and even I had to admit that as much as I'd rather be riding my bike most of the time, the damn car was nice.
We also bought some clean clothes, considering that I'd lost all my clothes from the waist down and had been reduced to wearing some random pants I'd found on the floor in the taverna, and Ingrid was filthy.
The store had looked at us like we were there to rob the place, until I pulled a wedge of cash out that was considerably thicker than the till could hold.
After seeing that? All minor inconveniences were forgotten. They even promised to "dispose" of the old clothes . . . probably with fire.
Three hours later, and we were barely in time, pulling up at the airport as her friend's flight landed, his plane literally passing directly overhead as we pulled up.
"What's the flight?" I asked her, as she scanned through the details he'd sent her.
"Ummm, DDL-2471," she read off, and I nodded, closing my eyes, as I swept out with my abilities.
The airport encryption was massively more complex than anything I'd come up against before. The geometry was a dozen sides on three connected spheres, spinning like a motor ran them at speed. It took nearly seven seconds, but had I been able to touch the system? It'd have been far less.
I moved inside, slowly examining systems, discarding them as I found matches and missing bits. Ten minutes of silence in the car, and then Ingrid spoke.
"I . . . checked the internet. He just landed, and he's texting me. He's waiting to get off the plane now."
I opened my eyes, staring up at the roof as I reminded myself that just because I could hack anything didn't mean there was a goddamn need.
"I'm going to go get him. Is that okay?" she asked.
I nodded, settling back, and berating myself as she quietly closed the door.
"What an idiot," I muttered to myself, closing my eyes and, knowing how efficient airports were, I settled back for a nap.
Chapter Thirty-One
It was nearly an hour later, I noted with a glance at the steady twinkle of the neon sign in the distance, when Ingrid finally approached. She'd clearly taken advantage of the facilities at some point. While she'd cleaned herself up before we left the taverna, she now had her hair back in a neat braid, and even had makeup on again, which I had to assume she'd bought inside.
The man with her . . .
When she'd said he was one of the most respected archeologists in Denmark, I'd had a vision of an older man, probably distinguished, a long white beard, maybe looking like a fucking wizard.
I certainly hadn't expected the stunning beauty that was Ingrid to be an archeologist and appraiser for a museum, so maybe I should've rethought what I had in my head for the profession?
He was closer to a young Indiana than a wizard, but that wasn't right either. He'd fit right in with the party crowd either way. Sporting a shaven head, goatee, and a wide grin, he walked up to the corner of the car and nodded to me.
Ingrid popped the locks with her key, and he lifted his suitcase into the boot before climbing into the back, sitting behind Ingrid and offering his hand.
"Lars Machmüller."
I shook his hand. "Steve."
"So, Steve, I hear you made some impressive discoveries, and now
you're a wanted man?"
"Something like that," I admitted as Ingrid twisted around, her seat belt
clicking into place as she smiled back at him.
"Thank you, Lars. Seriously, you've no idea what it means to me to have
you here."
"I'll always help you, Inga, you know that! Of course I was going to
come!"
"You trained with her?" I asked him, remembering a part of the
conversation from the drive over, glancing from one to the other.
"We were at university together, and I was failing," she admitted. "I just couldn't seem to get the dates and connections to work, and then in walks
Lars. We all knew him; everyone on campus knew him, of course. You don't get many like him in the field."
"I'm sure," I muttered, trying not to glare at him.
"Ah, Inga is too kind!" he said, sitting back and grinning. "It was simple; she was burnt out! There she is, spending all day and all night in this tiny, stuffy office. Constantly reading and making notes about the pharaonic succession, mixing up Akhenaten and Amenhotep the Third, which is so easy to do!"
"Oh, of course." I couldn't help but dislike him more and more as he spoke.
"And all that was wrong is that she was working too hard! You can't spend all that time in the museum, or the offices, and expect to learn!"
"He took me to Egypt for half-term. A week exploring the sites, and by the time we got back, I knew I'd never forget any of it."
"Kind of him," I said, keeping my tone even.
"Ah, money is . . . it's not important." He waved it off. "And besides, I had a wonderful time."
"I bet you did," I ground out.
Ingrid paused, then turned to me, grinning.
"He did, and so did I. After all, he was dating my best friend!"
"He . . . what?"
"We weren't together that long," Lars said with a fond smile. "Ah, but
what a romance! She knew how to party, that girl!"
"We never dated," Ingrid said firmly. "Lars is into dark hair, and slimmer
girls than me, and I . . . well, I have my type as well"
She shyly reached out and took my hand in hers.
"Not that you're not beautiful, Inga, but, you know," he said shrugging,
then grinning at me. "You thought we were an item? Ah, and me taking her away." He laughed, sitting forwards and clapping me on the shoulder. "Don't worry, my friend! I'm not here to steal her from you. My wife would murder me!"
"He ended up marrying one of our other friends," Ingrid pointed out. I nodded, suddenly feeling a whole lot better about the guy.
"We've been friends for what? Five, six years?"
Ingrid nodded, looking up at me shyly and squeezing my hand, clearly pleased by the obvious relief I'd had at him and her not being . . . not having . . .
"Still human, then," she whispered.
I grunted as he leaned forwards, shuffling to sit in the gap between our seats and smiling.
"So, when we spoke, you failed to mention this," he said reaching forward and putting one hand over ours. "Obviously, I'll need to vet him, make sure he's good enough for our Inga."
Lars shook her gently by the shoulder, all smiles as I pulled out of the carpark, heading onto the slip-road for the motorway.
I relaxed as soon as we were on there, enjoying the best thing about this car; it was an automatic.
I was used to having the gears to change, but not having a gear stick meant that her slender, warm hand filled mine, and there was no need to let go.
It was damn nice, considering that only a short while ago, I thought she was gone and hated me. Now she was holding my hand and smiling up at me.
"So, tell me everything!" Lars said with a smile.
"Oh! It's wonderful, Lars, the pictures I sent you—" She started to say, only to be cut off as he started to laugh, shaking his head.
"No, no, no!" he said, grabbing both our shoulders and shaking us slightly. "This! The archaeology can wait. I mean, they've all been dead millennia; they can wait an hour. You never let me meet the men in your life. In fact, you never have them, a fling here and there, never enough to keep you interested . . . but this one?" Lars looked at me and grinned. "He's built like Thor! No wonder you chose him. He finds you artifacts from lost civilizations and fights looters? I love him already!"
I found myself grinning despite myself. The bugger was just . . . he was so damn cheerful, so irrepressible, and . . .
"He's . . . different," Ingrid said, shaking her head. "You have no idea how much."
"I don't think I want to!" he said, smiling. "No offense to you, my friend, but I don't swing that way."
"Don't worry, you're not my type," I assured him, getting a grin.
"So, come on, tell me all!"
For the next hour and a half, as we negotiated traffic and crossed the
island, Ingrid told him a highly sanitized version of our story, getting the
torc out and handing it over to him before undoing her seatbelt and climbing into the back to discuss the details in Danish with him.
I tried listening to the words, and found to my great surprise, that they weren't as unintelligible as I'd expected. I already spoke a little German, Spanish, and more. As I listened, focusing on their words, I pulled up a translation app through the phone link, and started to eavesdrop, my innate paranoia making it too difficult not to.
By the time we reached the hotel, having agreed to return to the one we'd first spent the night together in, simply to collect our things, then to move to the taverna the next day, I was ready to surprise them both.
We pulled up, the lights of the local bars and tavernas glowing in a thousand shades of neon to greet our return. I got out, opening the door for Ingrid, then picking Lars's case out of the boot.
"I can get it," he offered, smiling.
"Intet problem," I said simply, as though it was nothing.
"I . . . you speak Dansk?"
"Jeg taler en smule Dansk," I said, literally saying "I speak a little
Danish."
"I'm impressed!" he said, clapping me on the shoulder and jumping up to
the sidewalk, grinning at the shocked look on Ingrid's face. "And I'm guessing you recently learned it?" he asked me, getting only a wink in return. "I love him!"
He laughed, turning as the manager walked out to greet us, Val recognizing Ingrid and myself straight away.
"My friends, have you brought me more business?" Val asked.
I nodded. "Just for the night, then we need to move on. But yes, and we need feeding up as well!" I told him, taking Ingrid's hand as she reached out to me.
"You learned Danish?" she asked me. "How much, and . . . why?"
"I wanted to surprise you."
"You heard us speaking it, and wanted to know what we were saying?"
she guessed shrewdly.
I winced. "In part, then when I realized I could understand, I set to
learning properly," I told her, all in Danish. "I thought you might prefer to talk in your language sometimes."
"I speak perfectly good English, and I like speaking it with you," she said, then kissed me. "But thank you for the thought."
We moved inside, the other two taking seats at a table, as I approached the counter with Val.
"You're leaving us already?" he asked.
I smiled. "Yeah, sorry. She fell in love with the area around the Minoan palace, thinks she might be able to find some artifacts nearby. I'd be happy to stay here, but . . . it's a long drive."
"A shame, my friend," Val said sadly. "Well, do you want a refund in cash or to a card for the outstanding—"
"No, keep it," I said simply.
"What?"
"I need a room for her friend, and we're going to need a good dinner,
and . . . that champagne?" I asked him, winking.
"Even with all of that . . ."
"It's fine. Call it a fee for the short notice," I said, gripping his shoulder.
"Believe me, your advice helped with her, and that's something I'll forever owe you for."
"Well, thank you," he said, smiling, before waving me over to the table, and picking up a bottle of Metaxa and following, pouring us all shots.
We ordered food and drinks, then separated off, Lars was led to a room on the second floor by a staff member, while Val led the way to our room on the third floor.
All the way, he asked about our day, about our time on the island, and commented on how good we were together, as Ingrid reached out and took my hand again, smiling at me.
At the door to the room, he unlocked it and stepped back, letting us enter ahead of him . . . and damn, had he delivered.
The room was beautiful, clearly one he'd had done for special occasions. All the fittings screamed that they were that extra level of special. The marble, the silk—the seats around the small table were real leather, rather than the cheap plastic version you usually found in hotels, and a pair of swans made from towels were arranged on the bed, as if kissing, with rose petals sprinkled around.
He followed us in, smiling as I reached out to grip his shoulder in thanks.
"I'll leave you to get settled, then," he said with a smile. "Remember, twenty minutes or so before your dinner, that's all."
With that oh-so-subtle reminder, he left, the door clicking shut behind him as Ingrid turned to me, shaking her head in disbelief.
"This is beautiful," she whispered.
"No, you're beautiful. This is just a room," I corrected before snorting and nodding. "But yeah, he's outdone himself, I'll admit."
"I need a shower," she said, stepping in close to me and looking up into my eyes. "And so do you . . ."
"Twenty minutes?" I reminded her.
"The food can get cold," she declared very firmly, before turning her back and walking towards the bathroom, tugging her top off over her head. I admired the view for a handful of seconds before bolting for the door.
I pulled it open, just as the doors started to close on the elevator at the end of the hall.
"Val!" I shouted.
He grabbed the doors, stopping them, then stepped forwards, frowning, clearly wondering what he'd forgotten. "Delay the food!" I called to him, grinning.
He frowned, opening his mouth as if to question, then grinned and laughed, waving a hand at me to say he'd understood me, before pressing for the doors to close again.
I grinned and backed into the room, closing and locking the door, looking across to see one hand appear through the doorway to the bathroom, and the underwear it threw clear.
I strode forward, unable to keep from grinning, T-shirt coming off over my head, then hopping on one foot as I tore my shoes off.
I reached her as she stepped into the shower, shaking her head and sighing in relief.
The bathroom was one with a wet room, meaning instead of a shower over a bath, it was a fully separate unit, behind a sheet of glass, a dozen heads and a seating area inside.
It was great, probably the most luxurious bathroom I'd ever been in, and I only had eyes for the stunningly beautiful blonde who stood naked inside it.
The water was already pounding its way down her perfect figure, and I paused inside the doorway, admiring the view.
She ran her fingers through her braid, unweaving it all and shaking it free with a contented sigh, before turning and looking at me.
I stood just inside the door, top and shoes off, jeans bulging, watching her, amazed that she still wanted anything to do with me.
"Get in here," she called.
"Yes, ma'am!" I answered, stripping the rest of my clothes off and throwing them out of the room, pulling the door closed and striding around the glass to face her.
Ingrid leaned back against the wall, the water cascading down her pale skin, her blonde hair plastered to her, and she smiled, rubbing her face and flicking the water at me with one hand.
"So . . . want to get clean, or . . ."
"Definitely dirty." I grinned, stepping in close and wrapping my arms around her as she wrapped hers around my neck and reached up hungrily for a kiss.
"We can get clean after," she whispered, kissing me and pressing in closer, "but remember, we don't have long."
"I told Val to hold the food," I said, kissing her, and she grinned, her lips twitching against my own.
"We still don't have long," she pointed out. "We can play again properly later, but for now?"
"Yeah?"
"You're wasting time," she finished, biting my lip gently.
I let out an animalistic growl unthinkingly and lifted her in my arms,
bracing her against the wall, and we became one.
It was a while later when we rejoined Lars at the table, finding Val had
already served him and was drinking with him, clearly acting the good host until we arrived, and when we did . . .
"Well, look who finally deigned to return!" Lars called with a smile, standing and taking Ingrid's hands. He went to kiss her cheek, then paused. "Is this clean enough to kiss?" he asked facetiously, reaching up and tilting her face to make sure and getting a backhanded slap against his chest in reproach.
He burst out laughing and sat, pouring us both drinks from the bottle that Val had left as he went to tell the kitchen we were ready and he eyed us knowingly.
"Well, I won't ask what kept you, but come on, then. Tell me everything!"
"Really, you want a blow-by-blow—" I started to joke, and Ingrid bumped me with her shoulder to shut me up.
"He means about you and the . . . issues . . . around the discovery," she pointed out.
"So did I," I protested. "Honestly, you and your dirty mind!"
That got a laugh from Lars as he set the drinks before us and gestured with his own glass. "Come on, then! Drink up, and get explaining!"
I took my shot, raising it and nodding to the pair before knocking it back and pouring us all another, all three of us wincing at the harsh, unrefined drink.
"What is this?" Ingrid asked, looking at the bottle.
"Jet fuel," I joked and shook my head as Lars started to tell a story about an embargoed flight group in the Second World War that apparently actually used booze as fuel. I nodded and listened, smiling as I thought and wondered how much to tell him.
I stretched out my senses to him, checking, and found only the normal number of nanites, all inactive, then reached out to his phone, breaking the encryption easily and diving into it.
It was a little more than a year old, tens of thousands of messages on it, and I started sorting them, searching for terms like Arisen, unusual, unique, and so on, finding that these terms were far more common than I expected in the personal correspondence of archeologists.
We enjoyed the drinks and food, with me putting off any discussion about me at all, allowing only the artifacts as I continued to search.
"You've not said much," Lars said eventually to me, sitting back in his chair and taking a long drink from his rum. "Have I offended you with something?"
I glanced at Ingrid, who nodded encouragingly, taking my hand and squeezing it. "You can trust him . . . I promise."
"No, you've not offended me," I said with a sigh, picking my second plate up and stacking it atop the others at the end of the table.
"I'm glad. Anyone who can eat half a cow in one sitting is scary enough —you might cook and eat me next," he joked, referring to the two forty- ounce T-bone steaks I'd eaten.
"He needs to get his strength back, that's all," Ingrid whispered, looking at me.
"Wow, I mean, I always knew you to put your whole effort into everything you do, Inga, but he's a big guy. You broke him that badly?" Lars joked.
She blushed, eyes flashing a mild warning. "That wasn't what I meant, you dirty—"
"It's fine," I said, smiling. "No, Lars, you didn't offend me. Don't worry. I was just busy, that's all."
"With the meal? Or listening in wonder to my tales? I mean, I'm good, I know, but . . ."
"No," I said simply, pouring myself another glass of rum, Val having dropped the bottle off earlier when Ingrid complained about the Metaxa. "I was hacking your phone and searching for any data that you were sent as a trap."
"I . . . what?" Lars asked, pausing and trying to make sense of what I'd said. I waved my hand at him, and his phone beeped, making him frown as he pulled it out, reading the unknown number that had just sent him a message.
It's okay, you passed.
"And . . . and this is you?" he asked me, showing us both the text.
Yes.
"Okay, now I'm impressed." He set the phone down on the table between us. "No phone in sight, and the watch isn't data capable, I'd bet."
"No, it's my grandfather's," I agreed.
"So you hacked an encrypted phone . . . care to tell me how?" he asked, suddenly all business. for the first time, I glimpsed the razor-sharp mind behind the happy-go-lucky façade that he showed normally.
"I have a few capabilities that are unique," I said to him, as Ingrid sat forward.
"Thank you for trusting him," she whispered to me before turning to him. "So, looking at the past, at . . . well, everything. What would you say if I told you that all the descriptions of monsters in the past, in Greece at least, weren't allegorical?
"What if I told you that the monsters were real? And that the reason there's so many of them in tales is because our ancestors fought them for real? What if I told you that some of these creatures were still out there?"
"I'd ask to see your proof," Lars said simply. "You know me, Inga. I'd love to find something that turned the world on its head, just to find out
how much more there was to discover, but that . . . that would need to be significant proof."
"Perhaps you should come to our room," I said slowly.
"So you can show me your monster?" Lars joked. "I'm flattered, but again, I'm married and—"
"Believe me," Ingrid said, smiling. "You're in for a world-changing experience."
"That's similar to what I told my wife the first time," Lars muttered, standing as we did. "And as she said 'please, be gentle.'"
I grinned at him, feeling my adrenaline building as I grew more and more nervous about actually showing him what I was about to.
I trusted Ingrid. Hell, she'd seen me, the real me, and I'd told her plenty of my secrets now, even if not all of them . . . but between the two of them? If I could trust them both, and they kept my secret, then I would have two people I could trust to find me more monster nests. I would have a pair who could dispose of the random artifacts and more I'd find around the world.
Hell, I could clear out sites and have them come in and work out what the hell was going on! I didn't have to find all the answers myself, and just . . . just not being the only one who knew all of this would be awesome enough.
Add to that, well, Ingrid was on holiday here. She was here for another week, then that was it. She'd be gone, and I'd be alone again.
If I could be sure I could trust them both in that time, at least I'd not have to fear what might happen if I reached out to them in the future.
Val waved us off as we headed for the lift, shaking his head when I asked him about the bill, and I nodded to him in thanks.
"I wish this place was closer to the site," Ingrid whispered to me. I nodded, wrapping my arm around her shoulders as the lift started up, the sinking feeling making me smile as we climbed before the weightless shift let me know we were on our floor.
Ingrid led the way, with Lars following silently behind me. I took a deep breath, asking myself for the hundredth time if this was really a good idea.
We reached our room and slipped inside, with Ingrid grabbing glasses and pouring us each a drink from the bottle of rum, then steering Lars to a seat at the small table as I stepped into the middle of the room. She tugged the curtains closed while I scanned the room for any recording or transmitting devices, thankfully finding none.
"Okay, you're keeping your pants on for this, right?" Lars quipped.
"I will," I agreed with a grin. "Ingrid, the apple," I suggested, and she looked at the small fruit bowl on the table, lifting a ripe green apple out and holding it up in question. I nodded and she passed it to Lars.
"Is it intact?" I asked him. "A real apple, I mean?"
"Seems it," he said rolling it over in his hands. He buffed it on his top and took a bite, nodding as he chewed. "Sweet."
"Throw it at me," I said simply, lifting my right hand and flexing the fingers.
"Okay," he agreed, bouncing it on his palm then underarm tossing it at me. "I don't see how this will prove the existence of mon—"
He broke off, jerking upright as I extruded the Harvest Blade and hacked the apple into two roughly equal chunks in midair, only to have them caught by a pair of flexing tentacles that slid out of my forearm.
"What the shitting fuck!"
He gasped as the blade flowed back into my arm, and the tentacles flowed out, lengthening, to deposit one chunk of apple into Ingrid's outstretched hand and to offer the other half to Lars.
"So," Ingrid said, sitting back and taking a small bite out of the apple, "turns out we as humans have nanites in us, and we always have had, is that right?" she asked me.
I nodded, tugging my top off and sitting with the pair of them, shifting the tentacles around and holding one out next to both of them, so they could examine them. Ingrid touched hers first, smiling as she ran her fingers over it, and Lars hesitantly did the same.
"They're warm." He commented.
I shrugged. "They've been inside me."
"I so need more to drink to deal with this..." He muttered, knocking his
drink back, wincing as the good rum burned, then pulling out a notebook and pen, flicking to a clean page and starting to make notes. "...Okay, so nanites."
"Yeah." I said slowly. "This isn't for sharing, mate."
"No, and you can tear it up in the morning if you want. We can agree what can be shared. But for tonight, I've drank a lot of rum and some of that awful Metaxa, so I need to make notes, or I'll wake up thinking this was all a dream. Now, nanites..."
"They're in all humans, as near as I can tell. Small numbers, but they've been there forever."
"And where did they come from?"
"I... I'm not sure."
"I let that one go earlier, because you weren't in a fit state to talk about
it..." Ingrid said firmly. "But you do know... or you suspect?"
"Fuck." I muttered, having not wanted to share that.
"Come on my friend, half measures get us nowhere, considering what
you showed us already, how much worse can it be?" Lars suggested, his pen flowing across the page.
"Ah... oh fuck it. Okay, Humans are an artificially raised-up biological weapon. We were designed and designated as 'Biological Weapon Variant,' then we have an individual number, one that's unique to each of us. Something happened, and the facility that was in use to do all of this was damaged." I paused, then blew out a deep breath. "It refers to itself as 'Facility Six-B', and it's old. Like insanely old, and buried. I'm not telling you what and where it is, not because I don't trust you... but because I can see that damn gleam in your eyes." I said looking at them both. "I barely survived my time there, and believe me, I'll have nightmares for the rest of my life from the shit that was done to me inside. There are security systems that are still active, and they'd kill you."
"Okay..." Lars said after a few seconds of silence had passed. "So it could be worse..."
"We're... weapons?" Ingrid asked slowly.
"Some of us." I admitted. "Others are identified as 'Support Class,' essentially people who do the gathering and homebuilding, while the hunters and soldiers work."
"I'm a 'Support Class'?" She asked.
"No Ingrid. You're a beautiful, intelligent, and caring woman who fills my mind and heart. Your ancestors ten thousand or more years ago were artificially uplifted from the local species and adjusted to be weapons or supporters of the weapons.
"Then something happened, honestly no clue what, but the experiment was abandoned, and we were left to find our own way. We as a species have the nanites inside us, all of us. They're a sort of enhancement system, one that we're expected to upgrade and adjust as we learn. They can be used to create simple shapes, like this..."
I lifted my right arm and formed a punch dagger, then a sword, then a crescent moon blade, then a hammer, before absorbing them again and putting my hand on the table.
"Or... they can be used to create more... permanent structures."
I reached out with a single tentacle, peeling the door to the balcony open and letting the drone fly in. It landed on the table gracefully and powered down.
"This started as a military grade drone that I stole. I upgraded it, and now..." The outer skin of the drone flickered and shifted, altering to mimic the surfaces all around it, bending the light to appear as if it wasn't there.
It was imperfect in the extreme... in the sky, it was fantastic. Sitting on the table in a hotel room? Yeah, it was shitty camouflage.
"I can upgrade them as I learn, becoming more... well, advanced." I said simply, as Ingrid reached out and took my left hand.
"And you said you were being hunted?" Lars said, and Ingrid nodded. "It's okay, you can tell us..." she whispered.
"There are others out there, like me." I whispered. "The more nanites I
absorb, the more powerful I become, and not just with the blades and these..." I flexed the tentacles, then absorbed them again.
"I could probably punch my way through these walls if I needed to, and I'm functionally immortal, as near as I can tell."
"Holy shit..." Lars whispered in Danish, scribbling away.
"Yeah, except, with my nanites I can choose to specialize, such as gaining abilities, or forming things like the drone, or..." I lifted my hands, Ingrid letting go, as I summoned my gauntlets, flexing my claws, then retracting them.
"Right..." Lars whispered, continuing to write. "...Helpful in winter, I imagine..."
"Probably." I snorted. "The thing is, the nanites are locked down, encrypted like you don't want to imagine, and they're programmed not to reproduce beyond the bare minimum required to provide you with a baseline set.
"I... look I'm telling you what I've managed to piece together, that's all, I could be wrong on a lot of this, but I'm not the only one out there like this. The others, they don't have access to the nanites, but they've essentially managed, somehow, to absorb more, or to have theirs reproduce over time."
"So, they what? They're stronger?" Lars asked.
"They are. They make me look like a toddler. I've met two, and one of them, if he decided to, could probably slaughter the entire island's population in a few hours, not to mention tear buildings like this down with his bare hands. He decided I was to be his pet and his latest recruit into a group of ancients like him.
"I ran, using a few tricks to escape, but he's looking for me, and if he finds me? He'll kill anyone that gets in the way." I looked from one to the other of them, making sure they understood. "If they come for me, you run. Nothing else."
"What was the other like?" Lars asked.
"A lot more welcoming. There are two factions of immortals, and there are not many in either. One group, as near as I can tell, has a plan for the future, and if we as a species need to be wiped out, or sterilized or raised up or whatever, to achieve it? They'll do it without a second thought.
"The other... well they're not much better either, they're a bit pissed about the world, and they're trying to decide if they should end it, or wipe the majority out, reducing us to a manageable level, and teach us 'our place.' Or possibly just party and relax, enjoying the chaos."
"Right... that's fairly terrifying." Lars admitted, eyebrows aloft. "And there's monsters? Real ones?"
"Yeah, think of all the tales of monsters throughout antiquity 'til now. They're basically all BWV... Biological Weapon Variants, like us, who've developed a rogue strain in their nanites. Or were unlocked as test subjects and left. Lycanthropes seem to be common. Vampires less so, and the vamps are fairly dangerous..."
"I met lycanthropes today." Ingrid added. "They attacked us when we went into a taverna that was apparently their territory."
"And...?"
"And Steve slaughtered them all. In seconds. There was another beast inside the site, one that had been there for... for how long?" She asked me, and I shrugged.
"A good few thousand years, five at least, didn't we think?"
"Well, it was like an octopus, but it..." She shook herself. "It was horrible, let's just leave it at that, and it nearly killed him. He managed to trap it again, after the werewolves let it out... then he killed it this morning."
"How did you kill it, and what was it called?"
"A 'Reta Variant' something that had been brought here for experiments... some of the details I saw for it mentioned them committing slaughters across the cosmos."
"The details you saw... where..."
"The nanites. They provide data."
"Right..." He paused, looking from me to Ingrid, and back again. "Look,
first of all, hell of a story..." He paused scratching the back of his neck. "I'm not sure if I just shouldn't have done that acid in Amsterdam, and it's finally caught up with me, making me hallucinate along with your story, or... or if it makes a terrifying kind of sense."
"The first would be a lot more reassuring." Ingrid agreed.
"So... why bring me in?" He asked.
I leaned back in my chair. "Truthfully, I had no intention of letting Ingrid
know the truth... I took her somewhere, thinking that I'd be able to let her see a little danger and get scared off. That way, she'd not go searching for the site I looted the stuff from that we've shown you so far."
"You don't know her very well..." He said with a wry smile, and she shook her head.
"Well, then we found more werewolves, and they weren't going to let us go, so..." I shrugged.
"He nearly succeeded in scaring me off when I saw what he could do, and what they were. Still, if I'd not had access to the drone, to see the fight he was in..." She shook her head and sat forward, leaning on crossed arms and ducking her head, stroking her braid with one hand absently.
"I was furious and terrified, thinking I'd met this amazing guy, and he'd lied to me, and that... everything was so different to what I was expecting... I ran, well, drove. I got a few miles or so away, and pulled over when I kept hearing noises. Pulled out the bag, and saw his phone and the feed from the drone."
"What was it?"
"He was fighting that Reta thing, and it was wrapped around him, eating him, literally tearing chunks free, and he was crawling across the floor, dragging it back so that he could trap it. He was ignoring it, letting it eat him alive, so that he could stop it from escaping..."
She sat upright, turning to me, and reached out, stroking my forearm and cheek before kissing me.
"It was the most terrifying thing I've ever seen, and you just kept going. When I realized you were literally dedicating your life to killing these things, that you could live forever, or... or that you might die in the dark there, and that I'd just driven off, leaving you to it?" She shook her head and swallowed hard, her face pale.
"I've never been more ashamed of myself in my life." She said. "You risked your life to protect me, gave me... you showed me secrets that opened my eyes to a whole new world, and I ran away, maybe leaving you to die in there. I thought about how I'd feel, and how hurt I'd be in your place, emotionally I mean. I can't imagine the physical pain... and I turned around. I realized that everything I was feeling for you, since meeting you, wasn't overshadowed by what you were and what you were doing. It just made you even more special."
"More mad, more like it." I grumbled, good-naturedly.
"I like it," she said, smiling as I covered her hand in mine.
"Well, as much as I highly approve of this..." Lars said gesturing back
and forth between Ingrid and me with the end of his pen. "... this is only the start of this."
"What do you mean?" I asked him.
"You said there's groups out there that are ancient?"
I nodded.
"And they're active, making sure that people don't find out things?" he
asked, and I nodded again.
"Okay, well, we need to consider the artifacts and the truth of the past as
well, then. First of all, are there any inscriptions or details that would make it clear the creatures exist?"
"Two shields," Ingrid said quickly. "There's a lot of carvings about—and on the box that had trapped the creature, but it was the shields that made it clear there was something wrong with the records. They show . . . they show Atlantis."
"Atlantis isn't real," Lars said reflexively before pausing, sighing, and rubbing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "Please tell me that was a joke, and that—"
"It looks like Atlantis," Ingrid said, showing him her phone and letting him zoom in and out.
"Fuck," he muttered. "Ten years, ten goddamn years I've been telling everyone it was bullshit, and now? This literally matches Plato's
description. The concentric rings, the canals. Shitting hell!"
"I've never seen someone so pissed that Atlantis existed," I said, smiling. "I spend at least three hours every week speaking to some moron,
responding to emails, or studying theories, that all come back to Atlantis and how it was the cradle of advanced civilization." He growled, standing and throwing his hands up, waving them as he started to walk, speaking animatedly.
"It's bullshit. It was clearly designed to be the perfect vehicle for cautionary tales, warnings that you should never mess with the Greeks, that Athens was wonderful. Hell, even Poseidon knew to not be greedy. That you should listen to your elders, eat your goddamn vegetables, and go to bed on time. FUCK!"
"What's wrong with him?" I asked Ingrid.
"He's fine. He basically spent the last few years tearing people a new arse when they tried to sell him on stories about Atlantis. Now he's wondering if he could have found it, if he'd paid attention."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Lars stormed back and forth in our room. "That's it!" he snapped finally, spinning around and pointing at me. "You, this is all your fault!"
"Uh—" I started to say, unsure, as he strode forwards.
"This is how it's going to work! Ingrid found the site, whatever it is, and I'll have flown in to help her. We'll get some retroactive permits to dig, explore, and all that shit. I'll dig up something that leads us to the site, then we'll make a big thing of the discovery, make it too big to quietly hide, make it too big in the media and in the government for them to hide it. We'll bring in other experts. Dana? No, she's a bitch. Kristoff, yeah, he owes me, and Davis . . . maybe Yani? And that Egyptian pair, what the hell're their names . . ."
He was muttering to himself, sitting down fast at the table and scribbling in his book.
"He gets like this. He's intense, I know," Ingrid whispered. "Lars!" "What?!" he growled, lifting his head and glaring at us.
"We can sort all of this tomorrow, okay?" she said. "First of all, we need
to show you the site."
"Yes! Yes, the site!" he agreed, pointing the pen at her. "We should go
now." He glanced at the drawn curtains, twitching them aside, then
growling in annoyance. "Fine, first thing in the morning, we need to go there."
"We will, but Lars?"
"Yes?"
"He had to kill werewolves to get us access to the site. There might be
more."
"Oh, well, did silver work?" he asked me, and I nodded. "Fine, we can
get some silver, I guess. No idea where from, though."
"You don't need to worry about that," I said, lifting my hand and forming
a blade.
"Is that silver? Wait, why does silver work?"
"No idea, and no this isn't, but it doesn't need to be. If I rip the nanites
from them, they don't recover from that."
"Oh, okay," Lars said, nodding as if that made perfect sense. "One last
thing, then I need to go, get a shower, get ready, all that crap." "Yeah?"
"Nanites. Can you awaken, or unlock or whatever, ours?" he asked, and I paused.
"I don't think so," I muttered.
"Can the facility?" he pressed.
"Yes, probably, but you don't want that."
"Don't we?" he asked. "If we could defend ourselves—"
"The first stage for the awakening was a full body strip," I said slowly. "Okay, well, Inga has a better body, so I'd imagine she can do it better
than me, but you know . . . if that's what floats your boat," he said with an attempt at a smile.
"Ha, yes and no. I'd love to see her strip—naked, I mean—and don't want to see you do it, but no. I mean a physical strip. As part of it, I had my flesh stripped down to the bone. As in cut off by blades. I was literally skinned alive. Muscles, tendons, all of it cut loose, and then I was rebuilt from the base layer up, organs upgraded and cleaned, everything."
There was silence in the room as I lifted my right and flexed my fingers.
"It was necessary. I was bleeding to death anyway, but the rebuild? It was horrific. I was kept conscious the entire time." I flexed my fingers, staring at them and remembering it. "They were like razor blades, but flexible. They started at my scalp, holding me in place, and cut away every layer individually. I couldn't close my eyes; they were peeled away. The eyelids,
I mean, and then the eyes were dug into by . . . well, by some kind of buzzsaw. They cut the eyeball away, then implanted sections inside, on the optical nerves. Others . . ."
I reached up and tapped the back of my neck, my hand falling away as Ingrid touched the skin there lightly, feeling the ridge of something implanted under the skin, hissing in horror.
"Other sections were larger, more solid. They needed to be implanted and tested." I lifted my right arm, and the ports opened, blood flowing from them as always. The nanotubes flowed out, flexing, then sliding back.
"My right arm was almost entirely replaced, and I still have to rebuild the bones, now that I've reached this stage in my 'rise,' I guess. The nanites are capable of doing it now, now that they've fully bonded with me, so they can do it without having to cut the old stuff away. They can simply convert them, but still. It'll be like having my bones replaced with boiling lead," I whispered, lost in the mix of memories and knowing what was to come.
"Why? Why would you do that?" Ingrid asked in a horrified whisper.
"I need the storage capacity," I said with a sad smile. "My nanites are good. Hell, they're amazing, but to be able to match the Old Ones, the Arisen that are out there? I can't take centuries to reach that level. I need to augment myself. And armor, well, that's one way of doing it," I admitted, lifting the gauntlets.
They flowed into existence, flexed, and flowed back into my skin again.
"But for me to make a full suit?" I whispered, reaching out and taking the rum, grasping the bottle by the neck and swigging directly, then sighing and going on. "I need millions more nanite clusters, and I need to store them when not in use. I can store them in me; I am now, but . . . not in the quantities I need, not and be human still."
"So . . . you need to replace your bones?" Ingrid asked.
"I'll begin tomorrow," I said firmly. "While you two explore the cavern and do . . . archaeology stuff, I'll start the process."
"Shit," Lars whispered. "I've changed my mind. I don't want to be like you."
"Nobody would," I said, before forcing a smile. "Anyway, doesn't matter! So . . . you going to fuck off back to your room so I can chase Ingrid around in here?"
"Really?" Ingrid asked me with a quirked eyebrow. "You think you're getting lucky tonight?"
"Well, if not, I'll chase myself around a bit, play hard to get, you know. A man has needs." I winked at her as she smacked my arm.
"You," she said, pointing at Lars. "Get out of here. Call your wife and give her my love as well as to the kids, and don't tell her anything about . . . well, you know."
"Yeah, say nothing, put nothing down on electronic devices," I said firmly.
"I won't," he said, nodding as we stood. "I'll tell her that you found some interesting things, and leave it at that."
"Good! Thank you for coming, Lars, and for, well, you know, being you," Ingrid said, smiling. "Now, get out. I'm going to chase this..." She gave my ass an appreciative smack. "...around the bedroom."
"Promises, promises," I muttered, looking down at her. "I'm totally running slow."
"How slow?" she asked, grinning as we followed Lars to the door. "Ummm, broken legs?" I offered, getting a laugh from her and Lars both. "Okay, okay! Have fun, you two. I'm going to call my wife, and
then . . . then I'm going to plan."
"Have fun," I told him, surprised after he hugged Ingrid, kissing her
cheek, then hugged me as well.
"No kisses for you," he declared. "You'll enjoy it too much."
Then he laughed and released me, heading down the corridor.
"He's nuts," I said to Ingrid after he'd disappeared around a corner.
She smiled, nodded, and closed the door, leaning with her back against it,
and crooked one finger at me.
I leaned in at her gesture for a kiss, got one, a long slow and deep kiss
that practically curled my toes . . . then a light slap on my cheek.
"That's for not telling me the truth," she whispered, and I winced, before being pushed back against the wall, enjoying another long, deep kiss as she undid my jeans. "And this," she whispered into my ear, "is for telling me
the truth."
And she slid my pants down, going to her knees before me.
"Oh, I'm glad I told you the truth," I whispered. "...And I like how 'hard
to get' you're playing!"
"Ummmm," was the only response, the vibration travelling along me,
and making me forget about anything else for the rest of the night.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The next morning, well . . .
I woke up to faint light streaming around the edges of the drawn curtains, the gentle hum of the aircon keeping the room to a manageable temperature, and the glorious feeling of Ingrid snoring, laid half sprawled across me.
I laid there for a while, awake and examining myself. Not in a "cup this, yup, all good" way, but reflecting on the changes that had been wrought lately, and the massive ones to come.
I woke now like I'd flicked a switch, unless I was utterly exhausted, or like yesterday, close to death, going from deep sleep to firing on all cylinders . . . and it was wonderful.
No more foggy head, no more desperately needing sleep. I examined that and realized that if I needed to, much like the way that my nanites could provide me with oxygen, I could probably go without sleep for days without any real side effects.
I was sleeping because I liked it, I realized. I was going to bed—well, I was going to bed for a totally different reason, but I was going to sleep afterwards because that's what you did on a night after a busy day, and especially after some great sex.
I was going to sleep because I was conditioned to it, I recognized, not because I really needed it. I resolved to work on that. I reached out, scanning through the hotel, searching for the Wi-Fi then following it, seeing it like an information super-highway, flowing along it, checking the various systems connected to it and finding Lars's phone in only a few minutes.
I searched it, checking the sites it'd been on since he left our room, and grinned, resolving to call him a filthy pervert in the morning. Hell, he knew porn sites I didn't, and that was saying something . . . but beyond reasonably standard filth and a call to his wife, he'd basically done some understandable searches on the area, and on history, as well as looking at some of the Atlantean myths . . . and that was it.
I was relieved. I'd been secretly worried when I woke that he might have reached out to someone, but no.
He was fast asleep still, or his phone was inactive anyway, as was his laptop. I searched through the rest of the hotel, looking for anything suspicious and finding nothing.
Next came a search of the land registry, or the Cretan version of it, finding that the area around the palace was held by the government and tourist boards, but that the taverna and the site we'd found was owned by some of the locals.
I pulled up a dozen details on the land, making sure I had the rights we'd need for all of it, then shot those details to my phone and went on.
I made a mental map of the site and of the catacombs I'd travelled before, comparing them and finding them to be similar, especially in shape. Then I started checking the dimensions of the cavern and comparing it to the Minoan Palace ruins out of curiosity.
The design was similar, and that led to another realization.
The Minoan people must have built this close to the palace for a reason. I mean, you wouldn't build it this close and just forget. "Oh, we've got a creature here that could end the world . . . hmmm, I bet that'd be a great place for the king to live, right there next door."
No, you'd build it either as far away as possible, or . . . or if you were a culture obsessed with strength and with slaughtering the worst that you could find out there, you'd bury it, and keep it as a doomsday weapon...
I started to search, and then I started to swear.
"What's wrong?" Ingrid whispered, lifting half up, looking around the room as I banished the digital world from my vision.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, stroking my right hand down her bare back, enjoying the way she smiled and arched her back as my fingers moved.
"It's okay," she replied, leaning on my chest and kissing my lips gently, then again and again. I reached down, cupping her ass with one hand and her chest with the other as our mouths opened, tongues exploring, and all the worries of the world were forgotten.
For a time, at least.
We showered, and tidied around a little later, Or I did, anyway. I was in and out of the shower in a few minutes, while Ingrid liked to relax in hers, singing to herself as she washed her hair.
I stood in the middle of the bedroom and closed my eyes, using my nanites as best I could to "see" around me, getting a strange, grainy sort of radar, and as experience, I used that and my tentacles to try and clean the room up.
I dropped two glasses and a plate.
By the time Ingrid came out of the bathroom, dressing gown wrapped around her, skin practically glowing and hair wrapped in a towel, to find the room spotless, I'd gotten enough experience that I felt it'd been worth it.
"So what was it that disturbed you this morning?" she asked me, sitting on the edge of one chair and shaking her hair out, rubbing it quickly with the towel before reaching for the hairdryer. I lifted it across to her, plugging the cable in as well, all by tentacle. She smiled at me, shaking her head in wonder.
"Sorry, just practicing," I admitted. "Well, I made a discovery. Hmmm, maybe not a discovery. A theory? Is that the word, when you spot things that make sense and realize you need to check it out?"
"Theory works," she agreed, flicking the hairdryer on and raising her voice to carry on the conversation. "Or hypothesis."
"Yeah," I called to her. "One of those things."
"And what was it?" she called, fluffing her hair up and blasting it, running her hairbrush through it.
"I'll wait," I told her, smiling and getting a smile in return.
It didn't take long, twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes, then she was done, sitting there, dressing gown thrown back due to the heat, as she wove an intricate braid down her right shoulder.
I watched in fascination, both at the amazing dexterity of her fingers and the fantastic view, shaking my head as she kicked my foot lightly.
"Stop staring!" she scolded me, her cheeks blushing furiously as she paused the weaving long enough to tug her dressing gown closed again. I pouted, getting a low laugh from her. "If you're good, you can play later," she promised, a wicked gleam in her eye as I grinned at her.
"Sounds good to me."
"Now, what were you saying!" she prompted again.
I sighed, sitting more upright, leaning on the table and sipping from my
cup of tea, as she noticed the coffee I'd made for her and blew me a kiss. "The Minoan Palace," I said, getting a nod. "I was thinking about how
close it was to the site, and comparing the dimensions of each of them." "Right."
"They're less than a mile apart," I pointed out.
She hesitated a moment. "Okay, it's close, but I guess if you wanted to keep an eye on it—"
"Exactly. However . . . if the Minoan people were all about exterminating monsters, would they have kept just this one?"
"They'd have killed them all, or—" she started to say, then her eyes widened.
"Or they'd have killed most of them, and kept one or two as examples or weapons."
"They'd have been killed with the people . . . when Thera exploded," she suggested.
"Would they? This one was left there, after all. What if the reason nobody found bodies from the eruption wasn't just because they saw it coming and fled? What if some of the monsters escaped, and the bodies were swept away?"
"The Minoan palaces aren't actual 'palaces,'" Ingrid said slowly. "There are dozens of them across the island. They're more like . . . like the homes of the lesser nobility, like an old English manor house."
"And they worshipped people that killed monsters," I pointed out. "Not necessarily merchants and so on."
"They'd have wanted their best fighters close to these sites," she agreed, her mind leaping ahead along with my own. "If they had others, like this, they'd . . . they'd make the palaces next to the prisons."
"And if, like this one, they were building the prisons underground? Carving them out of the bedrock?"
Horror flitted across her face. "They might have never been found." "They might be out there still, like that one," I said slowly.
"There are dozens of sites."
"Then I know what I'll be doing for the next few weeks," I said grimly. "If there's more like that one . . ." Ingrid shook her head. "We can't let
anyone know about the discoveries, not yet. It'll spark a rush, especially when people see the jewelry. People will come in their hundreds, if not thousands, and will start digging everywhere."
"I need to find those sites and hit them first."
"I can find them," she said, radiating assuredness. "We can examine this one, then check for similar sites and locations—"
"You've only got a week," I pointed out, and she quirked a smile.
"What? You think I'm going anywhere?" she asked, sipping at her coffee as she finished her braid, her fingers practically performing magic while we talked. "I live on my own. A call to my parents and they'll be fine. And
with Lars vouching for me? I can cancel my holiday and start working here."
"You . . . you could stay?" I asked her, hating how pathetically hopeful I sounded.
Ingrid paused, then set the coffee down and stood, moving around the table to sit across my knees, wrapping her arms around my neck and staring into my eyes.
"Would you like me to?" she asked softly. "Say it."
"I want you to stay," I said, having to swallow. I felt like a child. Hell, I felt . . . I didn't know what I felt, but it was more in a few days than I'd ever felt before.
I'd beaten people bloody for annoying me, I'd . . . I'd done things over the years that would make sure if there was a heaven, then I'd never get let in.
I wasn't a good person.
I really wasn't. But for Ingrid? For her I could be.
Maybe.
Well, I'd still be able to kill things, after all, so maybe I could just be a
slightly better man in the rest of my life.
I dismissed those thoughts, staring into her green eyes and waiting as she
watched me.
"Then I'd stay, regardless of my job, of my house. I'd stay for you," she
whispered, kissing me gently.
"I want you to stay," I repeated, my heart soaring.
"Then it's settled," she said, looking around the room. "Ummm, there're
other sites near here, aren't there?"
"Yeah, three more. One near Malia, that we passed through, and two on
the southeast coast," I replied, having found one quickly, and remembering Val mentioning it as being surrounded by other ruins.
"Okay, then. Well, rather than moving to the other site, then off to the next, why don't we stay here on a night, just until the local ruins are sorted? Yes, I know it's a good drive, but . . ."
"I'd like that," I admitted. "It's six hours out of the day, though, in travelling."
"We can do most of the site in a full day, in all honesty. If we're not restrained to just that site," she pointed out. "Most of archeology is sifting through the tiny details. In this case, well, we can take all the photos we
need, and the artifacts, then we can bury it again while Lars goes through the process of getting us official permission to dig and buys the land."
"How rich is he?" I asked, and she laughed.
"Look at it this way: if he decided we should take a helicopter to the site, each way, each day, it'd probably not even chip away at his interest payments."
"That rich?" I asked and she nodded.
"His parents . . . well, it's family money, and he's never made an issue of it, but he's very rich. Like, if it was for sale, and he really, really wanted it, his parents would probably buy him the island."
"What island?" I asked, and she smiled, waiting. "What? You mean—" "Yeah... Crete."
"Shit," I muttered.
"Yeah, but he's never been a pain about it, always more embarrassed than
anything."
"No!" I said, holding her hips and giving her a little shake.
"What?"
"I don't mean it's a problem that he's rich," I clarified. "I mean, his
parents. They might be . . ." I nodded, and she paused, thinking, then winced.
"You think they're part of the immortals 'network' thing?"
"I think there's a damn good chance, if they're that rich," I said firmly. "If not, then they'll have access to him."
"His is an old family, but . . ." She shook her head slowly. "No, it can't be; I've met his parents. They kept trying to get me to come to more parties so I could meet the cousins and so on. I've known them for years, and they're definitely not immortal. They're getting older."
"You're sure?"
"Well, yes? I think so, anyway," she said slowly. "I mean, his dad's going bald, and his mother, we got drunk at Christmas, and she was complaining about how she didn't want to get her breasts 'done' but that they were 'headed south,' and she has an image to maintain"
"How old is she?" I asked.
"Fifty, ish? She's definitely not able to change her body like you were saying they can, not if the way she spends her life in the gym and watches every calorie is any tell."
"Thank god," I muttered. "I had visions of—"
"I know." Ingrid rubbed my forearms, smiling. "I understand. So we're staying here?" I nodded. "Good. In that case, in a minute you can go and tell Lars and Val, and make sure we can keep this room, but before you go . . ."
"Yes?"
"Maybe . . . say some more nice things to me?" she asked, wrapping her arms around my neck and smiling again.
"Yes, dear," I whispered, kissing her, and then doing just that.
Ten minutes later, I was dressed and walking out of the elevator, seeing Lars at the table on the far side of the restaurant, a small collection of plates set aside from his breakfast as he nibbled on a slice of heavily buttered toast, staring at the screen of his laptop.
I paused, crossing the room to join him, when I saw Val off to one side. I signaled for his attention, getting a smile and a "one minute" gesture from him as he continued his conversation with someone I couldn't see in the next room.
"Morning," Lars mumbled around his toast as I sat down, then informed me disapprovingly, "You've missed breakfast."
I snorted.
"I'm here now. I'm sure there's a solution."
"Ah the arrogance of the rich," he said sadly, shaking his head.
"Says the rich guy."
"Says the man who was here in time for breakfast, and where were you, I
might ask? You said 9 a.m. sharp."
"It's only half ten," I pointed out.
Lars let out a snort. "Steve, I like you. I really do, and I like what you've
done for Inga. And, judging from the conversation last night, the world. Not to mention, if I didn't like you, you could kill me with your pinky, but . . ."
"But?"
"But I'm an archaeologist. You promised me evidence that the entire community is wrong, and adventure . . . and then you leave me, sat here! You've clearly been enjoying your morning, and despite Inga being practically my sister, I want you and her to have fun, but seriously. I need to see this!" He growled, sitting forward.
I shot him a grin. "Well, I've got a theory, one that Ingrid likes. If it's true, then it means there's a lot more sites . . . and nearby."
"Go on," he suggested, closing the laptop and wiping at his lips with a folded cloth napkin.
"Soon, but for now, we think that we should keep our rooms here. There's two more sites nearby, and well, we like this place."
"How far are we from the first site?" he asked.
"Three hours."
"Each way?" he asked.
I nodded, while he groaned. "That's six hours lost every day!"
"Yeah, but the plan is, you use some of your money and influence and
buy the land . . . then you can examine it properly at your leisure."
"If I buy a seemingly worthless stretch of land next to an excavation site, it'll be noticed eventually," he pointed out. "I mean, yes, that was the plan,
but if you think there's more out there, we need to keep this quiet." "Exactly."
"And Ingrid has what? A week left on her holiday?" He sighed as I
smiled at him. "I'm not going to like this, am I?" he asked rhetorically. "Well, depending on your perspective, this is the easy part."
"Go on," he growled, taking a sip of coffee.
"You think you might have found something here, that's your cover,
yes?" "Yes."
I shrugged. "Then you'll need an assistant. Or you can be hers."
"And you want me to request she be given academic leave." He groaned. "Do you know how boring her boss is? He'll want to talk at me for hours! He'll make me agree to go the annual fundraiser!"
"Well, once you two have made the discovery of a lifetime, you'll be too busy, won't you? And you'll have the perfect excuse."
"Well, there's a point there," he admitted. "I could always use the opportunity to get another favor from him. The old bugger is always cagey, and he has been pestering me to go to the fundraiser for years. If I couldn't go for a genuine reason . . . hmmm."
"Because it's Ingrid's museum, you could always insist that they be permitted to have a loan of the artifacts or whatever, right? That'd cover your debt and more?"
"A lot more," he agreed, musingly, rubbing his chin and eyeing me. "Fine. I'll do it, but you owe me."
"Nope. Ingrid does," I said firmly. "Both of you owe me, remember? I'm the one getting stabbed and eaten by things."
"You . . . you think there's more out there that's likely to do that?" he asked, looking around slowly.
"I think there's a damn good chance," I said, voice low. "What we think —" I cut off, turning as Val moved over towards us, smiling.
"Morning, my friends, good morning!"
"Morning, Val!" I said with a smile. "Am I too late for breakfast? Ingrid will be down in a few minutes . . ."
"Not at all!" he replied with a wide smile.
"Wonderful, so . . . Ingrid has decided that she loves the room so much, well, can we take it for the next . . . two weeks?" I asked, reaching into my pocket.
"Of course, of course! No need to do that," Val said, waving towards my hand. "We are friends! You can sort it before you leave today."
I grinned and nodded, while Lars sighed and waved to catch Val's attention, smiling at him.
"If we're staying for a longer time, do you have another room like theirs available?" he asked hopefully.
"Ah, that's the only bridal suite," Val said as I coughed into the orange juice that I'd just helped myself to.
"Bridal . . . suite?" I gasped out, getting grins from them both.
"Oh, I'm going to enjoy telling Inga about this," Lars started.
I pointed one finger at him. "You dare," I said warningly
He leaned back, eyeing the finger carefully, like it was a loaded weapon. "Or . . . I could not?" he suggested.
"Yeah. I'd recommend that."
"So, is there perhaps a larger room, that's not the bridal suite?" Lars asked hopefully, only to sigh as Val shook his head.
"Alas, no. It is summer, after all."
"Dammit." Lars sighed. "I blame you for this," he said to me, shaking his head. "If you'd given me some real notice, I could have brought the yacht."
Val blinked, realizing that Lars was serious, as he pulled his phone out. "In fact, I don't think my parents are using it. I'll see."
He made a quick call while I winked at Val, who smiled and walked away, pausing only to greet Ingrid when she appeared.
While I was dressed in combats and a plain white T-shirt—and looked like a shaved bear crammed into them—and she wore much the same, tan combat trousers, reinforced at the knees, simple sturdy trainers, and a plain white top, showing only a hint of cleavage, and a black belt . . . she looked stunning.
She could have walked off a catwalk, and people would be nodding that she deserved to be there, while I . . .
I glanced down, unthinkingly comparing us: the bulk, the tattoos—hell, I reached up and ran my fingers through the short cropped beard and tousled hair. I needed a damn haircut; I always did. I shook myself as she squeezed into the seat next to me, kissing my cheek and setting her bag on the floor, all grace and beauty, while I felt more like the beast.
"What's wrong?" she asked, picking up on my mood, and I smiled, patting her hand.
"Nothing," I assured her. "Val is sorting us a menu for breakfast, then we can go."
"Oh, thank the gods, I'm starving." Ingrid smiled, getting up and striding across to the coffee service set up on one of the side tables.
Val was back quickly, a pair of menus in hand, laughing as I asked if it was possible to mix and match the dishes. Apparently, waving big wedges of cash around meant that all things were possible, as I was shortly tucking into a massive full English fry-up, while Lars shook his head and called me an animal.
Half an hour later, we were on the road again, the miles flashing past as we chatted. My drone followed at a decent height, watching over us and evaluating traffic patterns as I tried to make sure nobody was paying us too much attention. I distracted Lars by shooting the land registry details to him, all without so much as touching a phone, getting amazed looks from him.
Two and half hours from there, after Lars had subjected us to so much random heavy metal I was close to my ears bleeding, we finally pulled up at the taverna, noting the sudden lack of vehicles outside.
"What's wrong?" Lars asked Ingrid and me as I stepped out of the car, telling them to stay inside and to keep the doors locked.
"The vehicles they had—the cars, the bikes, and the truck—they're all gone," Ingrid said slowly, clambering across to sit in the driver's side. I passed her the keys.
"So what, you think there's more of them, of the werewolves?" Lars asked her in hoarse whisper as she locked the doors, and he moved, climbing into the front and into the passenger seat.
"Maybe," she admitted, starting the engine up and backing up to wait in the middle of the carpark. She was already searching from side to side, and then said softly, "Keep your eyes open."
I nodded to her, then walked to the taverna, pushing the door open and moving inside, for all the world like I had a right to be there. I found two people at the bar, one of them older, looking over paperwork, the other younger, and clearly subservient.
"We're closed," the younger one snapped, and I kept walking, reaching out with my senses . . . and finding humans.
That confused the shit out of me, all on its own. I'd been expecting to gut a pair of werewolves.
"I said we're closed!" the younger one repeated in a growl, striding forwards to block my path.
"Who are you, and what the hell are you doing here?" I asked them, deciding to try and brazen it out.
"Hmmm?" the older man mumbled, finally looking up at me. "Perhaps we should be asking you that, hmmm?"
"We own this place," I said, bluffing, as the younger one stepped up close, making me stop or physically walk over him.
"No, I own the taverna," the older man snapped, eye flashing. "It's been in my family for seven generations!"
"What?!" I responded, as the younger man continued to stare at me.
"We're closed," he repeated, his breath filled with garlic and . . . fuck knew what.
"Get out of my way," I said slowly, flexing my shoulders and upper chest, deliberately making myself as threatening as possible.
"Mark," the older man called warningly, shaking his head and gesturing for the lad to back up. "There's something wrong here, and you're adding to it."
"We flew all the way out here to chase up the rent, and this is what we find?!" Mark snapped. "The place is a mess. There's bodies out the back!"
"And the police are on their way, so all this will be sorted out, and soon," the older man said flatly before looking at me again. "You claim you own this place? Do you have deeds, paperwork, anything?"
"You'll have to speak to the boss," I said slowly. "I'm the muscle, he did the deal."
"Then I suggest you get him," the older man said with a sigh, rubbing his face. I nodded, starting to turn and catching the glare Mark was giving me, before dismissing him as unimportant.
I strode out of the taverna, passing across the carpark, even as the distant sound of police sirens started to echo. I jogged across to the car and opened the door, leaning in as I explained.
"Looks like the actual owners are here. They claim they came to get missing rent and found the place fucked up, and they found the bodies out the back."
"Oh crap," Ingrid whispered. "Are they . . . are they human?"
"Yeah, and they called the police. That's them on the way," I started, drawing a deep breath. "Might be an idea for us all to get out of here. They don't know what you look like, after all."
"Seriously?" Lars asked, shuffling forward on the seat. "What are they like?"
"What?"
"The owners! Are they reasonable, or . . ."
"One seems fine. The other, a kid called Mark, is a little dick."
"What did you tell them?" Lars said, popping his door open.
"He asked who we were and I bluffed that we were the owners," I
admitted, seeing a wince from Lars.
"And they are."
"Yeah, he wanted to know if we had any paperwork to prove the claim. I
said he'd need to speak to the boss. First thing I could think of to get some time."
"Then I guess I'm the boss?" Lars suggested, and Ingrid nodded.
"Yeah, good idea, play the innocent party. We stopped here yesterday, met the idiots behind the bar. They offered to sell it, and we were coming back today to get everything."
"We don't have evidence of the transfers," I pointed out, and he shrugged.
"I'll claim it came out of my holiday cash, and that we were going to make a further transfer for the rest. Don't worry. You're in my territory now," Lars said, winking at me as he left the car and stepped around it, straightening his clothes.
"I don't like it," I muttered as Ingrid got out and took my hand, squeezing it firmly.
"Don't worry, seriously. Lars does this kind of thing for his family and for himself all the time. Trust him."
I nodded, following the pair into the taverna, standing at the back and staying quiet this time as Lars introduced himself and Ingrid, notably leaving me out of it.
"I'd say it was a pleasure, but your man here claimed you were the owners of my family business," the older man, Alex, as he introduced himself, said, leaning back and sipping on a coffee.
Now that I was no longer the focus of their attention, I could look them over properly. Lars spun a tale about falling in love with the island and paying a deposit yesterday to purchase the site.
He'd already started the ball rolling, contacting a family solicitor to get valuations on the surrounding land as well as the taverna and its patch.
That meant that he was familiar with the details, including the old man's full name, claiming that the prior residents, who'd now buggered off with his cash—and leaving bodies behind—had claimed to be him.
It was enough that, by the time the police arrived, the owner thought we had been ripped off by a gang of fraudsters, and they helped sell that idea to the police.
They confirmed that Lars had flown into the island yesterday, and thanks to a call from his family solicitor to the local police commissioner—who was on a golfing holiday in Germany at the time—we were suddenly poor foreigners who'd been ripped off.
Six hours later, with Lars absolutely furious about the delays, we actually did own some of the surrounding land, and negotiations were well under way to buy the rest.
"A week!" Lars snarled, sitting in the car as we drove back towards the hotel. "An entire bloody week it's going to take before they clear the site to be handed over to us!"
"There's a load of bodies," Ingrid pointed out, and he waved his hand at her.
"I know, I know, and I'm sorry. Okay? It's terrible they lost their lives. But if they search the site properly, they'll find their way into the chambers. Then they'll claim it as their discovery, and we'll be locked out! We could lose it all, because—"
"No," I said simply. "They're nowhere near it, and even if they find it, it'll take some serious equipment to move the dirt."
"How can you be sure," he started to complain, when I tapped the side of my head.
"Because the drone is circling the site still. And once we find somewhere for some food and to wait out the police presence, I'll go back and recover the artifacts."
"Oh, thank god," Lars whispered, sagging back in his seat. "I'm going with you."
"So am I," Ingrid added as I started to shake my head.
"There's no need. Look, I'll take photos."
"You've no idea what you're looking for," Ingrid pointed out.
"Look, you get us in, we'll take the photos, and then we bury the place
again. Simple," Lars pointed out, a big grin on his face.
"Fuck to the no," I said firmly. "Seriously, there's absolutely no way I'm
taking you lunatics back there, for what? To sneak around when the police are investigating dozens of murders right next door? Hell no. Never going to happen."
Chapter Thirty-Three
"For fuck's sake, Lars!" I snapped at him, eight hours later. "We need to go!"
"Yeah. Yeah, just two more minutes," he mumbled, paying me absolutely no attention as he walked around, tablet held up, filming the walls carefully. I held the industrial-strength torch, bathing the entire cavern in brilliant daylight. "Oh . . . just look at the scrollwork! Even the upper plinths have them!"
"What the hell are you talking about!" I snapped, glancing up at the rocks, dust, and dirt-coated pillars that supported the roof overhead.
"The pillars are carved, with ornamental flourishes that aren't usual for the time period," Ingrid started to explain, when I cut her off.
"It's a rock! It's big narrow rocks that hold up the goddamn roof, Ingrid. And unless you two pull your damn fingers out, you can stay here until the police find you! You've taken a thousand bloody photos and more, we've got the artifacts, and we are sodding leaving!"
"Yeah, yeah, you go," Lars started to say, still staring through the screen of the tablet as he panned it around, when I strode over and plucked it from his grasp, turning it off and tossing him over one shoulder.
He gasped, arms flailing as he reached for something, anything, to stop our advance. "What the—no! I only need a few more minutes!"
"You said that an hour ago!" I snapped at him. "Ingrid, lead the way, or I'm not taking either of you to the next site."
"You need us to find them," she pointed out.
I shook my head, herding her towards the passage out.
"I can find them, it'll just be more destruction. Your choice, and you
promised!" I warned her, getting a glare, but a grudging nod of agreement as she led the way out, artifacts clutched to her chest as she swore at me under her breath.
I'd given in, in the end, because if the local police did find the chamber, and found only the rocks piled up, as I'd spent the last two hours doing while they filmed and shot photos, then they were likely to simply move on.
As Ingrid and Lars had pointed out, though, whether the police were honest or corrupt went out of the window once they found those artifacts.
It'd be a career-making discovery, and then the government would be involved, regardless.
Once the government was involved, then the human-shaped cockroaches that were the civil service would be involved, and finally . . . politicians.
Then we were all fucked.
There'd be the usual ones that would claim everything "for the people" while trying to pocket anything not nailed down, the ones who genuinely thought they were doing the right thing—and were simply idiots—and the ones who'd start trying to sell it all outright to someone else.
The one or two actually honest and intelligent politicians who somehow fell through the cracks and got elected despite everything would be too alone to do anything.
It never changed, no matter which country you were in; the shite always rose to float on the top.
"There's . . . light," Ingrid whispered, stopping and backing away from the passage.
"Shit!" I snapped, seeing the bobbing of a light from up ahead. "Back against the wall!"
I shoved her and Lars behind me, pushing them back into a corner and focusing hard as I killed our lights.
I gritted my teeth as I did the only thing I could think of, and extended a rippling field of nanites outwards, forming a half-bubble around us that stretched and reached.
"What—" Lars started to ask, before Ingrid slapped her hand over his mouth at my glare.
The sound of approaching feet was clear now, as was the glare of torches, as someone grumbled in Greek about "getting lost."
I blinked, my focus slipping for a second as I realized I'd understood the comment, and I resolved to look into it later.
The rippling bubble grew, forming a solid connection all around us, attaching to the wall and shifting as it started to change color, imitating the wall behind.
It was barely in time as first one, then two more of the local police strode in, panning their powerful torches around the cavern.
I felt it as we all stiffened, the torch's beam falling on us . . . and continuing on, our side staying transparent, while theirs was patterned to match the rock behind us.
Seconds passed as they strode deeper into the cavern, kicking at the piles of fallen rocks . . . until they reached the mass of biological matter I'd left when I absorbed the bodies before.
"Fungus?" one of the asked, squatting next to it.
"Something like that?" another replied, nudging it with a foot as they gathered around, looking down.
"Move, now!" I whispered to the others, moving as smoothly as I could, shifting the illusion along the wall.
We crept a dozen paces to towards the door, before one of them straightened and turned, making us freeze in place.
"I'll go radio it in," he muttered.
"Fine. We'll look around, then come out," one of the others agreed, while the first strode across the cavern, slowing as he approached us and frowned, clearly confused at the sudden wall he'd missed on the way in.
He hesitated, before one of the others shouted something to him, and he growled, turning to shout back.
"You can order your own damn gyros!" he shouted, striding past us, muttering something under his breath about "not an errand boy." I let out a long breath once he was past, hurrying the others along after him and away from the pair still in the cavern.
It didn't take long, following the torch of the guy ahead, for us to reach the exit. for a long second, I thought we were fucked, as he leaned against the rock of the passage, making his call as a rain squall swept in across the island.
I had visions of him walking back down towards us and having to kill him anyway . . . when he complained about the reception, hunching his head down and hurrying out into the rain.
"Follow me," I called to them, guiding them out into the rain, then left to loop up and across the hill, passing under old olive trees and around scrub brush until we finally reached the car.
The three of us clambered in, with the other two getting in the back with the artifacts. I caught the drone and put it in the boot. Then I started the engine up and drove us away from the site, not bothering with the lights.
"How the hell can you see in this?" Lars asked me at one point, and I tapped the side of my head, by my eye.
"Removed and upgraded remember, mate?" I said, smiling as I glanced back at him in the rear view mirror.
"The advantages are great, like in the cavern back there, but . . ." He shook his head. "No chance are they worth the years of therapy I'd need."
"Yeah," I muttered, shifting on the seat as I got comfy, eventually flicking the lights on as I headed into the nearby village, the lights flashing past as I pressed the pedal down, picking up speed as the road passed out of the village and then led to the motorway, lifting up onto the well-laid and lit —but quiet—system.
I sighed, settling in for the next few hours as the pair started to argue over the meanings of the carvings on the shields.
Phrases like "Cycladic intersperse" and "paleo genomics" were tossed about, and those were only the phrases I could make some sense of, so I turned up the radio, growling at the crap being played.
The one thing I missed most, since the changes had come in to my life, was the goddamn loss of my old phone and account.
I'd had some seriously good playlists that had taken years to compile, and now? I couldn't even try to log in, let alone actually use my damn music.
Then I grinned. Fuck it, what did it matter if they had my old account after all? I could start a new one. Hell, if I could remote hack the systems, why the hell shouldn't I start making the most of my abilities?
I shifted a little, getting comfortable, and plugged the phone into the car, then I pulled the connection up in my vision, overtaking half of it as I started to work, watching the road absently as I drove.
The phone was set to report as little as possible, beyond that it existed, not even showing on the networks that it rode. That meant that I'd never receive a bill, so moving on to the next logical step, I reached out to my old music provider and winced at the algorithms and madness that popped up.
Overlapping fields of geometric planes suddenly spread out, multiplying wildly as I frantically tried to limit the mess, digging into it with only half my attention as I tried to continue driving as well.
I sensed monitor programs, like dogs sniffing at my heels, moving closer. I could feel the doors being sealed against me, and I cut off the attempt, stunned by the complexity.
It was insane, the mass of encryption that . . . fuck.
I twitched the steering wheel back on course as I realized what I'd just done and how bloody stupid it was.
I'd literally just tried to hack into the music I used to listen to, not thinking about the logical extensions. That music was provided on the world's biggest shipping and sales platform, they would have an insane amount of cyberteams working on preventing what I'd just tried.
They weren't out to keep me from my music, not really. They didn't care what I was after; they just needed to stop me from getting in, because once I was in? I'd be able to run rampant in the system and help myself to anything.
I shook myself, cold sweat that had been running down my back vanishing as I realized the other side of the coin. If I'd really tried? I could have done it.
I was sure of that. I might need a few more levels in Hack, but the system was a learning one, and one that rebuilt itself constantly based on what I did. The nanites had a shitload of data stored in them, but . . . they were learning.
They were taking the data they'd been programmed with millennia ago, and they were integrating it in ways that augmented me now.
I thought back to how I'd damn well hacked a sentinel only hours after the system had been inbuilt in me, yet how high-tech they must have been . . . and I grinned.
"They didn't have hackers," I muttered to myself. "Or if they did, they were amateurs that didn't use the system."
This could change everything, fuck. I might be able to hack my way into the security systems of the ship, or the facility or whatever it was . . . I might be able to get backup!
If I could get a dozen sentinels? That'd make a difference in the future. When it came to killing the damn creatures that I suspected were still buried around the island, a dozen sentinels would make a hell of a difference.
I reached up, scratching at the back of my neck and rubbing the embedded remote access point unthinkingly as I watched the miles clicking past, thinking thoughts of reintegration and upgrades.
The nanites were limited in quantity in me; that was understandable, but why would the ship rely on so few sentinels and the maintenance things?
I mean, if they could purify the seawater to refine materials, and send the machines out to harvest what they needed, there had to be a reason that the facility was ruined.
Was it as simple as a lack of a command to fix itself?
I'd heard about stranger shit, like when internet and telecoms providers had a few days' blackout simply because the new software they'd all been using hadn't included a command to boot back up installed on it, so when it went down, it stayed down, waiting for more orders?
Could it be that simple?
I nearly missed the turnoff, wondering about random shit, and had to cut across in front of a heavy goods truck, making it slam its horn, the driver screaming abuse at me out of the window as I quickly crossed the lanes. I took the slip-road and onto the regional road, dropping from the well-lit motorway to a far less well-maintained, older road, illuminated only by the headlights of the car and the occasional lights of the small villages.
The miles slipped by in a daze, broken by excited arguments behind me and the rumble of my stomach. Then Lars clambered forward and plugged his phone in again, setting some random heavy metal blaring.
As much as it wasn't my style at all—hell, I didn't really have a style, but still—I found myself enjoying some of the songs, before one sung in pirate style that was basically calling everyone wankers made me laugh out loud.
The last bit of the drive passed with me grinning like an idiot, listening to the crazy lyrics until we finally made it to the hotel.
Then the hardest part was smuggling the artifacts up to our room and hiding them—and convincing Lars and Ingrid to leave the damn things alone long enough to eat.
The remainder of the night most certainly did not go the way I wanted, as Lars and Ingrid spent hours in our room because it had the best lighting, arguing over the meanings of dots and dashes carved into the rims of the shields and other stupid details.
I spent the next few hours doing the last thing I wanted to: beginning to change my bones. Using my nanites in their thousands to start the transformation, I coated the outside in a kind of dense metal, eating away at the interior and creating storage lacunas.
I tried to distract myself by searching the island data for likely ruins, finding a handful, but in the end?
I gave up around two in the morning and went to sleep in Lars's room, ignoring the slow, burning itch that filled my bones just for some peace and quiet.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The next day dawned bright and clear, with the warm, early-morning sun bathing the room in light, despite the damn curtains.
I sighed, sitting up slowly and looking around the room, wincing as I compared its simplicity to the luxury of our room, especially the way the balcony faced the rising sun, and the rectangle of light that surrounded the poorly fitting curtains.
I moved to the balcony doors, throwing the curtains back and blinking. Blinded by the sun, I opened the door, seeing the tiny chairs and table, much like the first room Ingrid and I had shared.
The heat of the day was already rising, the air warm, and the gentle breeze that came in off the sea made me sigh with love for this damn island. I dressed quickly—the same clothes as I wore yesterday, but fuck it—and
I headed up to our room, opening the door much as I had Lars's, simply by pressing my hand to the lock and flowing nanites around it, literally picking the lock with a custom key . . . only to find the pair were still arguing, sandy-eyed and hyper on coffee and discovery.
"Neither of you have slept, have you?" I asked, looking around the room. It looked like a bomb had gone off in it, papers strewn everywhere, with the tablets on charge, the shields in the middle as they both pointed to different details, caught in mid-argument by my arrival.
"Sleep?" Ingrid mumbled, her jaw cracking with a yawn even as she let the word escape. "But we . . . it's not that late. We just—" She glanced to the open doors of the balcony, seeing the sun, and for the first time consciously feeling the heat. "Oh."
"Yeah," I agreed, glancing from her to Lars and back again. "So, breakfast time, or for you, supper, then the pair of you need to sleep."
"No, it's okay . . ." She yawned, jaws creaking again, as she knuckled the small of her back, and Lars peered mournfully into the empty bottom of his coffee cup.
"No, it's not," I replied flatly. "The pair of you need sleep, or you'll be useless. Look, we know there's probably another site by the Minoan Palace at Malia, but . . ."
"But?"
"But there might, and I mean might, be another close by. I found it last night."
"Where?"
"How . . . close?" Lars yawned.
I shook my head. "Not close enough to let either of you come. You'd be
asleep before we got out of the town. Look, it's called Mochlos, and it's a little island, used to be connected to the mainland."
"How did you find it?" Ingrid asked, and I shrugged.
"You were both working on that stuff." I gestured at the shields and jewelry. "I got bored, so I started looking for nearby sites. Most of them were crap, but I found four we should check out. Mochlos and Malia are both about the same, half an hour to forty-five minutes, but in opposite directions, with the site at Zakros the next closest, nearly three hours to the east."
"And the last one?"
"Agneion," I said. "It's a much more recent find, barely uncovered at all, and on the far side of the island. We're probably best taking a boat to get to it."
"The family yacht is being moved over, so we could do that one last, but . . ."
"But?"
"But where was the first site you explored?" he asked, and I groaned, sitting on the edge of the table, folding my arms and looking at them.
"I'm not taking you there."
"You don't need to take us, I mean—"
"No, you're not going on your own, either."
"I'm a big boy, Steve. I'll go where I please." Lars sat up straighter,
clearly banishing his tiredness as he glared at me.
"Okay, and you'll make a great snack for the creatures in there. Oh,
you'll need to be careful, though. I laid nanofilament tripwires when I was escaping. They're razor-sharp, and essentially a molecule thick, so when you find them? You'll know."
"Wait—"
"The site is still populated, Lars, seriously, by a pair of creatures marked as 'Beta Level Threats' by the system. As soon as I saw them, it basically told me to run like fuck, and I did."
"What were they?"
"I have no clue. I ran, Lars; ain't no chance I'm taking you there." "Okay, but—"
"No," I said. "Look, I'm going for breakfast, you two can stay here if you
want, but the state you're both in? I'd suggest you come for food, then get some sleep. I'll check out Mochlos and Zakros, see if I can identify anything that suggests a cave or anything we'd be interested in. Then I'll come back, we can have dinner together, and discuss the next step."
Ingrid started to speak, then broke off for another long yawn, before sighing and nodding her agreement.
"You're right," she said grudgingly, climbing awkwardly to her feet and stretching. "Gods, I need a shower."
"I'll go down and order breakfast. You both have a shower and wake up enough to eat. By the time you've done that, they'll have made it. You can eat, then sleep," I suggested, standing up.
"Sounds good," Lars agreed, clapping me on the shoulder as I pulled him to his feet. I sent him to the door, pausing as I caught the look on Ingrid's face.
"What?" I asked her, and she shrugged.
"It's just the first time you've not tried to join me in the shower, that's all. You're not getting bored of me already, are you?"
"Don't be daft," I said, grinning and crossing the bedroom floor, taking her in my arms and kissing her.
"Hey, no fun time!" Lars called from the hallway, propping the door open. "I need coffee!"
"He's getting piss in a cup if he thinks he's interrupting me," I muttered, getting a laugh from Ingrid, who kissed me again and pushed me off.
"Go on, I'll be quick," she promised. I smiled at her, still unable to believe that she was really mine.
I left her in the room and jogged down the hallway, catching Lars in the elevator and putting up with his barely coherent explanations of the people whose theories he'd already disproven with the discovery.
I kicked him out on his floor and moved on, nodding to a young couple who were going for breakfast at the same time as me, and snagged a big mug from behind the counter that was clearly not meant for the coffee service.
It held half the pot, and I breathed the heavenly scent in, settling back on my seat and watching up and down the main street while I waited for the
staff to take my order.
I realized that the others hadn't told me what they wanted, so I ordered
them a large full English like mine and grabbed a couple of the tiny glasses of fruit juice, setting them out along with a mountain of toast, settling back, chewing idly on one buttered slice as I sat, listening to the snapping of the parasols and the early morning traffic.
"You're up early this morning," Val said with a smile, moving up and offering me the end of the coffee pot.
"I am. They're up late," I said, smiling and holding the mug out, accepting the last of the pot. Val smiled, then moved around, refilling it and setting the machine away again.
"This is damn good coffee," I complimented.
"My vanity," he replied with a wink. "The bridal suite, well, when I took the place over from my father, I knew we'd not get many takers for it, but the room? Knowing that it's the level I could lift the hotel to?" He sighed. "My wife thinks it is a waste, like the coffee. But for me? It matters."
"It's seeing the potential," I agreed. "You thought about taking on a loan or something? Get the whole hotel done up?"
"You don't like my hotel?" he asked, frowning.
"You know I do," I said with a wave. "But our room? If the whole place was that level—"
"I'd never be able to pay it off," he said sadly. "The island is busy all summer, and the winters are steady, but the costs . . . the economy?" He shook his head. "It'd cost tens of thousands of euros, and it'd be the profits from the next ten years or more to pay it off, and that's only if things were busy. If we had another season like the last few?"
I grunted, nodding as he moved off. I'd seen the damage the pandemic had done to the economy of the islands. These places relied on tourists; without them, that was it. They'd lost businesses in their hundreds.
"You look deep in thought," Ingrid said a few minutes later, sliding into the seat next to me and kissing my cheek.
I turned, smiling and put my arm around her shoulders, tugging her in close and kissing her forehead.
"Just thinking." "Well, is it a secret?" "No . . ."
"Then tell me!" she said in a mock serious tone that made me laugh as I shook my head, looking around to make sure nobody was close enough to hear.
"We can talk about it later," I told her. "I was just thinking about the hotels that closed down, and wondering how expensive one would be to buy."
"You want to . . . run a hotel?" she asked me, clearly surprised.
"Fuck no," I corrected her. "I was thinking about owning one, not working in it!"
"But—"
"We've got the cash," I said jerking my head upwards towards our room. "And we've got Lars. I bet he could launder it so that its untraceable."
"What do you think Lars does?" She laughed. "He's an archeologist!"
"A rich one."
"He's still an archeologist," she pointed out, shaking her head. "He's not
going to know anything about money laundering."
"I know enough," I said slowly, musingly. "It'd be easier with his help,
but—"
"But what?" Lars asked, sitting down with a groan.
"Just thinking," I said, dismissing the thoughts as I slid the toast into the
middle of the table. "Right, I didn't know what you wanted, so . . ."
Soon I was back on the road, sunglasses on, smiling to myself as I climbed the hill, the car purring smoothly as I drove, and the sun reflecting
off the sea to my left like a thousand rolling sapphires.
I followed the road, finding the world was so different, now that I was
"outside" of society, more or less.
Knowing that, if I needed money, I could literally just hack a cash
machine, or rob a drug dealer, or whatever . . .
I thought to the conversation I'd had with Val, and the love he had for the
hotel, wondering just how much it'd cost to fix it up, and entertained myself with a fantasy of opening a hotel of my own, spending a year or two hiding as a hotel owner, living a life filled with great sex with Ingrid and eating good food, drinking good drink, and . . .
I blinked, suddenly seeing what I'd driven past several times this morning already. A young family of refugees, standing by the side of the road, holding up pictures and trying to get anyone to look at them. The husband and father, or so I assumed, was wearing tattered clothes, filthy,
clearly exhausted emotionally as well as physically. He held a small child, barely old enough to walk, to his leg.
His other hand rested atop the head of another, a daughter perhaps six or seven years old, who was holding up a photo and clearly begging for help.
And I growled to myself. While I would be enjoying the good life, living it up, how many would the lycanthropes kill? How many holiday makers had literally just been killed on this one island this year by the goddamn monsters?
I'd seen the missing persons reports before this, and I'd barely paid attention. The murders had gotten more notice, but still, until I needed something to do, I'd ignored them as well, happily floating in the sea and screwing young women on holiday.
For it to be that easily dismissed, for there not to be a major manhunt or investigations or whatever, that meant it was so common that it was ignored.
That, in turn, meant . . . well. It wouldn't be just this island. If it was, then there'd be a worldwide condemnation. That meant . . . that meant that the number of people going missing every day had to be in the hundreds of thousands, all around the world, and nobody besides their immediate families even cared.
"I care," I growled to myself as I slammed the brakes on and pulled over, making the car behind me brake sharply, then hammer on his horn.
He nearly drove into the back of me and started to get out of the car, shouting something in Greek as I got out of my car and started walking back towards the family.
The look on my face when I glared at the driver who'd been behind me was enough, and he ducked back inside the car, pulling away and waiting until he felt safe before sending a rude hand gesture my way.
I ignored him, striding back down the road, pausing at the look on the man's face.
He was terrified.
"What happened?" I asked him, and he said something I couldn't make out to the daughter, who answered, haltingly.
"My madre . . . mother . . . she taken. No come bed."
"Where and when?" I asked her, nodding to the father and crouching until I was closer to the little girl's size. "Don't be afraid."
I paused, seeing the struggle that she was having, and I held up one hand as I connected to my phone and started to search, trying a few words of each language, searching for one she understood.
Three attempts later, she gasped and looked up at her father, who answered quickly.
"You understand me?" he asked me in Armenian.
"I do," I said, straightening up. "Go slowly, but explain what happened." "They came . . . took her, my wife."
"Who took her?" I asked, and he responded with a word I couldn't
understand. "What?"
"Takers . . . ah. They move things . . . illegally," he explained, glancing
around nervously and eyeing me—and my size.
"People smugglers?" I asked him, and he nodded. "Where?"
"I don't know," he said, shaking his head "They took her, and then were
gone."
"Describe them. I need something to start with."
"I don't know," he whispered, blinking back tears. "They said they would
take us to Europe, but the money, it cost so much. They brought us here, and then . . ."
I looked at the photo and nodded to myself. She was pretty, the woman, smiling in the photo, holding her husband and children, clearly in better times.
"The only place they go that I know of." "Yes?" I asked, glancing back at him. "The bar, on the edge of the harbor." "Where?"
He pointed back, down the hill to where the street bent to the right, leading away from the main road I'd been on.
I'd been thinking they were victims of the lycanthropes, or some other monster, but fuck it, human monsters would do just as nicely.
I realized as I took directions from him that I was coldly furious, and I didn't know why. I felt guilty as all hell for having been enjoying a nice drive in the sun while these people . . .
I glanced at the children and back at the father, seeing the hungry looks, the filth, and the general desperate condition of them, as well as the fear.
They didn't know if I was going to make their situation worse or better, and still, I was the only hope they had.
"Did you go to the police?" I asked him.
"We are illegal," he whispered, afraid.
"You were smuggled here, and now you've nobody to turn to," I agreed,
nodding. "Fine, look here," I said, turning him around and pointing at the older side of town, and at the tall old hotel with the red tiled lines on the roof. "You see that building? The one with the red?" He nodded. "Go there. Ask for Val, the owner, and tell him Steve said to give you a room and food. I'll meet you there."
"But—"
"Don't worry," I said. "There's no cost."
He nodded, blushing and bowing his head in thanks before starting to
offer the photo to me, clearly desperately wanting to hold onto it, and yet knowing it'd make my efforts easier.
"Keep it," I said to him. I knew damn well the numbers of people that the smugglers would be funneling through and how much harder not having the photo would make things, but that was fine. It was all they had of her, and I couldn't risk losing it.
I was going to find her regardless.
I set off back to the car, jumping in and ignoring the traffic, the horns, and screaming brakes as I pulled out into the road, doing a full turn and heading back the way I'd come.
I was acting stupid. Hell, I wasn't goddamn acting. I was being stupid; I was stupid, but the sight of that family . . . the father with nowhere to turn to, the daughter having to translate for him because nobody spoke his language here, the little one.
The smallest child—I'd not even seen their face, they were so terrified that not even the badly spoken sound of their own language had been enough to make them look up from the safety of their father's embrace.
I forced myself to slow down, knowing myself well enough to know I was on the ragged edge and how dangerous that was, especially when I was a wanted man already.
A "reserved" sign was posted on the parking bay as I pulled up in front of the bar. Ignoring it, I checked for cameras, finding seven, far more than a "bar" needed. I reached out, sinking into the system and finding eleven more throughout the building, including four that showed . . . that showed a dozen people in cages. I snarled in fury, killing all the cameras.
I got out and strode in the door, looking about as the barman came out from behind the bar, glaring from me to the car. The three girls sat at a table in the middle looking at a menu, while the bar ran along the left side and the back in an L shape.
"'Now then, now then! Ya canna park there!" he snapped at me, prodding me in the chest with a finger.
My smile was ice cold. "The smugglers," I demanded. "Where."
"I . . . I don't know" he started to say in a thick Manchester accent. I grabbed him by the finger, breaking it and making him scream, the sound cut off when I wrapped my hand around his throat, lifting him, furious. I'd seen the look on his face as soon as I'd spoken. He knew, and he was trying to decide what to say.
"You get one chance," I hissed. "Then I hurt you."
"Look, mate, seriously, I don—"
"Do I look like someone who's going to take your shit well?" I snarled at
him, shaking him like a ragdoll. "You're going to tell me where they are . . . only question is if you're alive when I leave!"
I reached out, grabbing a brass railing that ran along the front of the bar, and slowly, while he watched, bug-eyed, I tore it free, the soft brass bending under my fury. I pulled it completely clear and threw it across the bar to smash a stack of bottles and glasses.
"The bar's closed!" I shouted at the three girls over one shoulder. "Get out!"
The sound of their chairs hitting the floor as they ran for it echoed in the sudden silence left after the last of the glass finished tinkling to the floor.
"Please," he grunted out. "You dinna ken what they'll do to me."
"What the hell do you think I'm going to do?" I snarled, pulling him in close, eyeing him from an inch as I squeezed his throat.
"Please," he whispered as the door at the back of the bar banged open, and a pair of men walked out, carrying baseball bats.
"Put him down," one of them said threateningly. "Maybe you'll live." "Yeah," I replied, dropping him and starting forwards. "Maybe you will." "I'm gonna give you one chance," the one on the right said, pointing at
me. "Who the hell are you, and what's this about?"
"I want the smuggler, and the girls in the cage."
"Benny," he called to the barman, who was gasping on the floor. "Lock
the doors."
"Yeah, Benny," I agreed. "Go lock the doors."
"You don't know what you've done," one of them said slowly.
"Oh, I do," I said, grinning as an utter readiness for lethal violence came
over me, all doubt as to their innocence floating free, and all cares with it. "You're a cover for people smuggling."
"And what's that to you?"
"It means that nobody's going to miss you."
Chapter Thirty-Five
I strode forwards, holding my hands out in invitation as I spoke.
"You've got a woman. You've taken her from her family, and I know you've got more than one."
They stepped forwards together, spreading out to come at me from either side, and I sneered at the blatant attempt, letting them come.
The one on the left, tall, dark-haired, and with a face only a mother could love—and a trollish one at that—smiled, exposing broken and rotting teeth, before lunging forwards, lifting the bat overhead and smashing a light.
He looked up, then snarled and swung ahead anyway, even as his friend, shorter, balder, and fatter, but clearly the brains of the operation, struck again, swinging his bat from left to right, planning on catching me between the pair.
Instead, I summoned my nanite gauntlets and blocked both blows. The bat to my right bounced off, its wielder grunting with the effort, while the overhead blow—I'd caught that one, and I extruded my claws, digging them into the bat as he tried to tug it free.
"Strike one," I whispered at him, yanking the bat free and tossing it to my right, hitting that guy in the face and sending him staggering to one knee, blinking through swimming vision.
The big man growled, lifting his fists and dropping into what he clearly thought was a boxing stance, his feet too wide and elbows in too close, betraying a lack of any training. I stepped forwards, slapping his slow haymaker aside and shoving him hard in the side, sending him staggering.
"Strike two."
He growled, catching himself on the girls' vacated table. The thug shoved off it, head down, sending their abandoned drinks, colorful umbrellas and more crashing to the floor as he ran at me.
He hit me in the gut, even my enhanced size and strength unable to overcome the rules of physics as he lifted me and rammed me into the wall, drawing back and punching me in the face, hard.
The blow was hard enough to turn my face, slightly, and he whimpered, shaking his knuckles, having broken three fingers on my metal-plated cheekbones.
"That's strike three," I whispered, and he glanced back at me, not understanding, until my left hand closed over his face, and I squeezed, the cracking of bones in his face ringing out along with his pained squeal.
I glared at the other two as I straightened up, the big man collapsing to his knees as I pulled down on his face and the pain broke him.
"Bring them out. All of them," I forced out between gritted teeth, glaring at the other two. "Or I swear, I'll gut the pair of you."
"No, you won't," said a voice from my left, and I turned. The door behind the bar had opened, and a man strode out. Tall, short blond hair, a shitty attempt at a beard, and . . . a shotgun held aimed at me.
"Drop it," I told him.
"Fuck you." He sneered as he pulled the trigger, staggering me, then pumping the shotgun again and firing the second barrel into my side from a range of ten feet and knocking me from my feet into the wall.
"Who the fuck was he?!" the newcomer snarled at the other two. "Get Johann out of here, and cover the windows!" he barked at the other two.
I blinked, then shook my head, my side screaming in pain, but . . . but it was just pain. I could feel the itching as nanites flowed, repairing and pushing out the shot already, my bones fine.
I'd dropped the big guy and was half-slumped over, braced on the floor. I stared down at my hands, at the scuffed and filthy wood beneath them, and growled in the back of my throat, pushing myself up and touching my side. Feeling the exposed bones, coated in their new metal.
They were all watching me now as I straightened to my full height, cracking my neck, rolling my shoulders and flexing my fingers.
"My turn, motherfucker," I snarled, striding forwards to the man with the shotgun.
He started swearing, fumbling a pair of fresh cartridges out of a pocket, cracking the stock open and hissing as he pulled the empty ones free, tossing them aside.
He managed to get one in, dropping the other and snapping it closed, lifting it and aiming for my head. I grabbed the barrel in my left hand and yanked them up, letting it discharge harmlessly into the ceiling, salting me in plaster dust as I drove my Harvest Blade through his chest.
He was human, eight hundred and fourteen attuned nanites, a thousand and fifty-four corrupt, but fuck it, no reason to waste them. I ripped them free before tossing his corpse aside and turning to face the other two.
"Don't run," I said flatly. "You'll only die tired."
I didn't know where I'd got the quote from, but it had the desired effect, and they sprinted for the door, leaving the one they'd identified as Johann on the floor clutching his face and weeping, lost in his own private hell.
I took two quick steps, then stabbed forwards with the Harvest Blade. Taking Benny in the back of the thigh, I sent him screaming to the floor before I ripped it free and slashed my arm out. The nanites flowed into a new configuration as they formed a whip. The tip looped around the other man's calf, connecting to the rest to form a noose then extruding razor- sharp spines.
I pulled back, hard, and sawed clean through his lower leg, the foot flying free and the whip flashing back towards me, coating the crying Benny in his friend's blood.
"Fuck's sake, need to work on that," I muttered to myself before whipping the, well, the whip forwards to loop around the now-one-footed man's throat.
I didn't extend the spikes this time, and instead I pulled, dragging him back across the floor, coughing and gasping, frantically pawing at the loop in panic.
"Benny!" I called to the barman. "Wait outside and tell anyone who comes exactly what you, and these fucks, have been doing. If you don't, and I have to come and find you?"
He glanced back as I released the other man from the whip, drawing it back into my hand.
I lifted my clawed gauntlet and slammed it down on the whimpering man's back, digging the claws in and tearing, making him scream in pain.
"I'll be annoyed," I warned him, exposing my teeth in as feral a snarl as I'd ever managed. "Now GET OUT."
He ran for it.
With that done, and no idea if he'd keep running or if he'd be a good boy and wait outside, probably bleeding to death in the process, I released my claws, then sank them into the shoulder of the man below me, turning him over and looking down at him.
I'd seen the way he was desperately trying to stop the blood that was gushing from the severed foot, and I'd assumed he was out of the fight, so I was totally surprised when he rammed a six-inch folding blade into my stomach.
I smacked his hand away. The claws tore deep furrows in his arm as I glared down at it then hissed in fury. Dropping to one knee, I slapped my hand down over his chest.
"How many more are there here?" I asked him in a hiss, as my claws slowly extended, digging wells into his chest that quickly filled with blood.
"I . . . I . . . please! I'm dying!" he squealed.
"Yes . . . and very, very painfully," I promised him. "SPEAK!" I increased the pressure with my claws, and he shrieked.
"Three!" I lifted my hand ever so slightly, stopping my claws, and waited. "There's three! The boss, his man, and a-a client."
"A client," I repeated flatly. "A fucking client. And what are they paying for?"
He went silent, and I increased the pressure slowly, sinking the claws in deeper.
"The girls!" He whimpered, clutching at my hand and trying to pry my fingers out. "Please . . ."
"The girls," I repeated, gritting my teeth and shaking my head in fury. "Last question: where?"
"The . . . back room! Stairs . . . down to the basement!" he howled out. I nodded, lifting my other gauntlet into sight and flexing those claws as well. "NO!" He whimpered. "You . . . you have to let me go. I told you . . . what you wanted—"
"And that's why you die quick," I snarled, lifting my right hand and ramming the Harvest Blade into his heart, ripping his nanites free.
I stood then, dripping with blood and coldly furious as I marched around the bar and through the doors marked "staff only."
There was a storeroom behind, a dozen stacks of beers, cases of various liquors, some random crap that looked to have been moved from other rooms . . . and behind a mop and bucket that had been knocked over, a door leading to a stairwell.
I strode through, pulling the Harvest Blade back and reforming the gauntlets, my mood black enough that I needed the claws.
The stairwell was badly lit, a single neon tube that flickered and blinked, seemingly on the verge of giving out entirely. As I reached the bottom, the twin smells of seawater and shit filtered out to greet me from somewhere ahead.
I growled to myself, passing rooms that led off a central corridor, glancing in and finding them empty, most simple storerooms. But as I passed through another set of doors marked "Private," the smells intensified, and I picked up the rhythmic grunting of sex and a voice crying weakly for help.
The door ahead on the right-hand side opened, and an Eastern European man stepped out, newspaper held casually in his left hand, pen raised as he lifted his head, calling out towards me as if totally unconcerned.
"Five across, starts with a D. 'As sure as taxes.'"
"Death," I said flatly, and his head whipped around, seeing me closing the distance to him.
"Kurwa!" he cursed, backing up and reaching for a gun. A crash came from behind him preceding another, bigger man, his hair short and buzz cut, muscles straining at the tight T-shirt he wore, came barreling out of the office, a claw hammer in his hand.
I blocked the swing, deflecting the hammer aside, and slashed my claws down his chest, tearing the top open and making him gasp in pain before he snap-kicked me in the chest.
I staggered back two steps, then slashed both hands down, crossing over in an X pattern as he hopped and snapped out a second kick.
I missed as he dropped to the floor, spinning and hooking my leg, taking me down and rolling over me.
He grabbed both my arms and straddled me, the speed that he pinned me making it clear that he was both an experienced and damn skilled fighter.
He was more skilled than me, certainly . . . but he was also human.
I glared up at him and formed a spike of nanites from my chest, driving it forwards, the tip jutting out of his back as I skewered his heart.
He grunted, the force he was using to hold me pinned evaporating as his muscles went slack, leaving only his weight as his hands lifted, shaking, to touch the spear.
He lifted his head, staring at me. I growled, driving the Harvest Blade into his side and feeding it.
"Mariusz?" the other man called.
I lifted us both, clambering to my feet, and glaring around the body of the enforcer, at the man who'd been pegged as the boss.
He blanched, seeing me clearly in control, and the spike jutting from his man's back, then opened fire, three bullets slamming into the unfortunate
Mariusz, who was already dead, eyes rolled back in his head as he sagged. The boss swore and turned, running in the opposite direction.
I threw the body aside, running forward only to have a bearded and hairy
man open the door to my right and plow straight into me, taking us both to the ground.
I growled, shoving him away from me, sending him crying out in shock, as I glanced from the boss, who rounded a corner ahead out of sight, and into the room the man had come from.
There were two women in chains, he was naked from the waist down, and . . .
My mind blanked at the sight of the third body in the room, the blood, and . . . and what he'd clearly been doing.
I growled, coming to my feet and grabbing him by the throat, lifting him and slamming him into the wall and staring into his eyes.
"You sick, sick fuck," I whispered, unable to say more, as he wheezed out in reply.
"Don't . . . am the . . . mayor of—" I didn't let him finish. He wasn't the mayor in this town; the re-election signs were for a woman. I didn't give a shit where he was from, not after what I'd just seen.
I rammed the Harvest Blade into his chest, tearing the nanites free and dropping him on the floor, dead, and far too slowly.
I knew I was going to have nightmares over the sight of what he'd been doing in that room, but he was the mayor of somewhere, and they deserved to know what a fuckhead rapist deviant he was.
I discarded the body, running after the boss, turning the corner and finding a set of steel stairs leading down to a second level, one with two cages, filled with people.
At the far end, I saw a metal hatch and the terrified eyes of the man as he dropped through, pulling it closed after him.
I ran, covering the distance in a handful of leaps, dropping to the floor and sliding to a halt, yanking on the hatch and finding it locked.
I snarled, heaving, then extruded the blade and punched it through, flexing it out and "seeing" the far side in grainy, radar-like resolution.
It took a second to make sense of it, then the blade was flowing, nanites reforming and filling the padlock, flexing and popping it open, then pouring back as I yanked the door upwards.
Just in time to see the small inflatable that tore away in a jet of water.
I'd lost him, and above I could already hear the wail of approaching sirens. I let out a furious scream, pounding my fists on the hatch, then stood, heading back to the cages, popping the locks off and pulling the doors free, searching until I found the woman I was looking for.
"You," I snapped, making her draw back in fear. "It's all right," I said, forcing myself to smooth my tone as best I could. "Your family sent me," I said. "Come with me, and I'll take you to them."
She was hesitant at first, and I didn't have the time to fuck about, not with the police and more coming. I grabbed her, tossing her over my shoulder as I marched towards the hatch, pausing as I glanced into a posh office, clearly supposed to be secure, but unlocked.
I grabbed a large duffle bag that was wrapped in plastic, opening it and dumping the laptop from the desk inside, then resealing it, and hoping it'd survive what was to come.
"The police are coming. Free the others and claim asylum here. It's your best chance," I ordered the rest as I kicked the hatch free, then hesitated, before going on. "I'd appreciate if none of you remembered what I look like." I repeated it twice more, once in Greek and once in Armenian, just in case, then turned away.
With that, I stepped forwards, dropping through the hatch and landing on the jetty below, running to the left towards the beach in the distance.
The underside of the bar was raised up on a series of metal and concrete pylons, with a floating jetty for tourists or stock or something, rather than people smuggling. At the end, where the cliff face climbed upwards, was a narrow walkway that led down to the water.
"Can you swim?" I called to the woman, getting a panicked "little bit" in response. "We're going to dive into the water, swim to the beach, then we walk up the steps and get into my car like we've been on the beach for a quick swim," I told her, setting her down and getting a nervous nod.
"My . . . husband—"
"He's on his way to meet us at a friend's place," I assured her. "Now go!" She paused, glancing back at me nervously, and down at herself. She was
wearing what was obviously only her underwear, and I gestured for her to move, my mind already working.
She dove in, her head popping to the surface as she spluttered, then struck out for the beach, and I dove in after her, quickly catching up and herding her along, washing the blood off as I went.
It took ten minutes, and by the time we were walking past people on a busy sand and pebble-covered beach, the police presence and the ambulances had drawn almost every eye upwards.
I led her forwards, stooping and grabbing a woman's bag, towel, and a wrap, tossing the latter two to my companion, who tugged them on quickly, then took the bag, pulling a hat free and putting it on, followed by sunglasses.
We wove through the crowd, backs turned as they were to the sea, watching the flashing lights from above and the shouts as the police stormed the smugglers' pub.
We climbed the stairs fast, keeping her on the cliff-side of the stairs. A shout rose from the beach that someone had been robbed just as we topped the climb and passed from sight.
I led the way through the gathered crowds to where a single harassed copper was trying to field questions and keep people back from the crime scene.
"Hey, mate, that's my car!" I called to him. He glared at me, then back, seeing I was parked literally on his side of the barrier he'd just erected, and in a space that another ambulance was trying to edge around.
"For god's . . . fine!" he snapped. "Get it out of here! This is a crime scene!"
"Sorry!" I called, smiling widely and guiding the woman to the passenger seat, then jumping in and starting the car up, edging forwards and past a pair of frantically working paramedics. Benny lay on a stretcher, his face grey with blood loss, and the girls I'd kicked out earlier were staring wide- eyed at me. I dropped my window as we passed them and winked.
They backed up, clearly terrified, and I just hoped that when they heard what the place actually was, they'd keep their mouth shut . . . or the fact that I'd obviously recognized them now, after sparing them earlier, would keep their mouths shut.
I pulled over on the way up the bank, letting two more police cars pass, then out onto the main road at the top, turning right and heading back into the town, all the while hoping I'd not been caught on camera anywhere.
"Who . . . you?" The woman asked me in broken English.
I shrugged. "Just a friend."
"No . . . no friends here," she whispered brokenly. Tears ran from edges
of her stolen sunglasses.
I reached over, thinking to grip her hand, offering comfort, and she flinched away from me.
I pulled my hand back quickly, having no idea what the hell she'd been through and not wanting to make it any worse than I already had in forcing her to come with me this far.
The rest of the journey was in silence, thankfully, as I had no idea what the hell I would do if she asked to get out. I was still wondering as I pulled up before the hotel, stopping the engine and putting the handbrake on, as I turned to her, unsure what to say.
"Look," I said in her language in the end. "Your husband asked me to find you. I told him to come here. I'll arrange a room for you and your family, then you can decide what to do.
"Personally? I think this is a wonderful island, and I'd recommend asking for asylum here, but I don't know you or your needs, or what it's like to apply for asylum here. You'll have to make that decision for yourself. Either way, I'd appreciate it if you forgot who I am and what I look like."
With that, I popped the door and climbed out, walking around the car and opening her door, guiding her out, then up the steps.
Val was there waiting; I swear the fucker never slept. No matter when I was there, so was he, and he smiled in greeting at us.
"Val, my friend, I came across a family in need of some help," I started, seeing the look of concern on his face and smiling despite myself. "I'll pay for it, but can you arrange a room? Her husband and two little ones are coming."
"Of course, of course. I have a room being cleaned now, only two beds, but I can move a third in. It's all I have, but—"
"It . . . good. Thank you," she whispered.
"It's being cleaned now. Maybe ten minutes?" Val suggested. "A drink, and some food perhaps?"
"Please." She nodded eagerly.
Val guided her to a table in the corner, speaking gently to her before returning to me. He paused for a moment, looking me over, then jerked his head to the small office behind the counter.
I followed him, sitting on the edge of his desk as he called for someone else to take over the front, then closed the door, turning to me.
"Steve, what's going on?" he asked me softly. "Do I need to know anything about her and her family?"
I paused, weighing things up before answering, then decided honesty was the best policy.
"She's a refugee, victim of a people-smuggling operation. Her husband begged for help, as did her kids. I couldn't say no."
"The bastards," he growled, shaking his head. "There are rumors that there are some here, here in my town! But to see this, to see the fear on her face—"
"I know," I agreed. Then, cursing myself, I opened my mouth, then closed it again, not sure if I should say anything else.
"If I was a younger man," he whispered, his fists curling tight as he shook with suppressed rage. "I—I—in the army, we—"
"Just do me a favor, Val," I said slowly. "Don't ask any questions, not about anything . . . you might suspect."
"Suspect?" He frowned. "You're not—"
"No, fuck no, I'm not involved with that scum. I just mean, if you were to hear tales of . . . anything happening . . . maybe don't ask me any questions?"
He glanced at me, then the black duffel bag that sat on the floor between us, a puddle already forming around it, then back at me, before glancing at the screens on the wall that showed the entrance.
He stood, clearly thinking for a few seconds, then reached over and pulled the hard drive free of the recording device and passed it to me.
"I don't know what you mean," he said slowly. "But I know enough to bet on a friend."
