Vampire Hunter D Fan Fiction ❯ Innocent Souls ❯ Chapter Four: Dragon�s Breath and Wolf�s Fang ( Chapter 4 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

The tension between D and Bronach rises as they fight together to keep the children safe. Then they try to decide what the next move in the complicated game they're playing against the deadly Unseelie Faerie will be.

Anime/Manga: Vampire Hunter D Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Fantasy / Hentai | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 08.21.2005 | Pages: 10 | Words: 10.6K | Visits: 463 | Status: Completed

Disclaimer:Vampire Hunter D is the property of its creator, Hideuki Kikuchi. I do not own D or any of the characters related to the novel series.

Author's Notes: After a two year hiatus from fan fiction for writing my first original novel, I return. The novel's done, and as I'm waiting for it to be proofed for me so I can edit it, I decided to write a fan fiction so I wouldn't go insane.

Innocent Souls

Chapter Four: Dragon's Breath and Wolf's Fang

By: Elf

The window shattered. Glass sprayed harmlessly to the ground. A tiny, winged creature perched upon the broken sill. Bird like eyes roamed the room as a tiny, forked tongue poked out to lick its reptilian lips. Powerful forelegs crouched as the serpentine creature twisted its head to look at its helpless prey.

Bronach's eyes widened as the wings flexed and the diminutive dragon jumped into the room.

She sighed in relief as she started to breathe deeply through her nose. She let the air fill her lungs and looked up at the ceiling. She breathed again. She heard the dragon's claws scratch the glass softly, heard the soft wheeze of its breath.

The dragon sniffed at Cedric. Its serpentine tongue flickered out again, whispering against the boy's white cheek. It licked its chops in satisfaction and opened its mouth. Bronach's eyes widened at the curved, long ivory teeth she saw there as it lowered its head towards Cedric.

Its jaws made a hollow thunking sound.

Bronach managed to sing under the shadow gag.

“Light your fire,” was all she could manage. However, she put all of her power into it. She arched back at the feel of her voice. She could barely hear it, but it was there, even more commanding than the whisper the Unseelie let upon the wind.

The dragon turned towards her. It tilted its head thoughtfully as its glowing topaz eyes flickered over her bound form. Bronach glared at it. It lifted its head high and made a bright, chirping sound that was followed by a rasping sound, much like a match being drawn.

The jet of bright white flame filled the room when it erupted from the tiny dragon's mouth.

The shadows shriveled around her. She felt their pull weaken at the sudden burst of light and warmth. She opened her mouth and jerked her head back. She felt the gag slide over her mouth enough to . . .

She screamed, loud and hard at the ceiling.

The shadow tendrils unraveled and slid from her limbs. The one around her mouth burst apart and faded into nothing. Her body slumped to the ground as she gasped for air.

The dragon was crying in pain. It was furiously rubbing its taloned hands against the sides of its head as it shook itself fiercely. Its plum colored wings beat rapidly before enclosing in a leathery membrane the color of eggplant around the creature. She watched as it crouched in fear, golden eyes peering almost coyly from furled wings.

Her throat was raw and aching. She was still shaking and her body was burning. Her clothing was clammy and sticky from sweat. She pushed her hair from her face as she looked at the dragon.

She stood to her feet. She shook herself off and glared. “That's it, wanker, this is over,” she grumbled before launching herself at Cedric's bed.

Or rather, under Cedric's bed.

She smiled as she felt the familiar leather wrapped handle of her axe between her palms. She rose up and spun the axe. The dragon whirled around to face her.

Bronach charged, swinging up then down in a clean arch.

******

D heard the shrill scream right before his horse fell over.

He managed to jump off before the werewolf tore into the poor creature. The horse kicked its legs wildly as the hulking beast tore into it with teeth and claws. Blood and gore flew in the air and delicate mechanisms rolled on the ground while the wolf tore the mechanical horse apart.

D landed gracefully and went to draw his sword from his back. He scowled when his right hand found empty air and the sheath empty. He took a small silver dagger from his belt.

The wolf turned to face him. His haunting yellow eyes glowed in the darkness as he threw back his head and howled. Blood and gore dripped from his muzzle while he sounded the call for his pack. He lowered his head, looked at D, wiped his mouth with the back of a furred hand, and smiled.

“Missing something, Hunter?” the werewolf asked as he rose to his back haunches. Saliva dribbled onto the ground in a hot, clear thread. The smell of wet fur, musk, and blood was clotting and filling the air.

D took a stance and flipped the throwing dagger into the flat of his palm. He narrowed his eyes at the werewolf. He heard another howl in reply and his nostrils flared.

There. Behind me.

D spun around and let the dagger fly. It spun through the air and landed in the matted fur of the werewolf coming behind him. Its reddish eyes widened before it gingerly touched the silver protruding from its chest. It gave the other werewolf a forlorn look before it crumbled to its knees and finally as a lifeless lump of fur on the ground.

Fur rustled and D spun around again.

The werewolf launched himself at D with a snarl. D ducked down as it flew over head and lifted his hands up. He felt hot, thick fur underneath his hands and pushed backwards. The werewolf tumbled to the ground and D grabbed his foot and flipped the monster onto his stomach.

The werewolf kicked back at D. D blocked the blow and rolled to his feet. He stood up and twisted so that he was presenting his side to the werewolf. He lifted one hand near his throat and face while the left hovered mid chest level.

The werewolf rose in a fluid motion. It rushed at D with his talons extended. D waited until he could smell the monster's rancid breath before bracing his hands on the wolf's furry chest again, twisting, and rolling his shoulder to use the werewolf's own momentum against him. The wolf rolled to the ground again, but was back up on his feet in a heartbeat.

D frowned, the werewolf's jaws snapped with a hollow clunking sound. The shine of the silver dagger caught D's eye. He saw it sticking out of the other werewolf's corpse from the corner of his eye. His eyes flickered back to the living werewolf as they were stuck in their stalemate.

“Oh shit,” Left Hand whispered, fear making D's palm tremble. D heard the soft howls and the gentle pants of breath. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the scents of musk, fur, and the rotting stench of meat. Moldering breath fanned against his hair, hat, hands and face as he was surrounded by other werewolves.

He's the alpha, D reasoned as he looked at the first werewolf. His eyes flickered along the furry bodies of the other seven werewolves approaching. His eyes danced towards the knife sticking out of the corpse.

I need my sword, he thought grimly. Had he had his sword, he could easily plow through the werewolves. With the knife he could decimate half of the pack and head for safety. Unarmed as he was it was going to be difficult to flea without injury. His armor was already cracked from dealing with Ciaran.

His parasite was pleading, “D, get your ass out of here. You're outnumbered eight to one! And they're werewolves. I know you can't get cursed, but I don't wanna be dismembered and become some overgrown mutt's chew toy!”

“Quiet, they'll hear you,” D hissed tersely as he looked at the werewolves. His eyes narrowed as he thought about the situation. They were circling him, covering all potential exits and keeping him trapped within. Pack hunting coordination older than the cursed that spawned them, and even in these times it was the most effective thing to trap prey.

The alpha werewolf snarled, “What'cha gonna do now, Pretty Boy?”

D's muscles tensed. He looked past the alpha's shoulder at the castle so easily within his reach. He made that his destination. He focused on that and everything else was just an obstacle to overcome.

He watched as the werewolves hunched their muscles, saw the tension in the powerful limbs, waited for the tick for movement, and when they sprang, he jumped. He flipped over them and landed nimbly on his feet. Then he started to run towards the castle, long legs propelling him quickly.

He heard the werewolves give chase. The wind whistled through their fur and the soft pant of their breath rise and fell with each step. His cape was streaming behind him like a banner. He edged forward as the wolves separated into two groups to edge him off.

Turn around. Fight. They bleed too, the dark side of D's nature whispered seductively. He quelled the urge until he was jerked back by his cape. He choked as he fell back to the ground. His hat flew off of his head and he landed with a bone jarring crash.

He moved his arms to push himself up when one of the werewolves bit into his calf.

Pain roared through him like a living thing. The edges of his vision blurred as blood started to jut hot and fast from the wound. The coppery, sweet smell filled his nostrils just as a second werewolf's head lowered its muzzle to his throat.

Before it could deliver the killing blow, D grabbed the monster's jaws and yanked them apart with a snarl. His vision sparked, everything grew in detail and sharpened. He could see the vivid crimson, pulsing lines marking arteries and the darker teal retracting cables that were veins. Under the musky stench of rot and wild animals, he could smell the rich, honeyed scent of magical blood. His fangs lengthened and throbbed in time with his now racing heartbeat as he kicked out with his good leg.

The werewolf that bit him reared back on his hind legs and growled. D rasped in a husky voice, “Stay.” D met the creature's eyes and pushed with his mind. The werewolf's yellow eyes glazed over as he staggered back dumbly.

“What the fuck?” the Alpha male proclaimed as D spun to face him.

He lashed out.

Gleaming claws on fine, alabaster hands flew past furred ones and parted through warm flesh. Hot blood spilled on D's hands as the werewolf staggered back, clutching at his now wounded throat. He fell to his knees and gasped at D.

D snapped his foot up to kick the wolf in the mouth. The werewolf's head fell back, spraying more blood into the air. In his enraged state, D strode over to the werewolf and froze.

He noted that the other werewolves had taken the opportunity to rush to the castle.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He felt his fangs retract back into place and his vision, while still quite sharp, dulled from the hypersensitivity he was using moments before. The werewolf he had hypnotized had ran off with his pack mates, however, the Alpha was still trying to heal.

D walked over to the corpse of the werewolf he killed earlier. He yanked the dagger out and shook blood and gore off of it. Then he started to head for the castle again.

Except he made sure to stab the knife through the Alpha's heart and withdraw it on the way.

******

Bronach shook blood off her axe and shoved her hair back from her face. Her hair was wildly falling around her, her clothing torn and bloody, and she had bloody streaks all over her pale flesh, but she was smiling. A rather predatory smile as the frightened arachnid man skittered back from her as she advanced with her axe.

His feet clicked on the sleek marble floor. Bronach took a slow step towards him. He scurried back, his eight eyes blinking at her. Then she charged at him. He turned and ran.

She slid to the floor and pushed hard. She extended her axe to the left and swung it up sharply to the right. The spider-man screamed as cool sickly, yellow-green ooze poured all over her. She cut up and flipped up to her feet with a satisfied grin.

“M'Lady, what's going on here?” the nurse screamed, sliding on various viscous fluids that had splattered into the hallway.

Bronach shook off her axe and looked around. She looked back at the soulless children lying prone in their beds and the corpse of the arachnid man. She looked at the nurse and replied, “Get back in there with the children. That bastard put a Call out onto the wind so that anything hungry will know there's an all you can eat children's buffet here.”

“My lady, they could come in through the windows,” the nurse protested with a tiny squeak.

Bronach grinned and blew a gore streaked lock of hair from her face. She retorted, “Not if I had anything to say about it.”

The nurse looked in at the small dragon indeed guarding the windows. It flapped its wings and hovered, watching out into the night. Her topaz eyes were alert and she watched the children as if they were own hatchlings. It took Bronach a simple song to tweak the dragoness's maternal urges, but it worked. A second song to add a warding around the room and fragile windows. Then she saw to the hall herself.

The nurse gasped, “My Lady there is a dragon in there!”

“A very helpful lass, if I say so myself,” Bronach said with a tiny grin. She frowned as her ears twitched. She spun to one of the huge windows in the hallway. A scowl marked her pretty face as she looked down to see the six werewolves running towards the castle.

“Well, bloody hell, get into the room,” she shouted at the nurse before running off to face the werewolves.

******

“Woah, looks like someone started the party without us,” Left Hand whispered as D ran into the hallway.

D's eyes darted at the carnage around him. He frowned at the legless arachnid man who was rendered in half. Gore in various colors was splattered across the walls and the marble floor and gave the room an odd, sickly smell.

He counted the remains of tiny child eating erlkings, whom Bronach was probably already quite familiar with, a moth man, and he saw a spiny hand lying prone in the corner. D noted the lack of arm attached to said hand but kept moving. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck go on end as he felt a charge suddenly race up his body.

He realized he reached where the children were being kept. The whole area hummed and trembled with protective magic. It smelled richly of ozone and lavender. Bronach.

He felt a tiny stab of amusement when he realized who had been the cause of the carnage in the castle. He heard a tiny, chirping sound. He spun into the room to see his sword laying on the ground.

His eyes narrowed.

Ciaran had been here. With Bronach. He ran into the room to collect his sword. The sapphire around his throat glowed faintly, casting him in an eerie blue light.

A bright jet of white flame came rushing at his face. He rolled to the side and peered up. A small, dark purple dragoness hissed at him, her golden eyes blazing.

She drew back into the air, higher this time. She inhaled deeply, her chest rising and falling with each movement. Her wings beat the air mercilessly as she opened her mouth towards D again. He watched her open maw for sparks.

As soon as he saw the bright blue sparks inside of the dragon's mouth, he spun to the side. With a swift movement he took off his cape and swung it towards the dragon. The dragoness squeaked in protest as D gathered the ends of the cape and yanked her down to earth. He tied the ends of the cloth together in a makeshift bag and dropped her into the ground. The dragoness' claws and wings beat furiously at the heavy cloth while D grabbed his sword.

He ran back into the hallway to see a werewolf stumble backward. He heard snarls and a feminine scream. Not full of power and force, but afraid and injured. He smelled sweet, tangy, pure blood in the air.

He unsheathed his sword and rushed at the group of werewolves circling Bronach.

Bronach was nursing her left shoulder. Blood welled up in shallow claw marks, but other than that she was unmarked. One of the werewolves lunged at her, knocking her into the wall. Her axe was wrenched away from her hand and it clattered harmlessly to the ground.

As he rushed at the werewolves, indigo eyes met his.

Amazingly, she grinned impishly. It lit up her face and made that lower lip curve provocatively. The werewolf snorted and reached out to touch her gore incrusted hair.

D braced himself and covered his ears.

Bronach screamed: loud, hard, and long. The sound of it echoed through the palace and shook the floor. Tiny bits of plaster and stone crumbled from the walls. The werewolf pawing her was thrown back.

Pain filled howls filled the air. The werewolves clutched their ears and howled mournfully. Some of them even fell to their knees. Bronach flipped her axe back into her hands. D lowered his hands from his ears and readied his own blade.

She smiled at him and he nodded in return.

“Come, bring your pretty face into my axe!” she taunted before charging at the werewolf who had pinned her.

D said nothing as he charged with his blade drawn. This time he had the advantage. The werewolves were still too stunned to react as he charged.

He swung up, down, and to both sides. He felt his blade cleanly cleave through flesh, bone, and muscle. Blood sprayed as heads rolled. Within mere heartbeats, he and Bronach were looking at each other standing in a pile of lycanthrope bodies.

She took a step towards him. Her face was alight with relief and he found the expression novel and touching. Then worry clouded her pale countenance as she looked at his wounded leg.

“Bloody hell, D, the tossers took a right bite out of you, didn't they?” she asked as she knelt down to inspect the wound.

He tried to twist out of her sight, but she grabbed his knee. He stumbled slightly but managed to right himself. She studied the bite thoughtfully. Her touch was gentle and soothing.

He tried to wrench his leg free again.

He hissed as pain welled up through the wound once more. He felt a stab of heat as the wound reopened. Bronach gasped and pressed her palm to it. “Easy,” she said softly, “Easy . . .”

“The children?” he asked, looking down at her, reaching for any distraction.

“They'll be safe for the moment,” Bronach replied softly.

He told her, “Blackmoure is dead.”

“I gathered as much. So, are you going to continue?” she asked softly. D thought he detected a bit of hope in her voice.

He looked around to the great room where the children lay. He thought of Cedric, who was now alone in the world. He thought of Blackmoure, who had died for these children. It wouldn't seem right to quit now.

“You need help,” D told her and Bronach smiled at him.

She retorted, “Oh, like you were doing so great yourself now. First, you need these tended.”

******

“Hold still,” Bronach hissed.

D jerked his leg away from her and she glared up at him. He told her, “It is fine.”

“Please, it's still bleeding,” she snorted as she grabbed his calf again. He tried to hobble away from her. She shoved him by the waist into the chair behind him. D fell silently into the chair and glared at her.

She knelt in front of him as she looked at the wound. She bent closer and scowled at the bites. His armor prevented it from snapping the bone. “Damned mutts,” she grumbled as she reached beside her.

D gave a sound that was somewhere between an annoyed grunt and a sigh. She picked up the bowl with the poultice the nurse just mixed for her. She began to dab the reddish mixture onto the wound.

A light, fruity smell filled her nostrils and she smiled. D blinked and said, “Dragon's Blood?”

“Luckily she had some. It'll form a light, easily removable covering until this heals,” she explained.

A tiny, nasal voice snorted, “He already knew that, honey. He's got brains, not just beauty.”

D's left hand closed into a tight fist. His jaw twitched and his eyes narrowed. Bronach grabbed his wrist. He started to jerk his hand away from her.

He asked, “What are you doing?”

Bronach ignored him and tried to uncurl his fingers away from his palm. He jerked his hand away, she kept hold of it. He jerked up and she came up with his arm. He jerked his arm back towards him. She teetered and landed right on top of him.

There was loud, nasal laughing coming from his left hand.

“Would you just shut up?” D asked as he glared at his hand.

Bronach blinked up at him. His black hair was spilling down his shoulders, falling almost to his waist. Without his hat, she could see his face clearly. She traced the aquiline nose, the full lips, and those dark, soulful eyes with her eyes.

She wanted to touch it. Touch him. Smooth that one lock of hair between his eyes from his face. Her clean hand was twitching towards it.

The light, fruity smell of Dragon's Blood mingled with the soft, clean tang of lilies.

“Hey, you know, why she's down there you can ask her to . . .” D's fingers curved over his palm again.

Bronach grabbed his hand and managed to slide her fingers under his. His eyes widened. She frowned as she made out the distinct shapes of a nose and a brow. Then something wet and warm flicked across her finger.

She yelped and drew her hand away. “It licked me!”

“Hey, she's pretty tasty,” D's Left Hand snickered, “You might wanna try it, D.”

D's cheeks flushed ever so slightly. He said, “I apologize.”

“What's there anyway?” Bronach asked as she reluctantly stood up from him.

D sighed and opened up his palm. Her eyes widened at the beady little eyes, the tiny nose, and the wide, thin mouth there. She poked its nose, then ran her finger under its lips and poked it again.

She exclaimed, “Wicked! You have a Life Force Regenerator! I've heard of `em, but cor, never seen one in person!”

“He has his uses,” D replied stonily as he lowered his hand.

Bronach smiled and replied, “But that's amazing though.”

He simply shrugged and looked at his leg. He nodded and looked back up at her. Again, that one lock of hair simply begged for her to smooth it.

“Thank you, it's starting to heal even faster now,” he said softly.

Bronach shrugged and replied, “Well, you're welcome.”

Then he stood up and walked back to the children. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Bronach grimaced as she broke off a dried piece of resin from her hair. Apparently, arachnid men didn't have blood. Or it dried in some consistency like resin.

The dragoness was chirping furiously at her. Her wings flapped as the dragon described what D had done to her. Bronach bent down and pet the dragon's sleek, scaly head. The dragon purred and leaned against her hand.

“Thank you for helping me,” Bronach told her as she took to the air again. The dragon made a tiny, purring sound before flapping out into the night. Bronach watched as the diminutive dragon departed before turning around.

Blackmoure was dead. The faerie was named Ciaran. And he'd go to the next town to collect the remaining souls he needed.

“And as noticed just moments ago where werewolves and spider-men were attacking, the children need protection,” Bronach mused dryly to herself.

“You could hire other hunters using Blackmoure's money. He wouldn't mind.”

Bronach jumped to see D standing behind her. He was looking out the window at the flying dragon as well.

Bronach leaned against the window pane and asked, “But could I trust them?”

“Not in this area, no,” D answered with an unreadable expression.

She toyed with the crow pendent around her throat. She twisted it along its chain before studying the dark jewels it was made from. She looked at D with a tiny grin.

“I know of another faerie who'd be willing to take the job,” she answered dryly.

D said, “I'll start getting ready. I want to look at Blackmoure's maps before hand, see where Ciaran would attack next before we leave. And to see if there is a noble in the area.”

Bronach opened her mouth to make a comment about bloodsuckers, but decided against it. She didn't want to offend her new companion. Not with that damned urge to smooth back that one lock of hair that was still in his eyes.

******

“She seemed happy to see you,” Left Hand said as D began to look through Blackmoure's library.

D replied, “Ciaran probably told her that I was dead.”

“Well, at least he didn't get his grimy, glowing hands on her. I mean, he could have bound her up like he did you and not a damned thing she could have done about it. I mean, I know what I'd be doing. Well, if she was willing because not gonna go there,” Lefty prattled on, clearing its throat as D continued to look at the maps.

D allowed a tiny smile to grace his features as he said, “I doubt that she would have let him touch her, no matter what magic he worked.”

“Wonder what magic she's working on you,” the tiny parasite taunted, “Or what magic you're working on her.”

D argued, “You're being preposterous. Quiet.”

“Well, she's a looker, and she was damn tasty. And that was just her finger. Imagine how good the rest of her tastes,” Left Hand prompted happily.

D sighed as he continued to look through the various maps Blackmoure collected. Blackmoure even kept journals about Nobles in the region. D recognized many of the names. Most of which he had killed. Even Count Magnus Lee and his daughter Larmika were listed in the thick tomes. Meier Link was briefly mentioned, but there was no mention of his tragic love, which D thought was just as well.

After all, he was living proof that vampire and human romances didn't end Happily Ever After.

Sighing, he looked at the map. The nearest town was Batharoy. It was a large town, but there was a problem.

He looked up when the smell of lavender filled the room. He turned around to see Bronach standing there. She padded over to him with bare feet.

She was wearing a simple white robe that hit her at about mid calf. It clung to her still wet skin, revealing long, clean lines and lithe muscle, but still managed to look utterly feminine. Damp dark gold tendrils of wet hair clung to her cheeks and dripped water down her face. He swallowed as he watched the droplets slide a trail down her slim throat.

He remembered Doris, fresh out of the shower like this. He remembered a desperate plea that he would always remember, as well as a thousand regrets. He remembered the smell of fresh skin and the sweet, coppery blood underneath.

But Bronach didn't rush to him, Thank God, but beside him to study the map.

“Batharoy, I've heard of that place. Sodding hell hole it is,” she said with a grimace.

D replied, “It's a home for bounty hunters.”

“Of the nasty sort I've heard,” she snorted as she pushed her wet hair back from her face.

D gave her a stony look. She lifted her eyebrow and grinned impishly at him. He stepped away from her.

He knew of the hunters that she spoke of. Those like Rei~Ginsei and his group. The ones that took advantage of everyone around them and thought themselves higher than everyone else. Predators worse than the ones that they hunt, D thought grimly.

He replied, “They're suppose to be helping people, not taking advantage of them. Some of the hunters out there are worse than their supposed quarry.”

“That's why I'm called for,” Bronach said with a tiny smile.

He looked at her, dripping wet, wearing a dressing robe too short for her that hung awkwardly on her, with her head held up like a queen. Her eyes gleamed up at him. He had an urge to have his Left Hand drop the glamor, so he could see her true self.

Instead he said, “It's not going to be easy. There was once a powerful vampire lord in Batharoy. Ciaran might join forces with him.”

“Bloody hell, when it rains, it pours,” Bronach sighed, “So, you haven't killed this wanker yet?”

D looked at Blackmoure's journal and answered, “I heard word that he was killed. There hasn't been any attacks at Batharoy for the last thirty years. I have had more pressing hunts than to chase one shadow.”

“Ones that payed better too,” Bronach teased.

He glared at her and retorted in an icy voice, “People in need, Morrigan's Grace. Besides there are plenty of hunters in Batharoy, whether or not they are men of moral isn't really part of the equation if they do their jobs. Besides, if they are of fault, they will die soon enough.”

“Ooh, fatalist thinking. Candle flicker and its over. Why bother to socialize with them when they'll be dead soon?” Bronach bantered back with a smile.

D gripped the table as he narrowed his eyes at her. “I am a dhampire. I don't belong in their world, nor do they want me there other to do what I do.”

“Because you're afraid!” Bronach exclaimed, poking D's chest with a finger.

D blinked back at her and glared down at her hand. She smiled and raised that sardonic eyebrow at him. His head was pounding and spinning and a blurry, distracting heat was bringing everything into hyper focus.

“And you are infuriating,” D stated as he gently pushed her hand away from him.

She smiled winsomely up at him and retorted, “I'm no damsel in distress that'll swoon at your pretty face either.”

D blinked as she smiled up at him. She turned away from him and said, “Come on, I was even holding my own. We were at a stalemate while fighting. It could have gone either way hadn't you'd brought your little hand into it.”

“Why are you doing this?” he demanded of her. He folded his arms over his chest and continued to glare at her. Yet he noted the stubborn lift of her pointed chin, the chiseled line of her nose, the curve of her cheekbones, and that her bottom lip was plumper than the top. A sulky little pout that was beaconing his attention to it with each smile, grin, and smirk she gave him.

Bronach answered, “Because I'm not a damsel in distress that will simper and mewl at your presence. But I'm not a bigot who won't ignore help, and I do notice talent and wisdom when it smacks me in the face.”

D blinked at her and she sighed in exasperation. D frowned at her and she smiled at him. He felt vibrations in his left palm. He clinched his fist as his parasite laughed at him.

He sighed as well and rubbed his brow. Then she began to laugh, a rich, throaty sound. He looked at her and she laughed harder, doubling over on the table with one hand on her chest.

“Bronach?” he asked.

She let out another bark of laughter before sitting on the floor.

He stared down at her and asked, “Are you alright?”

She looked up at him. There were tears of mirth gathered at the corners of her eyes. She giggled up at him and wiped her face. She chuckled, “Never better, D. Just . . . you wouldn't get it.”

“Wouldn't get what?” D asked stiffly.

Bronach smiled at him and shook her head.

He sighed and looked at the map again. He stated, “We're going to need supplies, and what about the person you said would protect the children?”

“She'll be here soon,” Bronach replied, still grinning up at him.

He wanted to know what the hell she was grinning at him like that for.

But, he had to admit that he was beginning to like it.