The smell of blood, tobacco, and alcohol filled the air one moment, and the next I was unable to smell anything but blood as a fist slammed into my face. I nearly fell to the floor and was caught by a few members of the crowd around us before I could get halfway down; no time to recover before being forced to my feet.

  I acted like I was staggering forward, and the man went to throw a punch at me I dodged under, finding my footing faster than I should have been able. He had only a few tenths of a second to realize what happened, and I slammed my fist into his side. A sickening crunch ringing out as he nearly fell to the ground gripping his side along with a string of curses.

  The crowd's reaction was mixed, everything from jeers at both of us to cheering both of us on, and I raised my arm in reaction to soak it all in. A smirk crossed my split lips, and I felt my nose snapping itself into place in the darkly lit bar as I walked to one side of the crowd. There the bartender reached through the crowd, handing me a bottle of beer I opened with my teeth, feeling the tooth crack and then slowly begin healing as I chugged the drink.

  Someone from the crowd yelled, “get the bitch, Jeb!” and my opponent flipped them off as he forced himself to his feet. Jeb wiped the blood from his lip, and I saw him stumble as he worked to try supporting his right side. His ribs were definitely cracked, if not broken, and I wondered how much money and pride he had in this fight he was still risking it.

  “You can surrender now,” I offered, whispering it just low enough it wouldn’t look like he backed down to a threat if he took me up. He shook his head, raising his arms once more, and I passed off my empty bottle to someone as I told him, “your choice, my stress relief is becoming your problem though. My son would be better at fighting than you at this point.”

  The fight started again, much easier this time, and I noticed immediately he was favoring the punches on his left side. It was uninjured, it hurt less to twist there, and I couldn’t let that happen. I nearly tackled him, slamming my shoulder into his chest, and he stumbled back. My fist crashed twice into his injured ribs before he could recover, and the man doubled over shaking as a wave of vomit poured from his mouth.

  My fangs grew, my nails were ready to harden and extend, my fur wished to come out. He was defenseless, an easy target, I could have killed him here and now, ate his throat, and no one would stop me.

  I held it back, I held it back with all my fucking might.

  Instead I finished him off, gripping him by the scruff of brown hair on his head and tugging him forward. As weak he was, as much pain he was in, he couldn’t stop me, and he fell flat onto the puddle of his own vomit, straight on his injured ribs.

  He let out a yell, and barely moved as he laid there weakly trying to push himself to take the weight off.

  Technically he had some time to see if he could get back up, though I doubted anyone genuinely believed he would. Instead the crowd erupted into curses and cheers as those who won money acted it and those who didn’t did the same. Above those noises though were the ones chanting, the ones calling out, “Bloodhound! Bloodhound! Bloodhound” in cheers as I raised my arms in triumph.

  By the time I was bored of hyping up the crowd and they started breaking away back to their tables and stools someone had peeled Jeb off the floor and gotten him out of the door. Good for him, as I wasn’t sure how much longer I could put up with the smell of his fresh blood around me as I went to my stool at the bar.

  The Lucky Russian was a small bar, located almost halfway to the mountains in farming country, and part of a run-down trucker stop. It was dark, smelled horrible, and was out of the way, with a neon sign of a revolver above a long wall with a mirror and drinks behind the bar. The perfect place to have these sorts of events and to make a quick buck when you need it.

  A part of me thought the name sounded familiar, though I couldn’t really place it. I had to guess either someone at the Covenant had brought it up, or I was just confused by the generic title. It was the sort of thing you saw in an eighties movie for the exact sort of sport I was using it for now.

  “You’re good as they say, Bloodhound,” the bartender said as I said on the stool, glad it was dark enough to continue healing if I didn’t wipe the blood away. “Never thought I’d see a woman take Jeb down like that, no offense.”

  “None taken if you get me another drink,” I said, grabbing a napkin from behind the counter I spit a wad of blood into. “Something stronger if you don’t mind.”

  The man nodded, and I watched as he sat a small glass in front of me and grabbed a bottle he used to barely fill it. I gestured to him to give it more, and he still gave it pitifully little but more than I should have expected. It would need to do, and I sniffed the air a few times, realizing how strong whatever his name was’s blood was still in the air.

  I reached into my dad’s old jacket I had draped on the bar, pulling out a cardboard carton I shook in the air as I asked, “any complaints?”

  “Ain’t legal, but neither is the fight,” the man told me, leaving me a moment only to come back with an ashtray he sat down for me. I nodded, pulling out a cigarette I held between two fingers, and even as I was reaching for my lighter in my jacket the man pulled out his own for me.

  “I could have got it,” I said, even as I took a long drag from the cigarette and let its smell coat my nose and lungs.

  I was still getting used to the acrid and strange taste that they left behind, and I wasn’t even sure if I liked them or not, even if I was finding myself regularly indulging. It was another layer of defense, another bit of protection for half-ones around me so I didn’t think about losing control. The smoke coated my nose, my mouth, filled the air, and made it to where I couldn’t really smell the blood around me or feel hungry about the others.

  Honestly, between that and the fighting I had to wonder if I was getting worse or better as time went on.

  Both had been recommendations by The Lady I took much too seriously for my own good. For the former, she’d merely had several leftover cartons from trying smoking out for a month and offered them to me when I complained about how strong blood smelt. For the latter the circumstances had been…more severe.

  A few months into my new job and I’d gotten a pretty simple job, some fey fucking with people’s minds. It was bordering on one of the things I shouldn’t have dealt with but the fey asked The Lady to deal with it. It took twelve hours for me to track him down and confront him about what he was doing, most of which was spent just sitting around Goodfellow’s bar while his fey checked some hangouts for me. I went to the location I got told, the bastard pushed me a few times, punches got thrown, and something that should have been a case of “intimidate and turn in” ended up “standing around waiting for a crew to deep clean a hotel room”.

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  After that The Lady had suggested I was too wound up, and needed to let off some stress more than I was. I think she’d been expecting me to maybe get a date or knit a little more on the weekends, and in the end I had gone to Vergil asking about fights.

  They were structured, on some level I knew they weren’t trying to kill me and that wasn’t the focus. There was blood, but just enough that I could ignore it if I really tried, and enough to start getting me used to the smell not meaning dinner. Fucks sake, at the very least it let me punch something and get that out of my system between struggling to read reports and laying at home alone.

  Honestly, I wondered what The Lady would actually say if she could see me now, and I was letting out a chuckle at the fact when the bartender leaned on the counter and said, “take it Bloodhound’s not the real name?”

  “Not anymore,” I admitted, chuckling as I looked up at him, “old nickname, though when you’re fighting in a sports bra it’s a bit hard to hide the tattoos. I just figured it sounds better than Mary.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he offered with a smirk, even as he went to pour another nearby patron a drink, “Mary sounds very nice. I could get used to saying it.”

  Oh, cute, he was trying to flirt with me.

  It could have been fun to give it a go. He was hot, maybe a few years older than Andrew and having that sort of rugged look to him I liked. I thought it might have ended pretty fucking badly for him, as little as I was able to control myself at times, but wasn’t he offering himself?

  “No need to get used to it,” I said, downing my drink before rising to my feet. He nodded to me, even as I pulled on my t-shirt over my sports bra and brushed out my jeans. I didn’t think he deserved to die, and I told him as much in my own way as I started to pull on my dad’s old jacket, “I’m not really a good person to be dating right now.”

  “Well, you’re ever in the area and change your mind,” the man said, pulling some bills from his pocket he passed over to me, “two hundred bucks for the win, Vergil’s bookie will get you your part of that deal. You got time for a last drink?”

  “I should really be getting home, I’m expecting a call in the morning,” I half-lied.

  The man ignored me, pouring my glass as he told me, “come on, last one for the crowd. I thought you fighters were people pleasers?”

  I rolled my eyes even as a smile crossed my lips and I took up the glass, the man reaching over to pull my arm up as we turned to face the crowd. As dark as it was, I could hardly see half the patrons except for some gathered in the center and a poor bartender mopping up the mess from the fight. All the same, a couple dozen eyes turned on us as the man drummed his hand on the counter and called out, “one more for Bloodhound!”

  About half the patrons raised their drinks, calling out, “Bloodhound,” and another few gave a few insults back at me. I didn’t care either way, and drank down my drink before sitting it on the counter as I started out, slipping my winnings into the mopping man’s shirt pocket.

  There, I went to Knives’ car, tossing my cigarette on the ground and crushing it out before I climbed into the driver’s seat. Knives would have fucking killed me if I smoked in their car, and I wasn’t risking getting shot for that — even if I would have survived.

  I got the cart started, picking up my phone ready to call Allie and ask if she found anything about the disappearances when a familiar click barely touched my ears.

  The air erupted in a series of explosions, my ears rang, my left side burned in pain. I looked around confused for a moment, my vision blurring in and out, and watched as a figure approached from the darkness. They flicked open a revolver, letting the casings fall to the floor, and pulled a speed reloader from their pocket.

  I’d been shot.

  My feet hit the gas, I sped off, nearly tipping the car as I turned out of the parking lot and skidded down the road. More shots rang out, and the back window exploded behind me as I tried to stay focused on what was in front of me.

  My entire body was in agony, too much pain for the bullets to have been normal. It was a deep pain, a burning death that was growing worse within me.

  Silver.

  I tried focusing on the road and my phone at the same time, moving to my emergency contact labeled The Lady. It rang, and I struggled to press the speaker button the more my fingers stained the screen with blood. Everything hurt, and I nearly crashed into a fucking fence as I struggled to stay upright.

  “Mary, this is very…” The Lady started before I interrupted her.

  “I got shot,” I said, the words burning my lungs, “silver, I think it was a hunter.”

  “Location?” The Lady asked, sounding bored by the affair.

  “I don’t know,” I muttered, shaking my head as I went down the country roads. My hand slipped on the wheel, and I went into the mud of an empty field. There were several seconds of ringing and blurriness, and I rubbed my forehead as I felt my body climb from the car even as my mind struggled for words. “I’m gonna need a fucking doctor.”

  “Get somewhere safe, stay there, stay on this line,” she ordered me, and I nodded to no one as I went running through the fields.

  Every movement hurt, and I fell to the ground multiple times as I tried to make my way through the field. My body ached, everything fucking ached, and I shook my head as I looked around wildly.

  There was a barn in the distance, silhouetted by the moonlight.

  I ran there, hobbling along, and turned back as I reached the door and forced it open. In the distance, where Knives’ car still sat with its headlights on, a truck pulled up, and I watched as a man stepped out and began to look around. He had a shotgun raised, and even as little chance as there was that he saw me I dived into the barn and stumbled to the back wall.

  My body fell back against the old splintering wood, and I tossed my phone on the ground as I started stripping my clothes off. My insides felt like they were being fucking cooked alive, and I bit down hard enough to crack teeth as I looked around for anything to tell her.

  There were stalls, a dozen of them if I had to guess, and horses standing and looking at me in confusion as they made a few nervous noises. I prayed to the wolf gods my hunter wouldn’t hear them, and weakly said, “I’m in a barn, there’s horses.”

  “Horses,” The Lady repeated, cursing to someone as she said something and then back to me asked, “any…identifying marks?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, now naked in the barn as I took sight of my wounds.

  Five holes, one in one thigh, two in the lower parts of my torso, with an entry and exit wound on my other leg. I had three bullets in me.

  I dipped my fingers in my own blood, tracing a series of runes on my legs and stomach, before slapping my palm over the center. My breaths were shallow, my vision blurred, and my voice shook as I prayed, “Silver moon, paramour of the first hunter who struck us in your anger, relieve me of your cursed agony and let me hunt another day under your eye.”

  Nothing happened for a moment, and then my arm to my heart burnt like the silver was already in my blood. I bit back a scream so hard my lip bled, and a low whine escaped my throat as every muscle in my body pulled tight and I fell back on the ground. Blood drew through my veins, through my skin, and into the rune, and I felt the burning within me slowly move outwards.

  The wounds opened up, bits of red hot silver falling out and onto the ground already melting. They rolled out, pouring onto the ground, and collapsed flat on the ground as I made sure my body was rolled away from their touch. My ears were still ringing, my painfully tight muscles loosening to a sudden exhaustion, and my vision dimming and brightening back and forth as I stared up to the ceiling.

  The Lady said something over the phone, my name I thought, and said it a few times as I let out wordless noises. I tried staying awake, my head swirled, and I shook my head as I felt the blood continuing to be drawn from the body. The brief thought of whether this was how I’d die or not went through my body, and I closed my eyes as I decided to let what happened happened.

  The world grew quiet, sensation left my body, and I felt myself floating in a void as the world became nothing.