Chapter 17
While Rina didn’t directly invite Gunnar into the conversation, she gave him a nod of approval when he stepped inside and shut the door behind the four of them.
“I don’t run a charity,” Rina said once she’d settled back behind her desk. The two newcomers—vilebloods—sat in the chairs across from the ancient piece of furniture.
“’Course not,” the shorter vileblood said, licking his lips, nervous. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant. Just seeing another one of our kind here, walking around, figured it at least meant we won’t get stoned or some shit.”
Rina explained a bit about Nizhny, since it was clear these boys weren’t from this continent. Suited Gunnar just fine, because it gave him a few minutes to breathe, which kept him from cutting throats.
Nothing like a damn mirror to remind Gunnar about the dangers of his kind.
He exhaled. He wasn’t killing anyone, not right now at least. If that was what Rina wanted behind closed doors, she’d have reached for her sword, not her chair. And she knew about his ability to scent emotions and intentions. She wanted his insight as much as they both wanted information from what would hopefully be a first and last meeting with these two.
It’s true then, the one had said. They’d somehow gotten word that a vileblood lived in Nizhny, which wasn’t exactly something they went around advertising. He needed to know if they knew who he was, if they knew Audrey was alive.
They both smelled filthy and tired, like old, adrenaline-tinged sweat and the thick dirt that came with being on the run. Their fatigue was genuine, the same as their uncertainty, and they were half-starved. Optimistic but tempered. The shorter of the pair, he didn’t really seem to believe anything would come of this, yet they’d spent days on a train to the middle of nowhere. He introduced himself as Mateo, the other Tomas, his younger brother.
So far, the brother thing was the only lie. They weren’t related; they both smelled like distinctly different Vilestar lineages.
While black blood carried a flavor none of his kind could escape, there’d been twelve Vilestars born before the war. The six males spawned six vileblood lines. Each carried an animal aspect, though it wasn’t overt. Gunnar didn’t look like a canine from having the Wolfstar as his great-great-grandsire. Beyond that, there wasn’t much information on the subject—the goal had been to kill and imprison.
The younger man, Tomas, smelled . . . well, familiar was the only way to really explain it. He had more human in him than Gunnar did, more generations removed from the Vilestar source, but there wasn’t a doubt in Gunnar’s mind they came from the same Aperien. It was the oddest damn thing, feeling comradery on the first whiff. Made him realize he’d never encountered one of his kin before today.
Mateo’s scent was entirely different. Gunnar didn’t have context beyond knowing his own origin, but this vileblood wasn’t carrying the same magic. Similar, without of a doubt, but not the same. And like Tomas, his blood wasn’t nearly as concentrated as Gunnar’s.
If Gunnar bled midnight ink on white parchment, they’d pen a sloppy, watered-down gray.
That didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous. Didn’t mean two on one wouldn’t present a challenge.
Physically, they were unremarkable aside from their black eyes. Both spoke like they came from the ESC territory. Haggard, too thin, and wearing clothes that didn’t fit right. Tomas was pale under his tanned skin from malnourishment and exhaustion, black curls matted against his forehead. Mateo kept a shorn scalp, shorter and stockier than his supposed brother.
They both kept glancing at Gunnar, meaning they had enough instinct to be uncomfortable with another predator at their backs. Gunnar wondered if their senses were as a good as his. He did his best to keep his emotions clear, away from killing and territorial urges.
Rina went on now about how the quotas worked. How she wasn’t sure if now was the best time to bring on new mouths to feed, being they were deep in winter now. Both claimed they’d have no trouble hunting for their keep; they’d dealt with worse.
“How so,” Rina asked.
“You learn to fight or you die when you’re in a prison for dangerous creatures.” Mateo shrugged as if he talked about the weather. “We did what we had to inside, then about four months back, we got pulled out of the general pen—something about laws changing—and they let us out since we’d done nothing to anyone outside the prison.”
“We did what we had to, you know?” Tomas added, and that skirted the very edge of a lie, but Gunnar couldn’t fault him. He’d done more than he’d needed to down in the dark, fighting for his life, and he never felt ashamed of it either.
“Anyway,” Mateo said, shooting Tomas a look; he was the smarter of the pair, didn’t want to risk messing this whole thing up now that Rina hadn’t immediately sent them packing. “They gave us some money for our troubles, but nothing’s changed how people feel about our kind. We’ve been trying to avoid trouble, but trouble keeps finding us. It’s been made real clear we’ll be right back in a cage if we fuck up.”
“People don’t want us around. Think we should all be dead or worse,” Tomas mumbled. He stole a glance at Gunnar, seeking his agreement, but Gunnar gave him nothing. He rubbed his nose. “We get chased out from everywhere. All we’ve done is run since we got out.”
“And then you hear some golden story about Nizhny?” Gunnar growled out. Rina arched a brow.
Mateo turned on him fully for the first time, dark trenches under his gaze, but the man didn’t flinch. “A letter one day at the homeless camp, talking about how if we could get here, we’d have a place to work and could avoid going back to prison. Said killing needs to be done, but it’s sanctioned by the local Independent.” He gave Rina a respectful nod. “Like I said, we’re no strangers to violence, and we’re happy to work to earn a place to sleep and eat. We blew everything we had to get out here, so . . .” He ended with an unremarkable shrug, already resigned to rejection.
Rina did a good job radiating neutrality. “I don’t make calls about my town lightly, and you weren’t on my inventory.” She held up a hand to stall the excuses about how they’d gotten on the train illegally. “I need time to consider before I decide.” Directness worked for Rina. Her no bullshit methods were how she kept a town of monsters in the outer limits of civilization in check. “Go on down to the tavern, have yourself a meal on the house. I can tell you need it, and while I can’t guarantee you’ll be staying any longer than the train out in the morning, I also don’t let visitors starve. Aster can get you settled.”
They knew the dismissal, and Gunnar moved from the door as the pair got to their feet, all thank you ma’ams and head bobs, keeping their posture non-threatening. It wasn’t a hard sell given the shit shape they were in, but Mateo cast Gunnar one last look on his way out the door, appraisal in his dark eyes but no challenge. The fellow animal knew his place, at least for the time being.
Once they were gone, Rina let out a long exhale. “This day just keeps getting better.” By better, she clearly meant fuck all. “What’s your take on them?”
“They’re vilebloods.” When Rina gave him a tired look, he shrugged. “No lies about what got them here, but they weren’t offering details either. Who knows what they consider keeping their noses clean? And they’re not brothers, at least not by blood.”
“We’re expanding ahead of my goals,” Rina said, crossing her arms as she paced over to the map on her wall. The landscape extended miles beyond what they’d already claimed in her name. “We’ve got excess stored up, enough for two years if we face unexpected bumps. Four trains a month are making us a killing.”
Rina rubbed her chin, tapped a finger toward the eastern side of the map, all untamed territory besides the tight acreage the harpy kept clear around her perch at the pump station. Celaeno’s primary contribution was scouting in all directions, not clearing out beasts for Nizhny’s expansion.
“No one comes looking for work in the winter,” Rina went on, her expression all cool business. “Two more hands could go a long way before spring.”
Gunnar didn’t want the fuckers here, but that wasn’t what Rina was asking him. She didn’t give a shit about posturing—aside from herself coming out on top—and she’d put Nizhny first every time. “Not sure what you want from me.”
“I want an honest assessment.”
“What, vileblood to vileblood? They’re dangerous. You know that already because you know me. Yet you let me in.”
“They don’t come with a future favor from a Citadel Archivist.”
Gunnar huffed out a sour chuckle. “Theo, huh?”
“I thought you knew,” Rina said, then shrugged. “I wouldn’t have let you within a hundred miles of my home, given what you are. The archivist got here first, told you and Audrey’s story. It’s a good one, don’t get me wrong, and I’m glad as hells I took you both in. But I didn’t know either of you, and I don’t give a shit about Accords that don’t affect me.”
Another shrug. She watched him closely now, and he scented a bit of regret on her, but Rina was a sledgehammer and she’d already swung.
All of it just reinforced what he’d always known. Even with the Vilestars Accord changing, his kind were still shit. Gunnar smirked, this time with more mirth. None of that changed the fact he wanted to throw Mateo and Tomas out on their asses, no hesitation.
But he’d fooled himself into thinking he’d somehow made a place for himself on his own merit. Now he knew; he was still running on the good graces of good people when they should have left him to rot in the dark. None of it was a surprise, but it was real fucking annoying. It bothered him that Theo had bribed his way into this place he’d started to call home.
What a fucking joke.
“I want you to have some drinks with them, see if their story holds up.”
Gunnar jerked; he’d been staring at the floor like an idiot. “What now?”
“Use your senses, get a read. Tell me if it’s worth the risk of taking them on.”
“Why the fuck are you asking me?” He half-laughed out the question. “You sure you can trust my judgement?”
Rina’s jaw ticked, annoyance threading through her scent. “No promise would have kept you here if you didn’t prove worth your salt, Gunnar. Don’t go soft on me because the truth is a bitch.” She gestured at the window, the midday sun painting shadows across the taiga. “Time is business, and that keeps us all alive. And in case it wasn’t clear? This isn’t a request.”
Gunnar exhaled hard. “Of course not.”
“Take it seriously, because you’ll have the last word. I wouldn’t have homesteaded you near Lyubava if I didn’t trust you. We good?”
Aside from the fact that he had no interest in what she was ordering, he nodded. The rest, well, Rina smelled like she always did, which was crisp honesty, and it eased the sting a bit. Then he wanted to shake himself for feeling anything about it at all.
“Yeah, we’re good. I want to get Audrey home first. I don’t trust Dimitri not to harass her, if nothing else. Same with those vileblood, not until I know more.”
“The train leaves early, with or without them, and if you fuck this up, you’ll be babysitting until the next train day.”
Gunnar let out a low growl as he strode out of the room.
“I would have kept Audrey, no questions,” Rina called after him.
“You’d have tried,” he called back.