Confusion.
“Hold her head up.” A familiar voice, but so tired, almost slurring the words. “Jesus.”
Stutter-flashes of light. Rumbling as the storm retreated, cold rain lashing down. I was wet all over, and freezing. Every part of me burned with savage pain. Someone’s arm under my head, sharp little charms biting into my skull. Heaving breaths; someone was moaning.
I’ll bet there’s a lot of wounded. Then, muzzy amazement. Wait.
“I’m not dead?” I actually said it out loud, my lips rubbery, sounding like a dumbfounded drunkard.
A short growl-cough of a laugh, one I recognized. “No. Not yet.”
My eyes flew open. I tried to move, too, my entire body tensing, but Saul’s arm tightened under my head. He was haggard and damp with rain, and the blood on his face made every part of me cold with fear.
“Relax,” he said, gently but firmly. “Just settle down for a second, okay?”
“Galina—” I began.
“She’s okay. Mad as hell, but okay. We’re going to have to have a talk, Jillian.”
I stared at him. There was crusted stuff in my eyes. I blinked. Lightning spattered through the clouds. The stadium’s roof was a gigantic gaping hole. The whole place was peppered with huge chunks of concrete, as if the gods of urban architecture had decided to throw up over everything.
Monty is just going to have a fit. It was a good thought, a sane thought. It meant I was alive. Saul’s mouth was drawn tight, and he looked fine. Bloody, but fine.
“You are never doing that to me again,” he informed me. “I swear, Jill. If you even try I’ll…” He ran out of words, his irises flaring with orange as the cougar came close to the surface. It retreated, and the rumble in his chest was a growl.
My lips were cracked. My mouth tasted foul. But I managed to get the words out, only slurring them a little. “Nothing. Could be worse. Than losing. You.”
A flash of pain crossed his face, and it tore at my heart. I never wanted to hurt him. But he simply leaned forward, his other arm slipping around me as well, and pulled me close. We clung to each other, one bone-thin Were and a very tired hunter, and if there were tears on my cheeks nobody saw and I didn’t care.
He was alive. So was I.
It had to be enough.
We didn’t get to stay like that, though. “Jill?” Anya Devi, softly.
Saul’s arms loosened. I found I could move. “Jesus,” I moaned, and someone laughed.
“Always did know how to throw a party, darlin’.” Leon’s Texas drawl was thick as cream. He must’ve been tired. “Nice friends you got. Where you find them?”
“Oh, shut up.” Anya sighed. “Jill. Please.”
I got my legs working again. Saul helped. He hauled me up carefully, I still weighed more than I should. Denser muscle, denser bone, the gem sparking on my wrist, humming a low note of satisfaction. My skin crawled. I was covered in guck and goop and I stank to high heaven.
Everything stank. The not-grass was dying, lashed by cold water. The altar was crushed under a huge shipwreck-shape of concrete, a charred stick jetting up from its crest. After a second I realized it was a flagpole, and the char-tattered rags hanging from it were anonymous. The hellbreed and Traders were either dead or fled, but there were bodies everywhere. Mounds of corpses, and grim-faced Weres picking through them, looking for survivors.
Or looking for their kin, or for hunters.
“Did we…” I steadied myself against Saul’s shoulder. Did we lose anyone? I couldn’t say it.
“Some. Maybe.” Anya was wet clear through, leaning on Theron. The Werepanther looked somber, but Devi just looked tired. “We’ll deal with that in a bit. There’s… something you should see.”
Oh, Christ, what now? But I squared myself, wearily, and found I could stand. Not very steadily, but I could at least hold myself upright. I could even fight, if I had to.
Except what was left to kill?
I had a sneaking suspicion I was about to find out.
The Lance lay near the altar, twisted like the flagpole, quivering a subaudible hum of distress and frustrated anger. It was weak, very weak. All the force it had accumulated was now spent, and all it could do was shake like a whipped dog.
Dog. “Gilberto?” I whispered. “And the… the dog?”
“Gil’s fine.” Anya pointed. “See?”
My apprentice was bandaging Benny Cross’s leg. Half of Gil’s hair was singed off, Benny was covered in all kinds of crap, and the dogsbody slumped next to Gilberto, hanging its narrow head. It glanced at me, ears pricking, but it looked as tired as Anya. As tired as I felt.
Thank you. I didn’t even know who I was thanking. “Good deal,” I rasped. “Okay. What’s next? Point me at it. I’ll kill it.”
“Good.” Devi shook herself away from Theron with a quick glance of thanks. “Because it’s Perry. Sort of. And if you don’t ventilate that fucker, I just might.”