Page 20 of Cherish

Thinking Outside

the Dungeon

Nausea swamps me, has my stomach pitching and rolling with horror. Only the rage burning deep inside keeps me from throwing up, because there is no way I will give this bitch the satisfaction of seeing my weaknessormy horror.

So I swallow down the sickness and stay exactly where I am, arms crossed in front of me and legs curled under my chair as our gazes lock. I can see in her eyes that she’s waiting for me to speak, waiting for me to be the one to break the silence that stretches between us like shattered glass.

But my father taught me a long time ago that in a game of wits, the person who moves first always loses. In children’s games, that never bothered me. Here, today, locked in this staring contest with this heinous murderer, it bothers me a lot. Hell will freeze over before I blink first.

Next to me, Artelya shifts uncomfortably. But—like the general she is—she doesn’t say a word. Instead, seconds turn into minutes as the spy winds a long piece of nylon string around her index fingers and then pulls it taut. Over and over again as I just wait and watch.

“You can torture me all you want,” the hunter suddenly blurts out. “I’m not going to tell you anything.”

“I don’t remember asking you anything,” I answer mildly. “That was the general. As for torture? You’re not worth the mess you’d make. I actually like these shoes.”

Artelya doesn’t utter a sound at that, but I can see her standing straighter out of the corner of my eye, as if my words have reinvigorated her.

“Then what do you want from me?” She shifts in her chair, pulling against her bonds.

“What makes you think I want anything from you? You’re the one who came to my Court, wearing theheartfrom one of my people.” I nod toward her ring, doing my best to ignore the anger and the sorrow still coiling inside me. “I think I should be the one asking what you want.”

“What all hunters want. To free the world from the pestilence of all paranormals. You are a blight on this land, a plague on—”

“Oh, please.” I fake a yawn I’m far from feeling. “You don’t really believe all that hunter propaganda, do you?”

Her eyes narrow. “It’s not propaganda if it’s true.”

“Is that like ‘you aren’t paranoid if they really are out to get you’?” I shoot back.

“Just go ahead and kill me already. I’ve taken enough of your kind with me to die with pride.”

“I have no idea how killing anyone can be a matter of pride,” I answer, standing up and crossing to the table loaded with her belongings.

“Because you’ve never suffered the way I have,” she snarls at me. “You’ve never lived in fear the way we humans have to every day—”

“From each other. Not from paranormals,” I interject. “Humans are brutal creatures, and we both know it.”

“We’rebrutal? You hunted us long before we formed our army to hunt you. How do you think theBloodlettergot her name?” She sneers. “She slaughtered humans a dozen at a time and never thought anything of it. Werewolves and wendigos eat us. Witches cast spells to force us to do their bidding. Dragons burned down our homes for centuries until we finally chased them into hiding. You don’t think any of that is brutal behavior?”

She snorts and continues. “Hell, look at the last vampire king. He raised an army to try to subjugate and kill every human on earth. You think we’re brutal? We’re only brutal because that’s the way you taught us to be. If we don’t kill you, you’ll kill us. You’ve proved that much over and over again.”

She’s breathing heavily by the time she finishes her little speech, and as much as I want to knock her down a few pegs, I can’t. Not because I think she’s right, because I don’t. But because it’s obvious she’s a zealot, and like any true zealot, she picks and chooses her truth.

Did Cyrus try to kill humans? Absolutely.

Did a group of paranormals stop him from enacting his plan at great personal risk to themselves? Damn right we did.

Humans didn’t stop him. We did, by regulating our own the way I wish humans would regulate theirs. But how can they, when contingents like this are so busy blaming someone else that it never occurs to them to try to solve their problems using anything but violence?

Not to mention the fact that she is literally sitting there dripping in the trophies of paranormals she’s killed, while I have never hurt a human in my life. Hell, I spent most of my life thinking I was one.

“Nothing to say to me?” she taunts as I once again study all the strange vials and pouches spread out in front of me.

They’re weapons of some kind—that much I’m sure of. I just don’t know what they do or how much damage they’ll cause. Are they designed to kill paranormals, or will they hurt anyone in their path? And if so, do they work on all paranormals or only some?

These are questions we need answers to for our own protection. But I don’t believe that any amount of interrogation will get those answers from the woman in front of me. Which means holding her is pointless.

Which also means there’s only one thing to do in this situation.

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