Kelly Meding - Requiem for the Dead

All of the volunteered pairs met in the parking area, humans carrying all kinds of weapons and Therians dressed for easy stripping and shifting. Wyatt pulled out a map marked up with the site of each of the most recent attacks, plus Alejandro's sightings. The circle was kept mostly to Mercy's Lot and downtown, centered on the peninsula of land between the Black and Anjean Rivers. The goblins were rarely known to cross those rivers, so our hunting grid didn't surprise me.

"Report in every twenty minutes," I said. "If you can't verbalize, then text. The goblins attacked in broad daylight today, guys." I didn't have to tell them how significant today's events were; they knew.

"Is this kill or capture?" Paul asked. He was as cold and angry as I'd ever seen him, and it was a scary thing on someone who I'd accused only four months ago of being too young and twitchy to be allowed around live ammo.

"Goblin warriors are not big on talking or thinking. Even if we captured one it wouldn't tell us anything useful."

"So kill?"

"Kill or follow. If you can track a goblin that isn't about to murder or maim someone, do it. Find out where they're hiding."

"Queens are definitely in the capture category, but we aren't likely to see one," Wyatt added. "Questions?"

No one spoke. Mostly we were itching to get out there, do some goblin hunting, and avenge our friends.

"Then be careful," I said. "And happy hunting."

Wyatt and I probably could have divided our collective knowledge and resources better by partnering with other people, but we worked best as a team. Plus Wyatt was still getting to know his Lupa side, and since Lupa society used to be matriarchal, as his mate I was the only person who could get him to stand down if his temper started to get the best of him. I think he also wanted to keep an eye on me, even if he'd never admit it out loud.

Goblins still make my stomach hurt.

Our search grid was the north side of Mercy's Lot, near the old Anjean River waterfront that was slowly being renovated and brought back to life. Goblins had been spotted there pretty frequently until the disaster that was Parker's Palace, and it was one of Alejandro's sighting spots. I hadn't been back to this particular area of the city since a bunch of half-Bloods tried to murder a theater full of humans during an Arts benefit. The evening was topped off by a four-story drop out a window in an attempt to save Phineas's life.

That had hurt like a son of a bitch.

It was the same night Tybalt had lost his hand.

We dropped two pairs (Marcus/Kismet and Paul/Autumn) off in their search grid on the way to ours. Wyatt parked in an alley at the edge the grid, and then we hit the pavement. Sometimes this sort of covert work was boring as hell—a lot of walking, watching and waiting for what could amount to absolutely no payoff. In my Hunter days, no payoff meant I was going home alive and sans injury. With the slaughter of the gremlins so fresh in my mind, tonight I was craving a little mayhem.

We moved through the streets without speaking, our actions communicating for us. A head tilt here, a jacked thumb there. I'd developed that sort of thing with Jesse and Ash back in our Triad days, and I loved having it with Wyatt. I loved everything about him, as a matter of fact, and it still startled me when thoughts like that bubbled up. I wasn't used to this kind of total love, and I wanted it as long as I could have it.

Older brick and stone buildings were mixed with steel and glass. Some were homes, other businesses and restaurants in what was as close as the city got to an historic district. We were still a good eight blocks from Parker's Palace, and a big system of sewer tunnels existed below us that had once housed goblins and allowed them to travel freely in daylight. As Hunters we'd avoided going into those tunnels. Entry points were difficult to find, the quarters were too close for fighting, and the chances of getting lost were high.

Still, it was tempting me tonight.

Over an hour passed with three check-ins from all the teams. No leads and no goblin sightings, although Carly and Shelby did kill a pair of Halfies.

Score one for us, I guess.

Around two a.m. my energy was starting to flag, and I briefly entertained the idea of sneaking into a nearby all-night coffee shop for a caffeine boost. Food wasn't a horrible idea, either. I bit back a yawn, and Wyatt noticed.

Before he could say anything, our phones vibrated with text messages.

Parker's Palace. Engaged. Backup now!

The text came from Paul's phone. We'd dropped him and Autumn off a few blocks north of our area. The car was in the opposite direction and too far away, so Wyatt and I ran. The streets were quiet enough that we avoided any collisions with traffic or pedestrians, and the noise of the fight reached us before we saw it.

The street in front of the Parker's Palace theater was swarming with about three dozen goblin warriors, all in various states of battle frenzy. Goblins are nasty looking creatures on their best days, but add in a little blood lust and they are the stuff of nightmares. About four-feet tall, they hunch at the shoulders, have sharp claws on their bony hands, ruby red eyes, scaly black skin, and mouths full of cone-shaped teeth that like to bite. They also tend to run around nearly naked, wearing little loincloths that don't hide anything during a real fight—especially when the beasts get aroused by battle lust.

They were lusting all right, with four of ours in the middle of it all. Marcus and Kismet had somehow gotten there before us, and they were as engaged as Paul and Autumn. Marcus had shifted, which gave our side a good advantage. Autumn's true form was a Bengal fox, only she hadn't changed. I figured out why pretty fast.

Autumn swung at the goblins with a short sword clutched in her left hand—probably given to her by Paul because I'd never seen her with a weapon like that before—and swinging poorly. Her right arm was tucked close to her body, her face pinched and pale from pain, which meant something was broken or dislocated, and preventing her from shifting. Paul stuck close, protecting her as best he could. He'd forgone his usual weapon of an aluminum baseball bat in favor of butterfly knives that stabbed and cut with amazing precision.

Someone had been practicing.

The four of them should have been overwhelmed by the size of the goblin horde surrounding them, but the warriors weren't attacking en masse. They moved in waves, snapping at heels like rabid dogs, then backing out again. They were teasing, trapping, only occasionally trying to draw blood, but why?

Wyatt had bi-shifted as we ran, and his horrifying half-Lupa form barreled into the fight with a furious snarl. Some of the goblins actually shrank back from the sight of him, a brand-new monster to their very limited minds. Wyatt ripped two throats out with his clawed hands before they snapped into action. Instead of scattering, though, eight of them pounced on Wyatt at once.

Something slammed into me from behind before I could help him, and I rolled across the pavement. Got a knife out of my ankle sheath as I went. Came up on my knees in a half-crouch and shoved the blade into an advancing goblin's gut. Fuchsia blood spurted out, spattering my hand and arm, filling my nose with the stink of old seawater. The goblin hissed as it died.

Bitter fury filled me as I launched to my feet. Fury directed blindly at the goblins around us—soulless killing machines that existed for no other reason than to destroy and cause pain. Bits of old hurts bubbled up too, feeding that fury, and I launched myself into the fight. I rarely found any glee in killing these days, but this battle brought all those old feelings back to the forefront. Brought back old hates and prejudices I'd long thought buried.