After World Chronicles: Angel Awakens

(5) Thugs

Shortly after sundown we leave.  Max lies sleeping, worn out from work and blood loss.  To my relief she fell asleep before our interactions became too intimate.  When she wakens, she will remember nothing but a bottle of wine and some kisses. 

Amethyst eyes watch me with curiosity as I repack our gear. She waits quietly for me to retrieve her from the corner of the mattress where she rested while I fed. Little arms reach up in welcome, her fingers grasping at me as I lift her. She gurgles at her success in drawing a few strands inside a surprisingly tight fist.  Her efforts draw a rare smile.

Outside, we hurry to the stable yard under an overcast sky.  The air is fetid and moist with impending rain.  At the stable yards I discover a trio of men looking over my stallion with obvious interest. The bay is in prime condition, and horses are a luxury.  These are the same men who caught my attention when they passed me earlier.  The aura around them is filled with violence.

The horse nickers at my approach, sharing its anxiety at being the center of attention for these ruffians.  When I reach him I run my hands over him soothingly and the contact calms him.  The horse pushes his nose against my forehead and expels a soft snort of welcome, then nuzzles my coat, looking for treats.  I pull a limp carrot from my pocket and offer it on an open palm.

"Aww, isn't that just so sweet," mocks a rude voice behind me. His companions snicker.

I take my time greeting the horse before turning to the hostile men.

"This your horse?" drawls a solidly built man who looks a hard lived mid-thirties.

He stands with feet spread, hands resting over holstered weapons at his belt. Guns are another luxury, carried by a privileged few.  Those who have them most always are working for the New Republic.  These men are too brutish to be soldiers, but could easily be mercenaries or spies.

  The speaker's companions watch me speculatively.  They look as hard lived as their leader. All carry pistols holstered at their waist, along with several blades.  One has a wicked looking dagger sheathed to his thigh.

I incline my head slightly. "He's mine. Who's asking?"

The leader flicks out a long dagger, tosses it in the air and catches it by the handle.

"We are," he drawls as he tosses it again.

If they're hoping to intimidate me it isn't working.  They may think a lone young man is no threat to them, but that's only because they don't know I'm not human.  My speed and strength far surpass theirs.

"Nice piece of horse flesh," comments another as he slaps at a mosquito that lands on his arm.

Hard blue eyes under a scowling brow have underestimated me.

"That a baby you got bundled up against you?" the last one questions in an incredulous voice, drawing snickers from his companions.

They fan around me in a semi circle, posturing for a fight.  

"You got something against babies?" is my impassive reply.

With my back to the horse I stand confidently facing my harassers. I let my long coat fall open to display a half dozen blade handles.  The man closest draws back a single step, his lips curling in a snarl.  His hand falls to the butt of a gun holstered at his hip, which he unsnaps freeing the weapon.  His hand remains beside the gun, fingers flexing.

The last man who spoke is shaking his head in response to my comment. He purses his lips, "I ain't got nothing against babies, just wondering what you're doing carrying one around."

"That's a tiny, helpless little thing you got there, ain't it?" mocks their leader as he cleans his nails with the tip of his dagger. 

I glance in his direction and he spits out a long stream of brown tobacco juice.  Several drops cling to his stained lips.

"Well, that's my business isn't it?" my casual tone belies the ire rising at their attention shift to the infant.

My princess has remained silent throughout this exchange, but now she begins to squirm and fuss. The attention turns back to the stallion.

The dark eyes of the leader fill with cold calculation as he makes an offer for the horse, a pitifully low sum. The snide chuckles of his companions confirm my conclusion they hope to swindle me.

"Not interested," I decline the offer, and turn to load saddlebags on the horse as if I believe they will let me mount and leave.

One of them reaches out to grip my forearm, fingers digging deeply into flesh.

The man with cold blue eyes speaks up from behind me, a low warning in his voice. "Don't be in such a hurry boy," he advises.  "This conversation isn't over yet."

"Step back," I warn, meeting his hard gaze.

The man remains too close. "Son, we're just trying to engage in some friendly negotiations with you."

Fetid breath elicit a series of sneezes from my princess.

"Show some respect for your elders," says another, gun drawn as he crowds closer.

Their auras pulse with glee at the prospect of violence. 

Thank you for reading!  You inspire me!