Run Away With Me

Chapter 20: The nastiness of the Cenderbees.

Sixteen buff and experienced humans surround us, taking systematic steps to entrap us in their man-made circle. Their guns and knives are pointed at us, holes and tips daring us to take a single step.

I don't know who these people are or what they want from us, but good thing is that they're not hunters.

"Good day?" I wave at them, they flinch and most of them turn to me, rifle and whatnot directed to my forehead. I wince and take a step back, sliding my body behind Nao's. Jamaica does the same, wrapping his arms around my leg while Orla takes position behind us, guarding our back.

We're like a sandwich, only the plate isn't fine china, but murderous men.

"What do you want?" Nao asks, annoyance clear in his tone.

I peek from his side and see a tall man walk forward, a large scar across his right eye. If that isn't the leader of this little clique, he must be a character from those cowboys movies.

He has the hat and everything.

"We want that little boy behind you." I turn to look at Jamaica, questioning him with a look. He shrugs, shaking his head to say he doesn't know why he's being pursued.

I can think up some few ideas.

People always fancied the idea of rarity, obtaining something that nobody has. Jamaica is a hybrid, and while I don't know how the auction is doing these days, I'm sure the boy would fetch quite a sum.

"And what would you want with him?" Nao asks, leaning forward a bit and assuming a fighting stance. I don't know what he means by that. He can be a werewolf and all, but with all those guns I think he would bleed out before his recuperative abilities kick in.

"That is none of your business."

"Then this discussion is over."

At the raise of the cowboy man's hand, all the other men click their weapons.

"It was never up for one," he says, smirking, "hand over the boy, now." Jamaica grips my thigh harder, shaking in fear at the prospect of him landing in the hands of these people.

But over my dead body are they getting him.

Both Nao and Orla growl in warning.

I'm not handing Jamaica over, but I don't know how I'm keeping him in this situation. I can't see an escape, and I don't think these experienced men are going to allow it.

What to do, what to do?

"Tell you what," cowboy says, "hand him over and nobody gets hurt."

I have a smoke bomb that I made a while back, I don't know the effectiveness, but it's better than nothing. That's plan one I suppose. I can also hand Jamaica a bug and give him to them. That's plan two, but not one I really like. I prefer solving everything in one go rather than postponing it.

I notice a certain silence dawn upon us and Jamaica whimpers.

"We're a pack," I whisper, "and I'll be damned if anything were to happen to my members." I hear every so often how mini packs get outed one way or another, and I'll welcome myself in hell if I don't even make it past our one year anniversary.

I turn my shoulder bag so it's resting on my left hip, taking out the bomb as I do so. The men look at me, but don't do or say anything, disregarding my little action as something harmless.

So much for professionals.

I grip Nao's jacket and tug it, earning his attention without him turning around.