“Thank you for saving me,” Rustam croaked, forcing himself not to shudder under the looming beast. How could she be human? “Can I stand?”

  “First, a few simple inquiries, and then we’ll politely part ways.” A furry paw touched his exposed throat, probing and running its fingers over the skin. Davinia whistled. “Don’t strain yourself; you’ve caught an inflammation of the vocal cords, preventing them from vibrating and closing properly. I don’t even know how you pulled that off in our desert. Have you been drinking a lot of ice-cold soda?” she cooed, feigning concern.

  “Met a snowman,” Rustam muttered. The touch of the paw brought a pleasant warmth.

  “Will miracles never cease?” Davinia cast a bloodthirsty glance at Oztai’s corpse. Several rats scurried out from their hiding places, brazenly nibbling at his nose. “But let’s put lunch aside and get back to business. Latif is quite difficult to find,” she complained whinily. “He’s constantly moving around, and as soon as I met his charming soldiers, they disappeared without even sharing a cup of tea with me. My visits to the poor souls he recently sold didn’t satisfy my curiosity. You’ll have to do it. Tell me, is there a Pureblood among Latif’s slaves?”

  “Who?” That term. He knew it, but he didn’t remember where from.

  “Ah...” Davinia purred, leaning closer. “Never play cards. Purebloods are the steppe dwellers whose genes have fully retained the changes imposed by the Extinction. Please forgive such a crude description. The kidnapped girl is plump, taller than you, exceedingly strong, and completely bald, not by birth but due to the foolish tradition of shaved heads. Her natural hair color is probably blonde. She can create a faint flame, nothing serious. The poor thing’s name is Boragchin. From the Gilded Horde.”

  “Never met her,” Rustam stammered.

  Tsereg! The Wolfkin was talking about Tsereg. What could she possibly want from the girl? A terrifying thought sent shivers down his spine. A menagerie that doubled as a den of sexual pleasures, Davinia’s attempts to recruit Ruda because of her unusual appearance, and Rustam’s friend, who looked completely unlike anyone else. The name ‘Pureblood’ sounded exotic.

  He had already seen what they did to rare mutants in Rabor.

  I won’t let you snatch my buddy!

  “Your pulse has quickened. Let’s not rush.” ??Davinia opened one of the pockets on the wide belt around her waist, and a jingling sound reached Rustam’s ears. Frightened, he expected to see a knife, pliers, or a needle ready to pierce his eye, but furry fingers pulled out a small pouch tied with a string and opened it, revealing tokens. “Enough for a comfortable fresh start. As a bonus, I’m willing to transport you from Volnitsa to the civilized part of the world. Any criminal activity you’ve committed? Erased. Just for information. You must admit, my dear, such an outcome is preferable to a guaranteed senseless demise aboard your boss’ den.”

  “I first heard about Boragchin from you.” Rustam swallowed. “Give me the money. I’m expected.”

  “Regrettable.” Davinia sighed dramatically, her eyelashes lowering over her eyes without completely closing them. One eye never stopped studying his face, while the other glanced down the passage.

  The Wolfkin rose, leaning back slightly, while her fingers began to grip Rustam’s knuckles like iron vices around the middle joints. He heard the squeal of the gauntlets’ metal bending, feeling the servo-muscles chafe his skin, pressing ever harder. His pathetic attempt to kick the woman’s butt was unsuccessful. His foot barely left the ground, suffering from the cooling effect. The corner of his mouth twitched at the stab of pain in his hand.

  “Do you know the downside of power armor cobbled together from a hodgepodge of parts from other models? Clumsiness, of course,” Davinia said, ignoring the boy’s cry. “Energy issues, headaches during repairs. But the primary danger lies in poorly adjusted hydraulics and servo-muscles. As long as your limbs are intact...” Her fingers pressed harder, cutting off blood flow. “Everything is fine. But if a fracture occurs in certain areas, the normally safe, enveloping servo-muscle fibers will begin to compress the damaged bone, widening the fracture and further damaging the muscles. I’ve seen ghastly sights of entire limbs ‘shot out’ due to such malfunctions. The nearest mechanic is a long way from here.”

  Rustam bit his lip, thinking feverishly. Would he endanger Tsereg by revealing her whereabouts? Probably not. The mighty cruiser could repel any attack. Ha, it had butchered Latif’s wagon more easily than a butcher cuts up a carcass! Hurts. Tears welled up in his eyes. Where would he go without his fingers? What would he be? A beggar? A burden? His brain screamed desperately, demanding he accept the deal, reminding him of how the cripples had ended up, and begging him to stop the torture. The pressure didn’t ease, and he began swallowing faster, ignoring the saliva raking against his sore throat.

  He’d only just met Tsereg. She probably didn’t consider him anything, so who cared what happened to her? Rustam’s teeth bit through his lip. That bitch was going to torture him to extract information. She would bring nothing but grief, and by handing over Tsereg, he would condemn the girl to a fate worse than death. Who else would he sacrifice to save himself? Grisha, Sylvie, or Neem... A revelation struck him. He had to remain silent. He couldn’t let Davinia find out who they really were, or the entire operation could be jeopardized.

  Noticing his efforts, Davinia leaned in, releasing the pressure, and then Rustam spat in her face. The spit missed; with supernatural grace, she tilted aside, and he braced himself, prepared to lose his fingers.

  “Go to hell.”

  “Hm. Hm.” Davinia placed two fingers under her chin, hiding the pouch. She pulled a pistol-shaped autoinjector from her belt and inserted an ampoule. “I didn’t plan to use the emergency supply unless absolutely necessary, but Alpha always taught us to trust our intuition. Let’s gamble.”

  “You.” He didn’t finish.

  The injector’s barrel pressed against the base of his skull, and he felt a gentle prick, releasing an unknown liquid into his bloodstream, causing the woman’s figure to blur, merging with the wall. A soothing calm descended upon him, taking away all worries, doubts, and pain, lulling him into a sweet sleep. With a drunken smile, Rustam stuck out his tongue, relaxing. Davinia stepped back, taking him under the armpits and lifting him to chest level. His pupils constricted and dilated, preventing him from focusing on his overhanging fangs.

  “Tell me, poor thing, do you work for Latif?” Davinia cooed.

  How could he have contradicted and insulted the owner of that wonderful voice before? Rustam laughed at such nonsense. Why hide the truth? He would gladly answer all questions.

  “No. Latif is gone.” Rustam blew bubbles, slumping limply in the grip. The Wolfkin stretched, spilling beyond his field of vision, then narrowed, turning into barely perceptible lines. Bright hues replaced the surrounding grayness, inspiring encouragement.

  “Tell me,” Davinia asked, swaying with him. “Tell me everything, starting with Latif’s disappearance.”

  There was no reason to refuse this request. Choking with drool, Rustam recounted how he had been rescued after defeating Daulet. At the curious girl’s request, he described the giant crusaders in detail, amazed at the accuracy of his memory, and continued the tale, explaining how he had woken up with a new cheek in the medical bay. After that, Davinia tugged at his cheek and stuck her fingers into his talking mouth, examining the prosthetics.

  “Amateurs,” she giggled. “They forgot to replace such an obvious thing. And I’m no better.”

  There was no question about Grisha, so Rustam omitted that meeting, explaining exactly how he met Tsereg, describing the girl’s appearance down to the slightest trace of a whip, and adding about her preference for children’s games and her refusal to play cards. He concealed nothing, revealing the terms of the deal with the Magister, her processing for the mission, the fate of the slavers, their purpose here, and how the Oathtakers treated children. As he spoke, Davinia’s pupils dilated, almost engulfing the yellow of her unusual eyes.

  “Well, well. A misunderstanding,” she drawled at the end. “This is an interesting development. The Wolf Tribe owes you, little one.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Davinia tilted her head to the side, dodging a flying projectile that tore a hole in the dead end. Rustam heard a shot, accompanied by the furious clatter of hooves and a buzzing sound. The paws released him. Before he fell, the Wolfkin turned to a side view, letting the second projectile miss, and shoved Rustam with her hip, sending him flying. Blinking in surprise, he collided with a hard object that turned out to be Yeshua and grinned stupidly, turning his head toward the noise.

  Ruda apparently ducked under him mid-flight, closing the distance to Davinia, and lashed out with her claw, scraping the building wall and cutting an elongated hole in it. The Wolfkin ducked, avoiding the slowing slash, and took the subsequent hoof strike on her forearm without even wincing.

  “A swing, instead of a lunge.” Davinia pushed the hoof away, falling against the wall as she fled from the pincer strike from above. “Unaccustomed to the blade’s length. It wasn’t so noticeable in the open arena, but here it’s obvious. You miss your mace, don’t you, cutie C?”

  “Shut up, scum,” Ruda croaked, not slowing her pace.

  A web of slashes descended on the Wolfkin, who nimbly twisted, dodging the blows, crouching, and darting to the sides. The crusader pressed the strange woman, but each time, the black hide nimbly eluded the incoming swing or the subsequent thrust aimed at her tendons. Like candles in the hands of priests at a festival, Davinia’s released claws danced in the darkness, often creeping close to the joints of her opponent’s armor, testing but not attacking.

  Adjusting herself to the size of the impasse, Ruda launched a semicircular strike aimed at Davinia’s knees. The woman jumped and froze in a split, resting her feet on the walls. The paws moved toward Ruda’s helmet.

  Yeshua raised his pistol, firing immediately, and Davinia landed with a hiss of pain. Instead of aiming for the center of her mass, Yeshua shot directly at Ruda’s shoulder, who dropped to one knee, wordlessly guessing her ally’s intentions. The bullet tore the dirty layer of steel from the pauldron, scratching Davinia’s shoulder, caught unaware by this trick. Ruda immediately launched a quick upward swing. A palm strike to her hands clasped around the hilt halted the attack, sending the crusader back a step and denting the steel of her gauntlets.

  Ruda reached for her pistol, dangling from its chain. In the blink of an eye, the Wolfkin closed the distance, touching the top of the pistol with her claw, jamming the projectile.

  “Impossible,” someone breathed.

  Only now did Rustam realize they weren’t alone. A group of bandits, led by the enraged innkeeper wielding a humming chainsaw, stood next to Yeshua.

  “Quite possibly." Davinia ducked away from the attack and nodded toward the lying bodies. “This particular model of autoloader is fragile, which is why it disappeared from the market. Maybe we should stop this childishness? I saved your comrade from the danger caused by your incompetence. The least you should do is spare me the trouble of immobilizing you.”

  “That’s the body of a guard.” The innkeeper stopped his chainsaw. “I don’t know this shit by sight.” He pointed at the jester.

  “His name is Oztai,” Rustam said readily.

  “Why would guards kidnap teenagers?” a bandit asked suspiciously. “The governor buys whomever he wants.”

  “As if you don’t fucking heard what Oztai does.” The innkeeper spat. “He must’ve gone berserk, decided to have some fun, thinking his post with Draz was a license to do anything.”

  “Two of your statements are true, but your conclusion is false,” Davinia informed him. “Only one person has a monopoly on violence here.”

  “Such innuendos could cause the loss of one’s neck,” the innkeeper warned. “We still want to lynch the culprit, and we won’t shy away from offing a slanderer.”

  “Why would a guard risk his position helping Oztai satisfy his cravings instead of receiving a reward from Draz for reporting?” Davinia smiled sweetly, unconcerned about the sword swinging a millimeter from her nose.

  The innkeeper opened his mouth, then closed it, removing his finger from the chainsaw’s start button. Behind him, the bandits began to whisper.

  “Rustam, are you okay? Did she hurt you?” Ruda paused, holding her sword aimed at the Wolfkin’s heart.

  “Unfortunate choice of words,” Davinia said.

  “She injected me with something! I’m only telling the truth now,” Rustam chuckled.

  “Let’s check.” The bandit, a mess of purple, pulsating human flesh pierced with countless needles and wearing armor over it, approached the boy, opening his mouth too wide, revealing eight rows of needle-like teeth, all in varying degrees of decay. “Tell me, am I a freak or not?” The hooked claws growing straight from his gloves snapped.

  “A complete freak,” Rustam nodded fearlessly to the general laughter started by the bandit.

  “Farrin, you lied to me!” the bandit barked.

  “The brat is lying! It’s the inner world that matters, not the appearance!” another raider argued.

  “Absolutely correct,” Davinia agreed. “When you’re in love, physical issues fade into the background. But hygiene is essential. I recommend regular washing, perfume, toothpaste...”

  “Have you seen my needles?! How could girls even be interested in a walking impalement machine?”

  “What horror is going on here?” Yeshua muttered, amused. Holding his charge to his chest with one arm, he half-turned, shielding the boy with his body and aiming his pistol at the Wolfkin.

  “And she also tortured me, almost breaking my fingers,” Rustam added.

  The sword pierced the air, missing its target and burying itself in the wall of the dead end. A pistol followed, tossed at the crooked face. Davinia tilted her head, and only then did Rustam notice the chain connecting the pistol handle to Ruda’s hand. The chain wrapped around the Wolfkin’s wrist. The strong pull knocked her off balance, forcing her to bend over straight into a straight kick delivered to the solar plexus with a hoof. Davinia’s legs were lifted from the road by the powerful blow.

  “Got you, scum,” Ruda growled, headbutting the muzzle.

  Davinia didn’t resist, letting the attack knock her backwards. The Wolfkin’s legs wrapped around the crusader’s sword-wielding arm, and Davinia, her figure blurring with incredible speed, returned the headbutt, sending Ruda crashing back to her knees in the crater that was spreading beneath her. Pieces of rock flew around the women. Claws cut the chain, freeing Davinia, and she bounced off Ruda, leaping to the top of the wall. With a wave of her paw, she caught several shots fired by the bandits. The bullets rained down in a ringing stream from her outstretched hand, drumming against Ruda’s helmet as she rose.

  “Gentlemen, ladies. This audience has been fruitful, but allow me to take my leave.” Davinia licked the blood trickling from her nostril.

  “You will pay for Rustam’s pain,” Ruda promised in a quiet voice.

  “Intend to!” came the cheerful reply. “But for now, we'd better not attract the guards’ attention. Friends! A morsel of wisdom before our parting. In a few minutes, ask yourselves why Draz didn’t call you and why his minions are killing those who remain on the sidelines? Your survival is at stake! Remember, there are no accidents!”

  Amber eyes disappeared into the darkness as Ruda tried to climb up, breaking the stone with her hands. Yeshua’s shout stopped her frenzy, and she hurried to Rustam, cursing at the sight of her bent fingers. One of the bandits pulled out a tool bag, coming to the aid of the grateful crusaders, while the others began stripping the uniform from the slain guard, dividing the spoils and rummaging through the dead jester for valuables.

  “Why are there so many of you?” Rustam said slowly, blinking rapidly. The desire to oblige, to answer any questions, subsided slightly, gradually returning consciousness. “Me! She...”

  “It’s all right, it doesn’t matter,” Yeshua interjected. “And regarding the crowd, we have a lot of enraged volunteers ready to avenge the explosion and the injuries. A series of repeated blasts and smoke bombs almost led us astray.”

  “But Yeshua noticed your spikes. You both did well,” Ruda praised. “Try to relax. Your fingers aren’t broken. Damn, who is she?” she asked aloud, lowering her voice.

  “Listening devices, a truth serum.” Yeshua shook his head. “Doesn’t match the way the Wolf Tribe operates.”

  “They’re all bloodthirsty savages, incapable of any more complex plan than a maddened headlong charge,” Ruda said with disgust. “Davinia danced more than fought, reminding me of the nobles of the Ice Fang clan. The way she caught the bullets was exactly a technique out of their arsenal. Yet there was a difference: her grace was shaky, as if she were struggling with instincts that demanded simple movements. She succumbed to them in the end, immediately reclaiming control.”

  “She mentioned some Alpha,” Rustam croaked slowly.

  “Even stranger,” Yeshua said thoughtfully. “The so-called Warlord Alpha leads the Alpha Pack, renowned for its numbers and straightforwardness. Oh, they claim to be elite, but Alpha is as dumb as a brick. Rumor has it, the idiot still eats human flesh.”

  “The difference between Davinia and me wasn’t as great as the difference between Draz and me. Still, she could’ve effortlessly killed me here. Hey! That’s Rustam’s shotgun!” Ruda looked up from her repairs.

  “My mistake.” The barbed bandit pulled the weapon from his knee pocket and tossed it to the group. “I know that furry bitch. She trades in beast whores. We’ll get such compensation from her for the insults...”

  A roar interrupted the raider’s dreamy conversation. A blast wave swept over the rooftops, shearing off part of the house above the dead end and sending down an avalanche of splintered stone and wood. Ruda threw herself at Rustam, shielding him with her body, while Yeshua stood up, yanking the nearest unusual assistant out from under the falling sharp stone. The shards pierced the innkeeper’s hand, eliciting a torrent of curses. Lights came on in the houses, and the wail of sirens echoed across the city, accompanied by the barely audible, muffled sounds of explosions and gunshots. A hubbub of questions, the shrill cries of awakened children, and hoarse pleas for help filled the surrounding streets.

  “Did they blow up the Market?” The porcupine-mutated raider tore himself free from the pile of rubble that had fallen on him, assisting Farrin to her feet.

  “No. It seems like the administrators had an explosion.” The innkeeper removed his belt, intending to apply a tourniquet.

  “You two, get inside!” Yeshua shouted to the nearest bandits, pointing to the broken house.

  “Robbery is prohibited in the city,” said a woman covered in boils and with a broken nose.

  “There are children crying there!”

  “So what?” the robber asked, surprised.

  “You... There’s a reward for aiding in a disaster. You don’t want to be hanged for neglecting the governor’s property, do you?” Yeshua lied, placing his hand on the shoulder of the shaking-with-rage Ruda.

  The bandits, their expressions changed, raced out of the dead end, literally knocking the door leading into the house off its hinges. Rustam heard the clatter of feet jumping over broken steps and the faint thanks of the residents buried under the collapsed roof.