The Hunters and The Hunted

Meet Marty

“Theresa Holland, here. Live on the scene of the Giacomo House where authorities arrived after several gunshots were reported,” a young redhead stood before a news camera in front of a lavish Great Neck, Long Island home. The flashing lights of police vehicles and an ambulance could be seen behind her. “According to sources shots were fired by Nicole Giacomo, wife of the alleged Crime Boss, Onofrio Giacomo. It is rumored that the altercation was over an affair Mr. Giacomo was carrying on with a close friend of his wife. When the alleged perpetrator found out, she cornered the lover’s and opened fire.” The camera panned out to get a full shot of the house as the body bag was wheeled out. “From what it looks like,” the camera focused back on Theresa, “there is one dead and Nicole Giacomo has fled the scene.” A picture of a young woman came on the screen.

Then the television paused. “I think that’s enough of that.” Ira, a blonde bombshell of a creature, said as she looked from the television to the young woman sitting before her. “Your new identity is Marty Daniels. I’ll have one of my guys bring you to your new house. Find a job. Make sure it has flexible hours. When I call you, you come. Do you understand?” The mousy brunette nodded her head. “Good.” Ira hit the intercom button on her phone and barked an order to the poor assistant on the other end.

Shortly after a man entered. “Dane,” She said pointing to an open seat. “Sit.”

“Is that supposed to be a dog joke?” the man asked.

“No, Dane,” Ira’s crystalline eyes rolled, “sit down.” The man, adorned with leather and male bravado, took one of the seats set before the long desk.

“Dane, Marty is one of my new girls.” Ira was The Demon of Wrath who worked primarily with the trading of souls. Within the city of Crossroads, where a majority of the people were supernatural, their currency was based on soul purity. Marty just so happened to have a high soul purity and Ira made a deal for the rights to it. “I want you to make it known to everyone that she is off-limits.”

“What?” Dane looked over at the mess of a woman. “Why?” Ira had never had a girl that was off-limits. She had girls that were to the highest bidder or for certain purposes but never off-limits.

“Because I said so, Dane. Make it known. Marty Daniels is off-limits.” Ira was not to be mistaken for a kind woman. Her pencil skirt and clean pressed shirt was no indication of the rage and terror she could cause. Her eyes flared red, a reminder for her employee to stop questioning her.

“Will do.” Dane stood up and nodded as he was about to dismiss himself. “Anything else?”

“Yes, make sure she gets to her new house safely…”

#

"Hey, Marty!” Tara, the manager, came over to the table with a smile. She was pretty, as all Naiads were. Marty had never seen a nymph, land or water, that wasn’t. She used her looks to her advantage. She batted her chocolate eyes and put on a sweet smile. “Can you close tonight?”

Marty worked in a high-end women’s clothing store, Enchanted Nights, in the Light District. Most of the clientele were the wealthy, pure or impure. She was the only human employed there but her coworkers never seemed to care or worry. She was protected. If anyone wasn’t in any danger, it was her. Plus, she was reliable. Marty was the go-to girl for coverage. That was why Tara went to her first.

“I guess.” Marty looked at her watch. That would be another double that week which wasn’t out of the norm for her. “But I’m opening tomorrow.”

“Oh, I’ll trade!” Tara beamed. “I have a hot date tonight and you know how vampires are when they have to wait.” She went on about her date as Marty’s eyes glazed over. She didn’t date. So, no, she didn’t know.

“Okay.” Marty only agreed to end the conversation. She knew that the morning was going to come, and she would get a call to open. It was a vicious cycle that she let Tara get into, but the girl was young and should be able to go out.

Tara left and Marty was preparing the tables for closing. Clothing didn’t fold itself.

The front door dinged. “Welcome to Enchanted Nights. I’m Marty. If you need anything-” Marty turned to face the customer that entered the shop. “Oh, Hello, Dane. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Ira wants you to come tomorrow afternoon.” Dane hadn’t changed a single bit since the first day Marty met him in Ira’s office three years prior. His hair was still a mess of dark wavy locks pulled into a ponytail that rested upon the base of his neck. He still wore the same leather jacket and boots. Werewolves were like that, though. They never changed. They were immortal.

“Okay.” Ira usually called upon Marty to cook for dinner parties. Marty was a chef in her past life before Ira saved her and brought her to Crossroads. Back when Marty was Nicole.

#

It was a slow night at Mamas. Nicole just started at the ristorante two weeks prior and she already felt at home. Antonella Giacomo was a short plump woman with graying curls and a sweet face. She was ‘Mama’. She reminded Nicole of her own mother. She thought, perhaps that was the reason why it was such a good fit.

But then he came in. Onofrio Giacomo. He was a six-foot bronze god with honey eyes and a devious tug to his smile. He was Antonella’s eldest son. His booming voice shook the kitchen as he entered looking for someone else. Instead, he was met with large doe eyes and a terrified new cook.

“Ah, Madonna! I’m so sorry. I thought you were…”

“Kayla is on tomorrow…” Nicole was catching her breath.

“I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He ran a hand through his soft chestnut-colored hair. The corner of his lips tugged into a smile and Nicole felt her insides flip.

Mama entered the kitchen. “I knew I heard you. Keep your hands off my new cook! She’s a good one. I don’t need you ruining her!” The Italian rolled off her tongue furiously. Nicole only picked up on a few words, her mother never taught her Italian. It was used to mutter under her breath when she was irritated. Usually, it was at her father, who was as Irish as they came. It left Nicole in an awkward position as she instantly became the topic of contention.

“I thought she was Kayla!”

“Well, she’s not. You’re not ruining this one.”

“I never plan on it, Mom!”

“Well, I’m stopping it before it can happen.” She huffed and went back to resolve an issue in the front.

“I’m sorry about that,” Onofrio laughed. “I’m Onofrio Giacomo.”

“I figured. I’ve seen your picture. Clearly, outdated,” Nicole’s voice softened as her cheeks rouged. “So, Kayla? That your girl?”

“Not really,” that devious smile came back. That should’ve been enough for Nicole to run scared. But instead, she agreed to a date.

The following night, Onofrio was set to pick her up. He ignored his mother’s wishes. He just had to take the blushing beauty out for one date. One date wouldn’t ruin her, right?

“Do you know who his father is?” Giovanna, Nicole’s mother, was very vocal about Onofrio.

“I know,” Nicole heard all about Carino Giacomo from her mother. The man was serving time on RICO charges. Giovanna knew the man growing up. He was a gangster. His father was a gangster. The Giacomo men had a history. She had a feeling the son was like the two previous generations and she didn’t want her daughter involved in it at all.

“I don’t like this. Not one bit.” Giovanna paced in her daughter’s room. “I told you I didn’t like you workin’ at the restaurant. Now, you’re goin’ on a date with the son? Cancel the date.”

“Mom,” Nicole gave her mother a soft smile, “he’s not his father. It’s just a date. It doesn’t mean I have to marry him.”

#

The shop was slow. Being alone made her uneasy sometimes. She knew she was protected by Ira. However, she wondered how much fear would keep people away. When would someone grow the courage to test Ira’s wrath? Marty was the easiest of targets. She was just a human.

Luckily for her, no one threatening came in and the closing was a breeze. Marty locked the money away for Tara to count whenever she showed up for work the following day. She gave the rugs a quick pass over with the vacuum and fixed the mannequin that an imp had hung on earlier that day.

Marty closed the door and locked it. “Oh, come on!” She leaned against the glass window and reached up to grab the bottom of the pull-down gate. Her fingers were just barely touching the metal.

“Need some help?” Marty’s eyes shot open as she heard the voice behind her.

“Uh,” She lowered herself slowly and turned around praying what was behind her wasn’t something that could eat her, “please?” She tried not to sound too helpless as her eyes fluttered up to get a quick look at the man who came to her aid. A pair of kind sea-foam green eyes looked down on her. The hints of blue that poked through the folds of his iris struck her and made her knees weak. She thought for a moment he might be something devious but the feeling wasn’t magical, it was primal.

Marty stepped aside and watched the man as he reached up to pull down the metal gate.

“There you go.” He spoke as Marty slipped by and locked it in place.

“Thank you.” She avoided making eye contact, again. She was a good Catholic woman. Just because she made a deal with a demon didn’t mean she was about to forsake the vow she made to God.

“You’re welcome.” She heard his voice and saw his feet shuffle as her eyes remained on the ground. “It’s late. Is anyone coming to accompany you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Marty replied. “Thank you for your concern, really.”

“I know this might sound strange, but would you mind if I walked you to wherever it is you are going to?” She did what she told herself not to do. Marty looked up at his eyes. They were locked on her, almost as if he was waiting for her to look.

He wasn’t a vampire. Marty knew that from the warm toasted parlor of his skin. All the vampires she had met over the past three years had a cold tone underneath their skin, regardless of their skin color. She attributed that to them being dead.

He wasn’t a werewolf. She never met a werewolf that looked as put-together as he did. They all wore leather and clunky boots that rattled when they walked. That was if they walked. Most of them rode in on motorcycles.

There was something about him that made her want to trust him. Whatever he was, she agreed to let him walk her home. “I’m Donovan Bass, by the way. Who might you be?”

“Marty Daniels.” She kept her words short. Marty just wanted to get home to Dahlia and make dinner for Philo and herself. She knew Tara would call her to open the store in the morning. Then she had the dinner party. She would need all the sleep she could get.

“Well, Mrs. Daniels,” Marty looked up at him, astonished. “I noticed the ring.” She looked at the bridal set upon her ring finger then back up at the man. “Where’s your husband?” Donovan asked. The man seemed to be upset by the fact the man who gave her that ring wasn’t there to make sure she got home alright. There was more to the story. There was more to the tale of her marriage.

“He’s not here,” Marty answered Donovan’s question as she started the walk toward her house. It wasn’t a long walk. Her house was located in a small area near the Seelie Forest where the Seelie Fae, the light magic fairies, lived. It was a quiet area and that was the way Marty liked it. Both areas, The Light District and her neighborhood, abutted one another.

“Not here as in he’s out of town or as in he doesn’t live in Crossroads?” Donovan inquired.

“He doesn’t live here.” Her answer was short. Marty didn't typically like to talk about her circumstance, but Donovan seemed to be sincere enough to get a response.

“I’m sorry,” Donovan said while placing his hands in his jacket pocket.

“Don’t be.” She offered him a warm smile. He didn’t know what her husband was like. She was much better off without him there.

“If I were married, I would want to be with my wife every day.” Donovan’s words reached into Marty’s heart and squeezed an ounce of jealousy from it.

“She would be a lucky woman.” When she got married, she thought she was getting a man like Donovan. Instead, she got a monster.

“I hope she would agree.” Donovan grinned while giving Marty a once-over. “I’m sorry if I’m asking too much but,” He turned the corner to follow Marty, “may I ask why he isn’t here?”

Marty would rather small talk over talking about herself. Maybe if she was upfront about it, he wouldn’t push it. Maybe the awkwardness of the whole subject would cause it to be dropped. “Well,” She took a second to rethink her decision, “he tried to kill me.”

The conversation died as she expected it would. Who wanted to talk about such a heavy topic as being married to a person who wanted you dead?

A few minutes passed without a word.“I’m still sorry.” Donovan broke the silence and Marty looked up at him with confusion. “If I was your husband, I could never want to kill you.”

“You don’t know me.” She muttered under her breath.

“Should I be afraid of you then? Are you some type of creature that morphs into a ferocious beast?” His question was a warranted one for living in Crossroads. Sometimes girls that looked like Marty turned out to be something entirely different.

“No. I’m human.” The idea of her being able to transform into anything but a puddle of nerves was comical. “D-do you mind if I ask what you are?”

#

“And what happened after that?” Philo sat at her dinner table, a glass of wine in hand, interrogating her about the walk home with Donovan, the very sexy dreamy-eyed Good Samaritan. Even Dahlia seemed to be very interested in their conversation as she sat in the archway of the kitchen.

Philo was Marty’s best friend. They met when she first came to the city. Philo worked in the Human Services office. They bonded over their mutual distaste for getting hit on. While Marty had a vow to protect, Philo had no interest in sleeping with the masses. He was a bit wiser about the ways of the world. He was always looking out for Marty, especially when it came to men trying to weasel into her life. She was naïve. She needed protecting.

“He told me that he was part merfolk. We talked some more. I offered to make him a thank you dinner.” Marty explained quickly as she made some stuffed peppers. After dinner, they always watched old movies and passed out. They had a standing dinner date.

“So, it’s a date?” Philo’s words sounded very judgmental and Marty didn’t really like it.

“It’s not a date.” She let the oven door slam.

“He’s coming over for dinner. That’s a date.” Philo didn’t jump.

“Just because your mother is Aphrodite doesn’t mean you can deem things as a date or not.” Marty snipped and pursed her lips. “I’m sorry that was mean.”

“I’m a person. He’s coming here for a date. He’s what? Merfolk? Yeah, he’s coming for a date.” Philo took a sip of his wine. “Just be careful, Marty. I love you, but you see the good in everyone even when they don’t have any good.”

#

The sun rose, and the fog rolled out. The air that was filled with howls the night before was silent. Dane Borg laid, coated with blood and fur, along the side of a man-made lake. His eyes sluggishly opened as the bright morning light bounced off the vibrant grass near the putting green. His hand dipped into the chilling water and followed with the rest of his body.

He popped out of the lake and the air nipped away at him. His hands raked through his hair and water cascaded down his back. A stiff wind blew by carrying a scent of vanilla, sweat, and nature. There was someone out there; someone human. “Come out.”

A small woman stepped out from behind a large rock, one of those boulders that were dropped from a glacier. She held a bow and arrow that glinted in the sun. “It's silver.” She shouted sternly.

“If you were planning on killing me, you already missed your chance.” Dane walked through the lake toward the huntress. “I'm over a millennia-old. A little cupcake can't take me out, even if you are the best marksman in Crossroads.” She rose the bow and aimed it at his chest. “Better have faith in your aim. If that doesn't kill me, then I'll kill you.”

“I'm not afraid of you.” While she had a sweet voice, her tone suggested she wasn't as innocent as she seemed. “Come closer. You'll see.”

Dane laughed while taking a step out of the lake. “I'll see what?” He was naked from turning the night before. Dane was a well-endowed man and he used that to his advantage most of the time.

“I'll start with your dick.” She said plainly.

“Whoa, I usually like to get it up before a girl gets a whack at it.” He shook off the excess water and took another step forward.

“Not interested, wolf.” A sizzle could be heard and the smell of burning skin wafted into the air as the arrow was raised against his throat.

“Dane.” He said stepping back from the silver.

“What?”

“Dane. That's my name.”

“Why do I care what your name is?”

“It's better than calling me ‘wolf’. Makes you sound like an idiot hunter.” He laughed giving his rear a crass scratch.

“Whatever. I don't care. Werewolves are disgusting and vile killers.” Her arm was still raised.

“You know my kind so well.” Dane turned on his heels. “Bye,” he started walking away, naked. Dane enjoyed killing hunters, but he couldn’t kill her on the neutral ground of the Country Club. Apparently, it was a memo she never got. Since their conversation was about her distaste for his kind, Dane lost interest. If it was more about her getting naked then he would've stayed. Since it wasn't he dismissed himself.

“Where are you going?” She ran after him, tucking her arrow back into the quiver.

“To get clothes.” He barked back.

“Here,” she whipped off her jacket and handed it to him. “Wear this.” Dane looked at the jacket and wondered what weaponry could be concealed in such a thing that could kill him. Since the little human didn’t look clever enough to come up with such an idea, he took it and wrapped it around his waist.

“No ‘thank you’?” She asked as if he had manners. If anything, Dane felt as if he was doing a disservice to all by concealing such a thing of beauty.

“Thank you, Cupcake Hunter.” He said with a toothy grin.

“Typhoon.”

“That's your name?” She nodded her head. “Sucks to have hippie parents.” The truth was Tillie had been going by Typhoon ever since Shockwave, Sabine, and she started werewolf hunting. She felt like a whole new person as Typhoon, even though when she looked in the mirror, the same brown-haired brown-eyed girl stared back.

Dane kept walking toward the main building of the country club and as did Tillie. He gave her a sideways glance. What in the world did she want? He wondered. She wasn't going to kill him. She wouldn't be trying to keep up with him if that was the case. Or so he thought. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, I'm going to make sure you don't kill anyone.” She flashed him a proud smile.

“You know these are neutral grounds, right?” She looked at him and shook her head. “I thought so. I’m getting clothes and food before heading home.”

“Food,” Tillie perked up with a little skip in her step, “count me in.”

Dane found the girl tolerable. He didn't care for humans all that much. Especially humans that fancied themselves as hunters of his kind. He let her tag along, anyway. Dane wasn’t a packing kind of guy. He did have some type of allegiance to his kind. One more werewolf alive was one less body the hunters could claim with their bow.

“So,” she was the type who didn't shut up, Dane could feel it, “what's it like?”

“What is what like?” Dane answered with a question.

“Being a werewolf,” Her cute brown eyes sparkled up at him like some lost puppy.

“Like being a werewolf. I've been one for so long that I don't remember what it is like not to be one.” Dane answered honestly. Dane was crass and vulgar, but he didn't go around deceiving people. It was one of his more redeeming qualities.

“Why did you become a werewolf, then?” Tillie was an awfully curious human.

“I didn't have a choice. None of us really do. Stop asking questions.” Dane hissed.

“It was just a question. Sheesh.” Tillie crossed her arms.

“It was a few questions.” Dane scowled as a breeze rolled across the golf course. “If you must use your mouth, then use it doing something useful. I can offer some suggestions, my dick for starters.”

Tillie pivoted on one foot and placed herself directly in front of him. Her hand came up and clutched tightly onto his package. “I don’t want your dick, Dane. Bring it up one more time and I will use this beauty to slice it off.” Her free hand exposed the concealed silver blade on her hip. “Nod once if you understand.” Dane was on his tippy toes trying to escape her grip. “Dane.” He nodded, and she released. “Good boy.”

The remainder of their walk was silent. People were starting to arrive. Small women with golden wings fluttered around the country club. One stopped Dane and Tillie as they entered. “Mister Borg,” She nodded at him with a wink, “and?”

“Typhoon,” Dane stated her name. “She’ll be taking a seat. I’ll be getting dressed.”

“Well, there are no weapons allowed in the dining area, Ma’am.” Tillie looked at her bow. Sasha was a part of her. Sasha was like an extension of herself. Tillie didn’t want to leave it with just anyone.

“I have a locker. I’ll stow them there,” He looked at Tillie. “You wanted that food, right?”

She grumbled and held out the bow and arrows. Since her dagger was concealed, she kept it. Tillie didn't want to be completely vulnerable. “She’ll take them,” He pointed to the fae that floated in front of them. All her weapons were hunter silver. Hunter silver was enchanted to injure a werewolf more than ordinary silver. Dane wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t about to take them in his own hands.

#

“Whoa,” Tillie was staring at the menu, “What are even these prices?” She asked as Dane came to sit down.

Dane picked up the menu and growled, “Just order something.” He didn’t want to hear her arguing about money and how she couldn’t accept it because all girls did that. Girls pretended they didn’t want guys paying for their stuff, but they did.

“Okay.” Dane shrugged as she spoke. Maybe she wasn’t like typical girls.

The waiter came to take their order. Dane spoke up first, “Triple bacon cheeseburger with onions, pickles, swiss cheese, and barbecue sauce. Add a side of fries, too.”

“Give me the same.” Tillie flashed a cute and sweet smile at an astonished Dane. Tillie looked at the clock. She was sure Sabine was waiting for her back at the apartment. But, food…

Dane picked up on her nervous tapping. “Someone is a little uneasy.”

“I’m having breakfast with a fleabag,” Tillie shrugged, “it’s only natural to be uneasy.”

“I’m having breakfast with a genocidal maniac. How do you think I feel?”

Tillie thought about it for a moment. He had a point. She was just as much a murderer as he was. Except, she did it for the greater good. He did it because he was a monster. Either way, it was really splitting hairs.

Deciding to make conversation she asked, “So, how old is old?”

“One thousand one hundred and seventy-three years old.” It was a mouthful. Dane was from a time where Vikings ran rampant along the British countryside before there was the United Kingdom. “Can you stop asking me questions?” and he wasn’t a big fan of curiosity.

“It was just one…” her voice trailed off.

“I don’t care.” Dane kept his voice flat.

Tillie looked around to see what kind of creatures were there. She didn’t want to be caught off guard if a few wolves ambushed her. There were no weapons allowed but she snuck her dagger. It was safe to say others could do the same.

“Why are you letting me live?” Tillie and silence didn’t bode well.

“Killing you would only prove your point,” Dane leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs toward her side of the table.

“That you’re a murderous mindless sack of fleas?” Dane nodded. “And when did you start caring about what hunters thought of your kind?”

“Who said I cared? I just like proving little shits like you wrong.” Dane leaned an elbow on the table and reached across the table, “I like watching your brows furrow when you don’t get your way. You’re like an angry chihuahua.” Tillie swatted his hand away as she made the exact face he spoke of. “See.”

“Asshole.”

“I’m sure you have a nice one.”

“Thinking of my ass?”

“Of fucking it senseless? Yup.” Tillie’s eyes rolled. Dane snorted a laugh.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Maybe you’re a prude.”

“Hardly. I just find fucking you repugnant.”

“Such a big word for a tiny hunter.”

“There’s more to me than my ass,” Tillie flashed a grin.

“Mark my words, Typhoon, you’ll want to fuck me one of these days.”

“Doubtful,” Tillie commented over the plate as it was placed in front of her. “Very doubtful.”

Dane gave a toothy grin before he bit into his burger. He was disgusting to watch eat. Tillie cringed at the juices dripped down his beard. He dragged an arm over his mouth to wipe it clean only to bury his face into the meat once more. Her nostrils flared while he unhinged his jaw to stuff a double-wide mouthful of fries inside of it.

A burp echoed from his lips and he looked at her barely touched food, “not hungry?”

“Lost my appetite.”

“Why?” Her glare shot straight for him. “What?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You love it.”

“I want to vomit.”

“Whatever.” Dane chugged a glass of water. “Nothing like a good meal after a full moon.”

“I should’ve shot you,” Tillie stated.

“But you didn’t.”

“Noted for next full moon, aim to kill.”

“You better hope you get me when I’m unconscious after I turn back,” he snarled.

“I can take you in any form,” she returned the snarl.

“You’ll sign your death warrant, hunter.” His confidence was unsettling. Dane was one of the oldest werewolves known to all of creation. The next closest in age was hundreds of years younger.

The kill would catapult Tillie in the hunter community. She would become a legend. The kind of legend she would want to leave behind. “Twenty-eight days.”

“What will you do with the last four weeks of your life?”

“That depends,” she smirked, “What will you do?”

There was a stare-down between the two. Dane thought she was interesting. He never let a hunter live this long before. She got the drop on him. So, she had the advantage of staying alive.

“Would y’all like your check or no?” The waiter came over and broke the stalemate.

“Charge it to my account.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Can I get a to-go box?” The waiter looked at Tillie like she had ten heads.

“Find the woman a box,” Dane growled and the waiter scampered off to meet her request. “They don’t do to-go boxes.”

“Who doesn’t do to-go boxes?”

“This place…”

“Whatever.”

The waiter came back, “I can take it to the back and wrap it up. That’s about it.”

“Please,” Tillie flashed the man a smile. “Thanks.” And her plate was taken.

“Where do you live?”

“Planning on killing me and leaving my body for my friend to find?”

“No but that is a good idea,” Dane gave a dark chuckle. “I want to make sure you get home without killing any of my kind on the way.”

“I’ll walk.”

“I’ll call a car.”

“You’re going to insist aren’t you?”

“That’s the easy way to do it, yes.”

Tillie rolled her eyes. “I’m not telling you where I live until I’m sure I’m not getting murdered.”

Dane shook his head and returned the eye roll, “it’s a ride home. Stop being stubborn.”

Once the waiter came back in golden foil, the two-headed for the front. Dane texted a driver to come and collect them. He knew it would raise questions but he said he wasn’t going to kill her. He was a man of his word. It only bought her this time. Next time he wouldn’t be so kind.

“Come on,” The car pulled up and Dane held the door open for Tillie, “get in.” His head tilted quickly to motion toward the interior of the vehicle. They had another stare-down before she got in.

“Where to?” Dane was hoping she would say his place. He could use a little romp with the cupcake hunter. She looked like she'd be a fun one in the sack.

“There's a coffee shop at the corner of Macon and Waterton. That's good.” Tillie’s fingers drummed the foil as Dane and she were stuffed into the backseat of the town car.

“Still afraid of letting me know where you live?” He gave her a side-eye.

“I wouldn't want you to huff and puff and blow my house down.” She came out with a wolf joke. He had to admit it was better than a stupid dog joke.

Dane leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Are you afraid of the big bad wolf?” She looked at him with her mouth agape. Dane took it as an opportunity to make a move. He always made the first move when it came to women. He caught her lips with his and tried to pull her body closer.

She kissed him back and as the car stopped at a red light, Tillie’s small delicate hand drove her dagger into his side. “Thanks, Dane.” She snatched her golden leftovers and jumped out of the car.

Dane’s side seared as the hunter silver remained in his side. He clutched the hilt, his palm smoking from the metal, and yanked it from his flesh. “Fuck the hunter. Get me home!” The car lurched forward and weaved through traffic.

Dane stumbled through the front door, feeling the effects of the blood loss from the wound Tillie created with her stupid hunter weapon. It was one thing to have a silver arrow pierce through the muscle. It was another thing to have a silver knife driven into vital organs.

His fingers fumbled through herbs and tonics that he kept for when things like this happened. While he hated tonics, they were useful when his flesh was festering from a silver wound. Dane kicked back some of the piss flavored water and threw the glass vial into the sink. The shards radiated outward on impact.

His hands guided him across the counter as he reached for the mortar and pestle. There was no use, he was already feeling woozy from the tonic. He stuffed a few herbs into his mouth and ground them up with his own teeth, creating pumice to coat the wound and draw out the traces of silver left behind by the knife. The relief was almost instantaneous. Dane’s knees were giving way as he packed on the last bit of chewed herbs. His body hit the floor and he was out.

Sun broke through the trees as dew rolled from a large leaf and smacked Dagfinn with droplets every six seconds or so. Another night out under the stars and he survived until the morning to do it all over again.

It had been months since he’d been home. His wife must have already given birth to their son at that time. The last time he saw her, her belly extended far beyond her feet. He knew it deep within that the gods were gifting him a son when he returned home.

“Dagfinn!” A man bellowed out as he pushed himself up from his earthen bed. “Hurry it up before father moves on without you!” Dagfinn, who was still sleepy, jumped to his feet, the full weight of his hide, fur, and weaponry pulling him back down. If it wasn’t for his eagerness to return home, he would have hit the ground in a heap of all his belongings.

Their settlement had been set up along the coast. Their raids had taken them out for much longer than they had hoped but they were well worth it. They were returning home victors. They had more furs, wines, spirits, slaves, and riches.

Dagfinn loved raiding like any other Dane. It was a part of his very soul. His family had done it for centuries. There was nothing like pillaging a Saxon village. There was nothing like a Saxon woman, either.

Well, for Dagfinn there was; his own wife. There was no woman who could compare. She was as fierce as she was beautiful. She had to be in order to tame Dagfinn Udomson.

Upon arrival, the people of his village spilled out of their homes to welcome back their men. Dagfinn broke through the crowd, searching through to the edge where he knew the blonde would stand, as she always did when he returned home.

“Dagfinn,” one arm was held out to embrace him while the other held onto a small bundle, Dagfinn’s child, “welcome home.”

“Bryn,” He gently took her into his arms and inhaled her scent. His lips grazed her neck before they found their way to hers and a small whimper of a baby broke their reunion. “Ah, yes, my son.”

“Daughter,” Bryn corrected her husband. “Her name is Freydis.”

He took the small bundle into his arms and cradled it. “Freydis, huh?”

Dane’s groggy state faded in and out. He was staring up at the beams of his ceiling. The bright light stung as his eyes struggled to focus. He rolled over and a wave of pain radiated from the wound. His fingers shoved the herbs back into it.

The warmth of his blood coated his fingers. The wound was healing but slowly. Hunter knives, Dane thought to himself.

His eyes blinked, and he was staring at the open sky. His hands lifted into view and they were coated with blood. After patting his body, he noticed it wasn’t his blood. Dagfinn was back on his feet and charging toward the Saxon’s that ambushed the men as they transported goods from one settlement to the other.

As he ran, he yanked a weapon-free from another man’s skull. It spun in his hand as his feet lifted him from the ground. A guttural sound echoed through the field and Dagfinn drove the blade down on his enemy. The blood-spattered, coating Dagfinn’s face like war paint.

The Saxon’s retreated and the dead were collected. Dagfinn and his brother, Arnthorr built the pyres and at sunset, they were lit.

The surviving men drank to their fallen friends and family. Dagfinn lost a brother, Cadoc.

Dane groaned as he dragged himself to his feet. If he could just make it to the bed. He had painkillers in the side table. That was all he needed. It wouldn’t stop the dreams but at least the pain would be numbed.

It was a stupid way to fix a problem, the pumice and tonic. The wound wouldn’t kill him, but the wound would never heal without the mix of the two. The tonic was like a drug. Once it hit the blood, it went in and pulled the silver out. The pumice purified the wound. A side effect was vivid dreams or hallucinations or both.

Dane leaned against the wall as he guided himself toward his bedroom. He flopped onto the bed and found the painkillers. He poured the bottle into his mouth and forced himself to swallow.

Dagfinn was leading the men from horseback. He could see home off in the distance. As they drew closer, the glow that he assumed was just the sunrise was the village set ablaze. Dagfinn’s heels slammed into the side of his horse as he rocketed across the landscape.

His feet hit the ground once he saw bodies. He carefully searched through them all. Faces of friends and neighbors were among the dead but Bryn and Freydis were not.

Dagfinn wandered further and further into the settlement to find more of the dead. He was sure there were no survivors and his hopes for finding his family were slim.

That was when he saw it. The blonde mass of hair he knew to be his wife’s. She was kneeling huddled over something. Dagfinn prayed to the gods that she was alive. “Bryn!” He called as he got closer, but she didn’t move. “Bryn?!” His voice shook as it bellowed out.

It was too late. She was dead. As was his daughter, Freydis. Her small toddler body was concealed within Bryn’s embrace. Her small throat was slit, the blood coating her white sleeping gown. Bryn’s side had been pierced by her own dagger. With a quick thrust, she had to have been gone in seconds.

Dane came to, his arms clutching onto a mass of blankets and tears streaming down his face. He felt his side and the wound was healed. All that remained was a tiny pink scar. Then he dried his tears and pulled himself off the bed and set about to clean up his mess. He hated silver. Not because it was a weakness but because what he had to do to heal from it.

#