Getting out of the tunnel system with a prisoner turned out to be exactly as much fun as it sounded.
The jaguar did not try anything stupid as we moved to find and exit, which I appreciated. She was either smart enough to understand that I could kill her if she forced my hand, or smart enough to know I was trying very hard not to. Those are not the same thing, but from the receiving end they probably look similar. I kept her in front of me as we moved, one hand twisted in the back of her jacket, knife close enough that she could feel it when I wanted her to feel it. We took the access tunnel until it widened into a low corridor with old utility markings on the wall, then climbed a vertical ladder into a sub-basement that smelled of dead air, dust, and transformer oil.
The basement belonged to some warehouse or old municipal building by the look of it. Concrete pillars. Rusted shelving. A boiler that had been disconnected decades ago. Broken office chairs stacked in one corner like casualties. Above us I could hear the faint grind and thunk of a freight train changing speeds somewhere out in the dark, which meant we had not come up too far from the yards.
I listened at the stairwell door before opening it. Nothing but the hollow hush of an empty building. Good.
“Up,” I said.
She went.
We climbed three flights through darkness so complete it made the edges of things seem uncertain. On the second landing there were old graffiti tags and a mattress blackened with mildew. On the third there was a broken window boarded from the outside, and cold night air slipped in through the seams carrying wet asphalt, diesel, and a trace of frying grease from somewhere a block or two off. By the time we reached the roof access corridor my wounds had started that heavy, throbbing complaint that comes when adrenaline runs out and you begin to admit that yes, actually, things hurt.
The final door was chained but not locked. I eased it open and we stepped out into a narrow service yard behind the building.
It was one of those little industrial spaces that look temporary even after they have been there fifty years. We stepped out just between a loading dock with one dead overhead light and two rusted dumpsters. I could see a line of cracked asphalt running to an alley slick with oil and scattered with broken pallets and the smell of it all were free from Breeds as far as I could tell. The brick wall on the far side was layered with soot and flaking paint from advertisements so old the names meant nothing anymore.
I pushed her toward the lee side of a dumpster where we’d be harder to spot from the alley mouth. Not perfect cover, but enough for a conversation nobody else needed to hear.
“Sit,” I said.
She lowered herself onto an overturned crate without taking her eyes off me.
Now that I had a better look at her, I guess she was somewhere in her late teens or really early twenties, maybe a little older, but I didn’t think so. Her dark hair was plastered damply to one side of her face. She was trying to play it casual, but I could see her clinching her jaw. There were some blood at the corner of her mouth from where I had hit her in the tunnel. She had dressed smart. She wore work boots, black jeans, and a dark jacket that had once been expensive enough to matter. Not a random thug, then. Or at least not poor enough to dress like one.
I stayed on my feet. One because standing hurt less than I expected and two because I wanted the height.
“Name,” I said.
She looked at me as if weighing how much defiance she could afford.
“Yara.”
“That your real name?”
“It’s the one you’re getting.”
“Fair.”
I leaned back against the cold brick and let the knife hang loose in my hand where she could see it. The gun I kept holstered for the moment. A gun is impersonal. A knife is more hands on.
Yara’s gaze tracked the blade, then moved back to my face. She was trying hard not to show fear and succeeding better than most. I could still smell it though. It occurred to me that other Breeds might not be able to sense or smell other Breeds’ emotions. It wasn’t something I could ask though. Still, the old fashioned way of observing worked just fine as well.
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
“So are you.”
“You could shift the damage off.”
“I could do a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I should.”
That earned me the slightest narrowing of her eyes. She heard the dodge. Good. Let her wonder.
I took a slow breath and listened to the city around us. Distant siren. Truck downshifting. Water dripping steadily from a bent gutter into a puddle that smelled faintly of antifreeze. No immediate signs of pursuit. Either they had truly lost us in the tunnels, or they were spreading wider and hoping I would make a mistake on the surface. Since I had a jaguar from the hunt sitting in front of me, I figured I had already made enough mistakes for one night and should at least get some value out of them.
“You people went after Tony’s family to flush me out,” I said.
Yara did not answer.
“That’s not a question. But I want a response, Yara!”
Her jaw flexed. “Partly.”
The honesty surprised me enough that I know she could tell.
“Partly,” I repeated. “And the rest?”
“Putting pressure on you to make you do something stupid, something we could exploit. It was also sending a message. Perhaps to create an opportunity to see if you have any allies.” She looked away toward the alley, then back. “Different people wanted different things.”
“Breed politics,” I said.
“Breed survival.”
“You must’ve all crapped your pants when Nahanha showed up?”
“That made half of us run away. She is scary as fuck!” Yara shivered.
“But still you came after me?”
“Yeah, because we couldn’t back off. It would have cost us too much. And we have reason to hunt you down.”
“Funny. From where I stood in the sewer, it looked a lot like a mob of cowards trying to run down one woman they have no beef with for somebody else’s reasons.”
Something in her face moved, very small and very real.
“Yes,” she said after a moment. “That too. But you are a Doppelgänger; you’re a threat to us all!”
I pushed off the wall and crouched in front of her, so we were closer to eye level. Close enough for her to feel the threat without me having to perform it. Up close I could smell the cat on her more clearly. Warm fur under stress. Ozone-bright power. Wet stone. Blood.
“I’ve done nothing to you and yours! But let’s skip to Dominic,” I said. “I am tired, I stink like I drowned in a toilet, and my patience is hanging on by one ragged fingernail. So, you’re going to tell me what that striped sack of shit has been doing.”
Yara gave a short humorless breath that might have been a laugh at another time.
“You really hate him.”
I smiled with no warmth in it. “See? You are observant. Tell me something else useful.”
She looked at the knife again, then at my shoulder where blood had soaked through the coat in a long dark patch. Her nostrils flared. The predator in her was probably noting that I was wounded. The survivor in her was probably noting that I had still dragged her out of a tunnel by the throat, without breaking a sweat.
“Dominic doesn’t command the us,” she said carefully. “But he knows things. He knows which packs are in debt, which Ccoa have broken Compacts, who smuggles, who takes money from human crews, who has killed without sanction, who crossed into territory they shouldn’t. He trades in secrets and in being seen with the right people.”
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“That sounds like Dominic.”
“He came first to threaten. Then to bargain. Then to imply that if no one helped him track you, certain matters would find their way to the wrong ears.”
“Breed, Brood, Ghîla ears or Outsider ears?”
“Any or all, depending on the pack.”
I nodded once. That tracked. Dominic would absolutely weaponize the bad blood between factions while pretending he was above factionalism when it suited him. He was the kind of man who would do anything to get what he wanted.
“And the Xenios?” I asked. “How much of this is Dominic freelancing and how much is family business?”
Yara hesitated longer at that.
I let the silence sit. Most people rush to fill silence. Cats less than others, but still often enough.
“Dominic has people who look the other way for him,” she said at last. “That is not the same as everyone in the Xenios backing him.”
There it was. Not full protection, but enough. Enough to make him dangerous. Enough to let him play outside his responisbilities.
“And his deal with the Ghîla?” I asked.
That got me more than fear had. It got me attention, and sharp and instant shock.
“You know something. Someone saw them together,” I said. “Don’t lie to me.”
Yara’s lips thinned. “One of our juveniles saw Dominic meet with one.”
“Where?”
“South branch side. Warehouse district near old loading slips. Not Dockside proper, but close enough that nobody wanders there by accident.”
“Doing what?”
“Talking.”
I gave her a long blank look.
“I am going to need you to try harder than that.”
“He couldn’t hear them.” Frustration flared in her voice. “He was not there to spy. Dino had taken it upon himself to answer Dominic’s call again and everyone knows that Ricardo wanted eyes on him, if they spotted him.”
“Who cares. You were being bullied and trying to get out of it by finding some dirt. I get it, you’re weak.”
Yara ignored that. “They met twice that I know of. Maybe more. Dominic was angry the first time. Afraid the second.”
That made me still.
“Afraid,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Of Ghîla?”
She shrugged. “How should I know?”
That sat badly with me. Ghîla meeting Dominic was bad enough, but Ghîla and Dominic planning joining forces to get to me was not good.
“Who else knows?”
“In my pack? A handful. In other groups? I don’t know. Information doesn’t travel clean right now.”
“No kidding.”
I straightened slowly, shoulder complaining. The alley wind lifted the edge of my coat and made the cuts along my ribs sting. Somewhere nearby a cat—not were, just cat—yowled on the fence line and then went silent. The city kept doing its city thing, vast and indifferent and full of little witnesses who would never talk.
I looked back at Yara. “Nahanha.”
That name changed the whole set of her posture. Not fear exactly. Respect cut with uncertainty.
“What about her?” Yara asked.
“You tell me.”
She stared at me for a second too long. Then she exhaled.
“One of our warriors was ranging near the river because Dominic wanted eyes on anyone moving between territories. He saw Nahanha going into Dockside pack territory.”
“When?”
“Two nights ago. Maybe a little before dawn.”
“Alone?”
“As far as he could tell. But with Nahanha that doesn’t mean much, does it?”
No. It did not. Nahanha alone was enough firepower to level a block, if what Gemini had told me was true. She didn’t need anyone else to wreak havoc.
“Is this something she usually does? To your knowledge?”
Yara shook her head. “That’s the worrying part.”
“Worrying to who?”
“To everyone who has enough sense to be worried.”
I snorted despite myself. Fair answer.
“Nahanha is suspicious,” Yara went on more quietly. “Something is brewing, and if a small pack like us get caught up in this, we’ll be done for. We’re suspicious of everyone right now. Not just of Dominic. Of everything and everyone. Of everyone moving too quickly. Of the Breed packs being pushed in one direction by fear while the Outsiders stand back and watch. There are a lot questions and no answers.”
I filed that away. It fit. Nahanha might be many things, but careless was not one of them. If she was hanging around Dockside and Gemini was suddenly out of reach and Dominic was throwing half the Breed at me, then this might be uglier than I had thought. Which was impressive, because I had already thought it was very ugly.
“You said the packs weren’t unanimous,” I said.
Yara nodded.
“They weren’t. They aren’t. Some wanted blood because they are scared of you, or of what you can become. Some wanted you handed to Dominic so he would stop squeezing. Some wanted no part of it at all.”
“And yet I still got forty followers.”
“Yes.”
“Do explain.”
Her mouth tightened. “Because no one wanted to be the first to refuse if others agreed. Because pack councils are brave in theory and cautious in practice. Because when our Ccoa thinks saying no might bring Dominic, Dockside, and whatever else is circling down on our people, then he starts telling himself a hunt is a patrol and coercion is duty.”
I could not even say she was wrong. Cowardice in committees is one of the more reliable features of civilization.
“And the Outsiders?” I asked. “Since Dominic keeps waving them around like they are backing this.”
Yara actually rolled her eyes at that, which I enjoyed more than I probably should have.
“Most of the Outsiders willing to involve themselves would still rather wait and see,” she said. “They are outsiders for a reason. They don’t fit anywhere else, so your particular nature resonates with them, in a way. They know what it is like to shunned. And we know what it is to have someone stronger decide what you are before you speak. Dominic has some support because fear loves a familiar tune, but plenty of them think chasing you now is stupidity.”
“Because?”
“Because you are either a threat too large to poke blindly, or you are not what Dominic says you are, in which case he is trying to start something for private reasons. Marc’s testimony did you no favors though.”
“That,” I said, “sounds like Dominic and Marc. They both seem to be the kind to force others to do what they want.”
Yara gave me a look that suggested she might be revising me from enemy to neutral party.
I crouched again, slower this time because my thigh had decided to remind me of the fox—or whatever the third type had been—in the tunnel.
“The thing hunting with you,” I said. “Not wolves. Not jaguars. Light step. Slippery scent, able to mask her presence. What were they?”
“Werefox.”
I nodded. “Thought so.”
“They were there as scouts. Not fighters.”
“One cut says otherwise.”
“You got close enough for them to panic.”
“Glad I could inspire.”
For the first time a corner of her mouth twitched. Very small. Gone at once. But there.
That annoyed me because I did not want to find her remotely likable.
“Last chance to be helpful,” I said. “Tell me something I don’t know and that matters.”
She looked at me for a long moment, then said, “Dominic believes Gemini is part of what makes you dangerous. Not only because she protects you. Because he thinks she knows something else about you. Something that can be used.”
The words made me pause.
“And?”
“And he thinks Nahanha knows more. That she understands something about your nature that no one else knows. That it is connected to Gemini somehow.”
I hoped the hell not.
“Connected to Gemini how?” I asked quietly.
Yara shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“What is Nahanha really?”
Yara hesitated again. “There are rumors. That she is one of the Old Ones. Whatever her kind is, she is very, very old, I think. Older than pack obligations. The way some people speak around her name…” She hesitated, searching for words she probably would rather not give me. “It sounds like they think she is a divine. But we all know that there are no gods, only NonBorns, and she’s not that!”
That sounded exactly like the kind of fear Nahanha would inspire in people who knew better than to speculate and did it anyway.
The wind gusted down the alley harder for a moment, rattling loose sheet metal somewhere overhead. A drop from the roof hit my cheek almost as cold as ice. I rose, every muscle reminding me that the night had already taken enough out of me.
Yara watched me with a wary alertness that I respected more now that I had the shape of the problem. She had hunted me. She had also spoken. Not freely, not nobly, but honestly enough to matter. In my world that counted for something.
I wiped the knife clean on the inside hem of my coat and put it away.
Her gaze sharpened. “You’re letting me go.”
“Yes.”
“That is a mistake.”
“Maybe.” I took out the gun instead, not pointing it at her, just making sure she understood that mercy and stupidity were not synonyms. “But not the mistake you think it is.”
She rose slowly from the crate.
For a second we just stood there in the stink of alley water and rust and old garbage, two bloodied women from two different kinds of bad night measuring the distance between threat and truce.
Then I stepped closer so she would hear every word as I flexed my power.
“This time,” I said, “I did everything I could not to kill you people.”
She swallowed but kept my gaze.
“I noticed.”
“Good. Notice this too. I am done being hunted like I’m some diseased thing every frightened little power broker gets to sic his muscle on.” My voice stayed level, which somehow made it harsher. “I understand fear. I understand pressure. I even understand bad leadership, seeing as Dominic exists. But I am not going to keep being lenient to everybody else’s idiocy as if it is a moral duty.”
Yara’s eyes flicked once toward the alley mouth, then back. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you’ll carry a message for me.” I took another step until I was close enough to smell the tension on her. “You tell your Ccoa, your Nusta, your cousins, your council, your gossiping uncle, your whole damn pack that I held back tonight. I left wolves breathing. I left jaguars breathing. I left you breathing. Make sure the others of the Cursed know as well!”
A muscle moved in her jaw.
“And if they come again?” she asked.
“Then next time I stop holding back.”
There it was. The thing I had been trying not to become all night. Not the rage. The certainty.
I let her see it.
“If you keep hunting me,” I said softly, “I will do my best to kill you all. And my best is very, very good!”
The words hung between us, ugly and clean.
“Live and let live,” I said. “Or attack and get killed. Those are the options I’m offering. Dominic does not get to outsource his obsession forever and expect me to play nice because the people he sends are frightened.”
Yara searched my face for a lie or a wobble and found neither.
Finally, she nodded once.
“I’ll carry it.”
“Make sure you tell it the way I mean it.”
“I do.”
I believed her enough to risk the rest.
I stepped aside and angled the gun toward the alley mouth. “Go.”
She did not waste the gift. One glance at me, one at the sky above the yard, and then she was gone—moving fast but not panicked, boots whispering over wet asphalt before she slipped through the broken gap in the fence and vanished into the city.
I stood there a little longer, listening until even my ears could not pick her out from the background noise of Chicago. Then I holstered the gun and leaned back against the brick wall, finally allowing myself one long shaky breath. Goddamn, I was tired! My whole body hurt. My clothes stank. Dried blood pulled at my skin. Under that, deeper, there was the worse ache—the knowledge that Gemini was out there in somebody else’s hands, that Nahanha seem to have her hands in all the pots, and that Dominic had just proven how far he was willing to go if he thought it might corner me.
“Fantastic,” I muttered to the empty alley. “Everything’s on fire and I smell like sewer cat.”
I pushed off the wall and started walking. Slow at first, testing what had healed enough with my supercharged healing. Then steadier. Toward the lights. Toward the streets where the city pretended to be ordinary. Toward whatever came next.