Lupi 04 - Night Season

slugs were fast, too—just not fast enough. One of them had time to draw a sword from the harness she’d glimpsed. The other didn’t. The wolf ripped out its throat.
    A wordless shout went up behind her. She turned—and saw a pair of slimy black hands gripping the rail, drawing another slug up—but not yet over the rail.
    Her body knew what to do. She turned sideways, drew her right knee up to her chest, and snapped that leg out. Her foot slammed into the thing’s head and she felt the impact all the way up.
    Slug-man felt the impact even more. With an ear-splitting shriek it fell backward into the river. The splash was drowned out by another yell. Cynna pivoted and saw another slug-man heading for her at an oddly gaited lope, a mean-looking blade in his hand, pursued by one of the guard. The guard—one of the two humans—shouted at her.
    Her charm whispered blandly, “Don’t touch them. They exude poison.”
    Now he tells her!
    Boots. She was wearing boots, so the poison hadn’t gotten on her skin, but Cullen—“Hey!” she shouted at the guard. “Behind you!” Two more slug-men were racing at the guard’s back. He whirled, leaving Tall, Dark, and Slimy free to swing his oversize knife at her.
    Cynna skipped back. Couldn’t spare a second to see what was happening with Cullen and the other slug—this guy was fast. He lunged, making a weird chittering noise with his misplaced anus, his blade weaving.
    Shouts. A shot—Steve must have joined the fray. Her own gun was in her stateroom, but it didn’t matter. She’d used up her ammo on the dondredii.
    The slug-man lunged, and she hopped back. Don’t look at the blade. Look at the eyes. That’s what she’d been taught, but this guy’s eyes were solid black. She couldn’t tell where he was looking, couldn’t read him at all.
    The sword swished through the air where her gut had been. She leaned left just enough—but it had been a feint. The blade came back, and she almost overbalanced, dodging again—and tripped. On his dead buddy’s foot.
    Cynna went down. Three feet of sharp steel flashed through the space where she’d been. And a wolf went sailing over her and over the sword, twisting in midair to close his jaws around the slug-man’s throat, sending out a geyser of blood as the two of them hit the deck.
    She landed on her side, one arm pinned, the other searching for a piece of deck not covered by dead slug, slime, or blood to place her hand. Something grabbed that arm, flipped her onto her back. A dark body loomed over her, reaching for her face with one glistening hand. Blood ran from a gaping wound on the thing’s arm.
    An arrow suddenly appeared in its throat—feathered shaft poking out in front, pointy part sticking out in back. Hot blood speckled Cynna’s face. The hand that had been reaching for her fluttered up as if to adjust the fit of the arrow. Cynna scooted back, clearing the way for that body to fall.
    It landed across her left calf. She jerked her leg out, panting.
    Cullen-wolf stood over the one he’d just dispatched. His fur was heavily spattered with blood. It dripped from his muzzle. His lips were pulled back, baring his teeth, and a deep growl rumbled up from his chest.
    There was no one left to kill.
    Not all of the lumps Cynna saw on the deck belonged to slug-men. Two guards were down. As she watched, Steve Timms leaped over one of those motionless forms, racing toward her. Tash stood about thirty feet away, a bow in her hand. She was barking out orders that the remaining guard scrambled to obey— Get leather to protect your hand, fool, whispered Cynna’s charm. Get those bodies overboard—fetch ash and salt—see what the hell happened to the tritons.
    Cynna wasn’t listening. The huge wolf shook his head once, looked right at her, and his tongue lolled out in a doggy grin. Then he collapsed.

TWENTY-TWO
    F LOATING …thoughts breaking up, shutting down, sliding off into gray…
    I’ve got you.
    Huh?
    â€œâ€¦don’t touch him!”
    â€œWhere’s the ash, dammit?”
    Something splashed.
    â€œCullen? Oh, God…No! You can’t have him!” That was Cynna’s voice. He knew it, clung to it, through the haze dimming his mind. “Let go, or I’ll—”
    â€œDon’t touch him.” He knew that voice, too…Tash.