New Regime (20 page)

Owen’s lips were warm, his grip hard. He probably didn’t
realize he was hurting her as he squeezed her arms. Or maybe he did.

His kiss was consuming.

Not in the way the berserker’s was. The berserker was full
of power and pain and rage. His kiss was deep, hot. His emotions were intense.
His kiss made her immediately lose track of her thoughts. It made her want to
wrap her legs around him, sink her teeth into him, devour him.

In Owen’s kiss was something she couldn’t decipher. Didn’t
want to. It would hurt too much.

It hurt him, whatever it was.

She didn’t question her weakness concerning Owen.

It just was.

But for one heart stopping moment, an image of Z flashed
through her mind.

She shuddered against him and moaned gently into his mouth.
His grip on her arms tightened further.

She let him deepen the kiss. She was going to a place where
trouble waited, but trouble was an old, old friend, and it welcomed her with
open arms.

A force like a truck going full speed hit them. It knocked
her on her ass and sent Owen slamming into the house across the street.

“Berserker,” she screamed.
“No!”

He pointed a finger at her, stunning her enough to make her
hesitate. “Go home.”

She dropped her fangs without meaning to. “You—”

“Rune,” Owen said, somewhat breathlessly. He knelt on the
ground, his hair over his face, then grimaced as he stood. “Stay out of this.
It’s been a long time coming.”

The berserker stood with his feet apart, his fists clenched.
Once more, he looked at her. “Go home.” His voice was not gentle.

She heard a sound behind her and whirled around, her anxiety
levels high. Lex and Ellie stood there. Ellis had his fist to his mouth, and
Lex vibrated a little too fast.

“Get her out of here,” Owen told them.

Lex took her arm. “Come on, Rune. You can’t control
everything. Let them do what they need to do.”

“Fuck you,” Rune said, but her words came out in a whisper.

Ellis took her other arm, like she was either a delicate old
lady or an innocent child. And she was neither.

She growled. “I won’t let—”

“Leave them be,” Lex interrupted. “It’s not your choice. Let’s
go.”

But she didn’t want to leave them be. Didn’t want to leave
them to hurt each other for something that was hers to give—not theirs to take
or fight for.

“Rune,” Strad roared, “get the fuck out of here.”

“He doesn’t want you to see it,” Ellis said, tugging her
arm. “Please, please, Rune. Come home.”

She had to either go, or she had to watch.

She couldn’t stop them.

And she didn’t want to watch.

So finally, she turned and ran the fuck out of there.

She didn’t go home. She couldn’t have handled pacing the
floors waiting for one of them to walk in the door and tell her other was dead.

Even questioning the waiting assassin wasn’t something she
really cared about right then.

So she ran to Wormwood.

“Gunnar,” she yelled, running through the gates.

He slipped from the shadows, ready, as he nearly always was,
for her arrival into the place that had once been his sanctuary.

“Your Inconsolableness,” he said, and flew to her.

It was the first time he’d touched her with any sort of
comfort or affection in mind. He wrapped his long, skinny arms around her and
pulled her to him, against the thin hardness of his chest. “There, there.” He
thumped her on back. “There, there.”

She regained her composure and withdrew, wiping her face.

“Who has died, Your Horror?”

“Nobody died, Gunnar.”

“Then why are you here, wild emotions flying about you as
though someone had?”

“The berserker and Owen are fighting.”

“Go on.”

“The berserker and Owen,” she repeated, “are
fighting.
”

“And this displeases you?”

She stared at him. “I don’t like to see people I care about
hurting each other.”

He tilted his head, his fluffy black hair drifting lazily
around his shoulders. “It is what people do.”

She blew out a hard breath and looked away from his sharp
gaze. “They’re fighting because of me.”

His smile was soft. “They are men. They will always fight.”

She shook her head. “These men don’t just fight. These
men…destroy.”

“Why are you here?”

“I didn’t want to watch them.”

“Why not?” He was genuinely curious. “If they will, as you
fear, kill each other, would you not want to be there to congratulate the
victor?”

She snorted. “Gunnar, sometimes you are a little fucking
crazy.” But she grinned.

“And now you are calm.” He took her by her shoulders and
turned her toward the gates. “Go back to your men, dear.” He gave her a small
shove. “And do not forget what you are.”

She was outside the gates when she turned back to face him.
“How are you, Gunnar?”

“I, Your Highness, am lamentably candyless.”

“I’ll bring you some.” She hesitated. “Gunnar…I have the
assassin.”

He shuddered and took a step back. “And that is another man
you should watch. He will get what he needs, in the end.” The he walked closer,
and wrapped his fingers around the metal bars of the gate. “But if you are very
careful, so will you. Use him, Rune.”

“Oh, I plan on it.” Then she stiffened her spine and began
the run back to the Moor. She was a monster, and if two men were going to beat
each other senseless over her, she was going to fucking be there to see it.

The berserker was big, and he was bad.

But Owen was Shiv Crew for a reason, and he would be a
challenge, even for Strad.

Rune slipped down an alley, glancing at the sky once as it
began to drizzle. The day was overcast and cool, and the scent of the oncoming
Fall mingled with the other scents of the Moor.

The closer she got to the fight, the stronger the scent of
blood.

A crowd had gathered in an empty lot beside Grady’s Bar and
Grill, and even as she watched a few more people ran out of the bar, swigging
beer and yelling cheerfully.

She cursed when her cell vibrated, and dragged it out to
check the display. The Annex was calling. “Yeah?”

A pause, then, “Rune? Everything okay?”

“Not a good time, Eugene.” And then, she heard the fight.
The thud of flesh against flesh, a crash, and a roar of anger so loud that even
the shouts of a gleeful crowd could not drown it out.

“We’ve found another body, Rune.”

“Body?” A car whizzed by, going much too fast, and a sound
like a gunshot made her jump. The idiots had thrown a bottle at the stop sign.

“Rune?”

“Yeah, I’m here. What is it?”

“Another hanging body was found. In the Moor. I thought you
might want to check into it.”

“Fuck. Where in the Moor?” Then it dawned on her that he was
asking her to check into it. “Why do you want Shiv Crew to check it out?”

“Not Shiv Crew. You.”

She frowned. “You were letting Bill head this case. Is there
something I need to know?”

“Oh, he’s still heading it. I wanted to involve you since
you’ve been in on the killings from the beginning.” His voice was smooth, and
she could practically taste the lie. “The victim is nailed to the coffee shop
on Green. What are you doing right now?”

“I’m…getting ready to break up a fight.”

“All right. Take care of business and I’ll call you later
with updates.”

“Thanks.” She hung up. The conversation had unsettled her. Something
was up, but she didn’t have time to think about it right then.

The crowd parted for her as soon as they saw who she was,
and heavy, eager hands pushed at her back, urging her on.

“Are you going stop them?” a woman asked. “Don’t stop them.”

“Shut up,” Rune growled.

It was bad. She could feel it. She could smell it.

Blood, pain, and sweat.

Then she was at the front of the crowd and no one stood
between her and the two men.

They circled each other, shivs in hand, bloody, battered,
and mean.

The berserker was a mountain next to the smaller Owen, but
Owen was holding his own. That he was still alive almost shocked her.

Owen suddenly lunged, slicing into Strad’s stomach before
leaping at the berserker’s throat. He missed by a whisper when Strad moved.

Strad’s roar was loud in the dark, quiet day. He grabbed
Owen by the throat and with his fist wrapped around his blade, punched Owen in
the face.

She couldn’t breathe as Owen went limp in the berserker’s
grip.

Then, as though he felt her there, Strad looked up and saw
her.

He dropped Owen and strode toward her. Those closest to her
gasped and scrambled away from the berserker’s anger.

“Damn you, Rune.”

She put her hands on her hips and said nothing.

“I told you to go home.”

His right eye was nearly swollen shut, his lip was split,
and the front of his tattered shirt was bloody from cuts.

If the berserker looked that bad, she could only imagine
Owen’s injuries. Owen wasn’t even back to full strength yet, and she had no idea
how he was able to stand against the berserker.

She glanced behind Strad to see Owen still lying in the
overgrown weeds. But as she watched, he sat up—slowly, but he sat up.

“Strad, if I ever want someone to tell me what to do, I’ll
be sure to let you know.”

“You don’t need to watch this.”

She grasped the hem of his shirt and pushed it up, then
leaned forward to run her tongue over the blood coloring his ribs.

“Holy shit,” someone whispered.

He grabbed her shoulders, but made no attempt to push her
away. “Rune…”

“I know what I need, Berserker.” She pulled back and
grinned. “Go take shit out on Owen. You can come back to me ragged as hell and
torn to bits, but neither one of you sons of bitches had better fucking die on
me.”

He knew she was serious.

He frowned, his eyes glittering in the shadows of his face,
but before he could say another word Owen began loping toward him, blades in
each hand.

Strad turned to meet him.

She was still worried. Still terrified one of them would
die.

But fuck that. She pushed the worry deep. She wasn’t their
mother.

Someone put a hand on her shoulder and she glanced over to
find Raze and Jack at her side. They said nothing, just watched the two men
fight.

Once, Owen hit Strad in the eye with the hilt of his knife.

“Fuck,” Jack murmured. “Not the
eye.
”

But Owen could have sliced into the berserker’s eye with his
blade if he’d wanted to. Could have sent it into his brain.

She dug her fingers into her thighs. Assholes.

Strad shook his head as though trying to shake away the pain
in his eye, and once more he and Owen circled each other. A little more slowly,
though.

“Cops,” someone said, and the entire group hastened to
disperse, everyone watching seemingly afraid of being arrested.

It was the Moor, so their fear was likely warranted.

“Jack,” Rune said, not taking her stare off Strad and Owen.

“On it,” he said, and went to head off the two cops before
they tried to interfere and ended up dead.

Owen and Strad stopped circling and began to fight in
earnest. They fought almost like they were deep in battle and it was life or
death.

There was one difference—they threw down their weapons. No
blades, no spears, no guns.

Blood sprayed and bones crunched—mostly Owen’s—and each time
it happened, Rune flinched.

“Um, Alexander,” someone said, and she looked away to find the
cops watching the fight. “They’re going to kill each other.”

“How are they still alive? You sure you don’t want us to
stop them?” the other asked.

“If you need to die in a hurry,” Raze said, “go ahead.”

“Raze,” Rune said. “Jack. If I asked you to stop them, would
you?”

He and Jack looked at each other. “Nope,” they said in
unison.

She grinned at them, and Raze winked at her. Jack, maybe
still thinking about the knife to the eye, didn’t so much as smile.

Strad knocked Owen halfway across the lot, and Rune groaned
as Owen finally rolled to a halt and lay as still as death.

The berserker started toward him. His big body was covered
with blood and grime. His hair had come out of its band and clung to the sweat
of his upper arms. He was so bruised and cut and battered that Rune wondered
how he could walk, but he didn’t just walk to Owen, he strode to him.

And she finally noticed another difference.

Strad wasn’t raging—he was pissed, yes, and doing something
he felt he needed to do, but he wasn’t raging. He was taking care of business.

And that made her feel a little better, because that meant
he wasn’t out to kill Owen.

Before Strad reached him, Owen stirred.

“God,” Rune breathed.

Strad leaned down, wrapped his fist in Owen’s tattered shirt,
and yanked him to his feet.

The cowboy punched the berserker solidly in the throat.

Not even Strad could ignore that. He took a step back, his
hands to his throat.

Owen tottered, then fell to his knees.

“Idiots,” Rune muttered.

Her cell rang and she grabbed it. “What?”

“Rune,” Lex said. “Levi was…talking with the assassin. The
assassin needs bitten so badly he’ll tell you anything you want to know. He
knows where Megan is. And he says he’ll tell you about the Shop leader if
you’ll feed him. He says…”

“What, Lex?”

“He says the baby you delivered is alive. And he said it was
normal. Just like you.”

She was halfway back to her house almost before she realized
she’d taken off.

Normal. Just like her.

She’d never been called normal in her life.

She laughed, but even to her ears the laughter held a hint
of hope. The assassin would help her find Megan and the baby. She would find
them, and she would save them.

That was the most important thing to her right then, and she
didn’t give Strad or Owen another thought as she sped to the assassin.