First Blood by Eliot Grayson

Author:Eliot Grayson [Grayson, Eliot]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Smoking Teacup Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Hunted

Luck came in the form of a tall, ninja-esque figure with a massive sword strapped to his back.

Doran flagged me down from the sidewalk as I ran a red light on the edge of town. I pulled over with a screech of tires, halfway up onto the curb, and leapt out of the car.

I left the engine running, left the door open, left the keys. It didn’t matter, not when Doran was already sketching one of his void-space doorways in the air right there on the sidewalk.

“Thank you,” I said, and I’d never meant anything more in my life.

Doran nodded. “All the humans are out of the way of the trolls,” he replied, moving his hand to widen the gap enough for me to step through. “They could spare me for five minutes. You’re on your own from here, though. I can’t take the time to come with you. Fenwick insisted on leading the charge himself, and who knows what he’ll do without me there to talk some sense into him.”

He stepped aside and waved me through like a genial butler in one of the great houses of the last century.

“Don’t get stomped on,” I said, and stepped into nothingness.

I came out in the middle of a small grove of pines, and the doorway vanished the moment I’d cleared it. I used the trees for cover as I took a look around, but there was nothing to see besides more forest. With my eyes closed, I stretched out my other senses as much as possible, straining for any scent, any sound.

There. Voices, not too far away but muffled, and the smell of a recently heated car engine.

And the faintest, most delicate trace of honey and oranges.

Laurie. I breathed him in greedily, letting the essence of him fill my lungs and ground me. He was there, and almost certainly alive, since spilled blood and dead flesh had a dark, bitter undertone to them.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out in case Esther or Doran had some new information for me, but it was a number I didn’t recognize: an Oregon area code. My hackles rose, and I answered.

“Victor,” said a deep, raspy male voice. “I know you’re listening.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

He chuckled, but it didn’t sound amused. “I’m the brother of the man you murdered,” he said. “And I have your whore. I’m going to send you directions. Come alone, and maybe I’ll let him live once I’m done with both of you. You have two hours to get here.”

“Prove it.” I knew they had him, but I had to play along. If they knew how much I knew, they might panic and kill Laurie, cut their losses and run. I was close enough to catch them, but not close enough to kill them all before they killed him. “I don’t think you have shit.”

“Say hello to Victor, bitch,” he said, and there was some rustling.

“This isn’t going to work!” Laurie’s voice, high and panicked. “He won’t come —” There was a sharp crack like a backhanded slap and he cut off with a cry.

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