Chapter 10
Gunnar could damn well handle tracking down and killing this dragon on his own.
No, not dragon, he reminded himself; they were called zmei around here. It was a small one anyway, only three heads, but the Longest Night was tomorrow, making the Siberian taiga around Nizhny more dangerous than usual.
More relevant, Audrey had insisted a joint venture with their new neighbor was the right move. He’d been skeptical, but Audrey was as stubborn as him when she thought she was in the right.
Gunnar smirked behind his wool scarf; the woman was right more than he liked. And pretty much always when it came to social maneuvering.
He dropped to his knees in the snow, the tracks here fresh, each print as long as his forearm and twice as wide. Small, he thought again with a chuckle, but still not the kind of creature to be left wandering the settlement fringes.
“What funny?>>” A rough voice carried easily on the sharp wind, speaking broken Russian.
Gunnar motioned to the obvious trail. “All this fuss over a baby lizard.>>”
His fellow hunter Zhadan laughed—as much as a chuchuna could laugh. It came out more like gurgling snorts, but Gunnar had spent enough time around the yeti-like creature that he recognized the sound. More than seven feet tall, he wasn’t the hairy beast of other yeti mythos. The chuchuna was more Neanderthal, with a full coat of dark, thick body hair. He still needed heavy furs to stay warm in the Siberian winter.
“Mate wants, mate gets. Zmei smells makes scared for coming cubs.>>” Zhadan lifted a meaty hand to scratch frost from his hairy face. “Meat, bones, skin, more. All good for using.>>”
Gunnar grunted. No argument there. Of course, all the zmei parts could’ve been his and Audrey’s, traded toward a better place for her than the small cabin they shared on Nizhny’s northern edge.
He could almost hear Audrey’s voice, going on about him being part of a community now and needing to think about this town as a long-term investment instead of a stopover. How he wasn’t on the run, not anymore . . .
“Problem?>>”
“No.>>” Gunnar dusted his hands and rose. “Another hour or less, given our current pace. You still good with the plan?>>”
The chuchuna gave him a toothy grin. “Yes, yes. Me big bait, wash out zmei.>>” He let loose a few growls, waved his arms. “You quiet, pull the tail. Then . . .>>” He smacked a fist on his open palm. “Dinner.>>”
“It’s flush out, not wash out,>>” Gunnar corrected. Hells, Zhadan’s Russian was almost as bad as Audrey’s. “But that’s the gist of it.>>”
“Good, good. Hungry.>>” Zhadan patted his thick middle.
They spoke little after that. About another thirty minutes north, they split off, the chuchuna making enough noise to wake the damn dead. Gunnar kept his mind clear, dropping deeper into his instincts as he prowled through the thickening trees.
They were well outside Nizhny’s claim now, the zmei’s range to the northeast, but near enough for its scent to drift in when it wandered this way. Deep in the dragon’s territory now, notable in how little else in the way of magical beasts or even the mundane held a presence. Just frozen peat, fresh and old snow, and the sharp scent of broken pine. Gunnar settled himself between a few fallen trees ripe with the zmei musk. They didn’t nest without a mate as far as he understood it, but they marked like bears or rutting deer.
About fifteen minutes later, things got loud again, and Gunnar couldn’t help a grin. This was going to be fun. He pulled the eversharp blade from its place on his thigh. Fresh zmei musk hit his nose at the same time as Zhadan’s damp fur and the sound of boot falls on snow and needles, crunching over fallen branches. The zmei’s three heads hissed through shared lungs, its tail thrashing the forest as Zhadan lured it right into the thick.
The chuchuna darted by his hiding place in a dark blur. The fucker was laughing his ass off between whooping hoots. Gunnar shook his head; damn good thing this hunt didn’t call for finesse.
The zmei plowed through the bowers, melting snow dripping wildly from the thing’s hot breathing and sheer body mass. Long and lanky, and thin for a dragon of any kind, it snapped at Zhadan’s heels three times in succession, then reared up on its hind legs when the chuchuna suddenly stopped running.
Gunnar didn’t hesitate, the placement perfect. Two steps from the brush, he cut across the beast’s hind leg, hamstringing it. A quick roll put Gunnar back on his feet, cutting through scale and muscle on its good leg just as it compensated. The zmei toppled sideways with a furious roar.
Zhadan was on it as soon as it fell, claws and teeth on the closest neck. Gunnar cursed as he scaled up the dragon’s spine, throwing all his weight forward at the middle head as the jaws snapped shut just shy of taking off Zhadan’s scalp.
Gunnar’s momentum crashed the center head into the third and then he collided hard into the packed, frozen dirt. He grunted with the impact, a growl bubbling up. He took his frustration out on the yellow eyes, eight of them in a mess of blood, gore, snapping teeth, and lolling tongues. A few tears in his sleeves, a scratch on his forearm, and it was over. He dropped back on his ass, sitting on the zmei’s shoulder as it drew a final, shuddering breath and went still.
Zhadan was covered in ichor and bright green blood up to his elbows. Gunnar pointed his bloody knife at him.
“You’re a fucking idiot.>>”
That just got the bastard laughing again, all hoots and snorts as he cleaned himself with snow. “Is good. Is dead.>>” Zhadan made a mouth with his hand and flapped it opened and closed a few times. “Why goose?>>”
“What?>>”
“Goose.>>” Zhadan sucked his teeth, thinking for a second. “Whining, you. Why?>>” He patted the dead zmei. “Is dead, not us.>>”
Gunnar snorted. Fucking hells, was he really splitting hairs over vocabulary—again—with this tall bastard in the middle of the damn taiga? Being a polyglot had become a massive pain in the ass since arriving in Nizhny six months earlier. Gunnar tried to imagine explaining this moment to a previous version of himself and came up empty.
“You’re as bad as Audrey with your fucking Russian,>>” Gunnar grumbled as he stood. “Grouse. You mean grouse.>>”
“What said. Goose.>>”
“Whatever. Grab the tail, we got a long walk home.>>”
It took them a few minutes to get situated, Gunnar trying to balance two dragon heads, one on each shoulder, the third dragging along in the snow while the chuchuna gathered up the zmei by its haunches about ten feet back. They headed out from the trees on to the open hard pack. It was late morning now. They’d gotten lucky finding the zmei this far south in its range. If they pushed, they’d get back before nightfall. Zhadan would approve.
He’d been restless since his mate became pregnant, part of the reason they were out on what should’ve been a rest day. But Gunnar never backed down from a challenge. This zmei was outside their weekly hunt quotas required by the settlement, meaning the massive corpse was profit heads to tail. Skin, bones, meat, and alchemical and magical ingredients galore.
Rina, the Aperien Independent who controlled Nizhny Bestyakh and the surrounding area, would be pleased, especially since less than twenty-four hours from now, they’d be up to their ears in mythos climbing out of the forest, marshlands, and lakes during the Longest Night’s hallowed darkness.
They needed to get home. Gunnar and Zhadan’s homesteads backed into each other, a new development as of two months back. Rina wanted to expand north and had selected the pair of them to tackle the new expansion. They got on well enough, him and the chuchuna, and it added some extra security for both Audrey and Zhadan’s mate, since they trusted each other well enough. Audrey being soft for Lyubava and her impending cubs only helped matters. They’d settled on the midway, Gunnar and Audrey’s log cabin about half a mile from the chuchuna’s cave mounds.
And now they’d all sleep better without a feral dragon near the borders.
Zhadan hummed loudly. “Is good for soup.>>”
“What?>>”
“Yes, yes. Soup.>>”
“That’s it? With all this?>>” He gestured up and down the length of the corpse, which they’d divide evenly back at the homestead. “Soup from boiling the bones and nothing else?>>”
“No bones. Meat and insides parts. Juicy. Thick. Scoop.>>” Zhadan gestured with one of his massive hands, shoveling at his mouth, struggling with the zmei’s ass end as he did.
Again with this shit. Gunnar turned so the bastard wouldn’t catch him fighting back a grin. “Stew, Zhadan, for fuck’s sake. You mean stew, like Aster makes at the tavern. The chunky stuff most of us use spoons for, not our damn hands.>>”
“Stew, yes.>>” Zhadan grunted as they resumed walking, and after a few paces he asked, “Audrey cook?>>”
“Not sure she’s worked with dragon meat before, but you can ask. Lyubava not good for it, huh?>>”
Zhadan snorted out another chuffing laugh. “No.>>” He got the emphasis right this time, the hell no kind of no, and Gunnar chuckled despite himself. “Mate no cook, no know how. But likes.>>”
“Yeah, we’re all turning so bloody civilized, aren’t we? I’m sure Aster will trade you lots of stew for a share of this meat. We’ll toss some of ours in too. Audrey’ll want to make sure Lyubava is eating well.>>”
“Good. Good.>>” Zhadan smelled satisfied. Gunnar caught it easily with the wind blowing at their backs. He found he couldn’t disagree.
They passed the trek home in companionable silence, Gunnar surprised the chuchuna knew how, but he didn’t miss the steady uptick in Zhadan’s anxiousness. He was just as eager as Gunnar to get back. Finally, they crested the last meager, snow-covered hill. Gunnar’s cabin came into view, smoke winding from the chimney.
“In the back,>>” Gunnar said, motioning toward the stone patio and wooden decking he was still building up in his off hours. It was large enough now for the butchering block and the drying racks rowed up beside the humble smoke shed. No way the whole corpse would fit, but not like they’d be wrestling the damn thing indoors, regardless.
As they trudged down, the cabin door swung up and there was Audrey, stuffed into so many furs he couldn’t make out her face. She waved, and the zmei body jerked around as Zhadan waved back and shouted, “Little!>>”
She met them halfway, panting and pulling down her mask to grin up at Gunnar, hazel eyes twinkling. “You found it.” She leaned to the side and waved again at Zhadan.
Gunnar smirked down at her. “Didn’t think we would?”
She laughed. “Never had a doubt.” Then she frowned a bit as she took in the zmei. “I’m not sure we’ll get the whole thing processed by train day.”
He shrugged. “Whatever we don’t will keep for next time.” Over his shoulder, he called, “Move it, this fucker’s heavy.>>”
A grunt. “Wait for you, much talking.>>”
“Play nicely,>>” Audrey said.
Zhadan chortled and snorted as they hauled the body. Once they set it down on the snow, Audrey asked after Lyubava. He bared his teeth and growled while he stuck out his belly and rubbed. Audrey laughed, the sound airy, one of Gunnar’s favorites he’d discovered over the last six months.
“Same trade?>>” Gunnar offered. They often helped with processing the chuchuna’s kills for a share of the materials, meat or otherwise. Zhadan was a sloppy butcher, and Gunnar and Audrey had invested in far better gear at this point.
Zhadan glanced the direction of his den and mate, then back to the zmei. This wasn’t some bauk or vodyanoy. Even the chuchuna, uneducated as he was, understood dragons carried inherent value. Gunnar could smell his uncertainty, but he obviously didn’t want to mess with the working relationship they’d developed.
Audrey stepped forward and patted Zhadan’s massive arm. “Check Lyubava. Later, we . . .>>” She glanced at Gunnar for translation help. “See to the details?”
“Ain’t gonna short you, Zhadan. Go see your woman, come back after. Bring her round, if she’s up for it.>>”
Zhadan relaxed and offered a toothy grin that might have been terrifying if they didn’t know him. Then he gave a mock salute—Gunnar had no idea where the hells he’d picked that up—but then stalled, his scent hopeful when he asked Audrey, in English, “Cookies?”
She giggled. “Yes, cookies. In the oven.>>”
“Good, good.” He nodded a few times, calling over his shoulder as he lumbered off, “Lyubava much happy for cookies.”
Damn liar. He ate way more than his mate whenever Audrey baked.
“I better make more, so she actually gets some,” Audrey said with a hum, echoing his thoughts.
“They really still in the oven?”
“Theirs are still baking. Ours came out a few minutes ago. Still warm too.”
Gunnar grunted.
She made damn good cookies.