A Short Trip To Hell: Hellcat Series Origins Volume 1 (5 page)

BOOK: A Short Trip To Hell: Hellcat Series Origins Volume 1
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Her agony seemed to last forever, each blow breaking fragile bones, tearing muscle and tendon and rupturing things inside her.  And they were enjoying it, he could hear it in their voices.  He wanted so badly to go to her, to comfort her as the life drained from her, let her know she wasn’t alone, that she was his world, but his body was paralysed by the echo of her pain and his own fear.

And then it was over.  He could no longer feel her presence in his mind.  She was gone.  They were on their own.

“Get the little runts too,” the raspy voice ordered.  “We can drown ‘em as an encore.”

A large tall-one forced his way back inside the den and reached for the kittens. 

Hissing and spitting he struck at the hand.  He felt the satisfying pop of the man’s skin giving way beneath his tiny fangs.  The man squealed, yanking back from the bite and dropping him.  Warm, salty blood tainted his taste buds, scalding his tongue and setting the inside of his mouth tingling.  The man roared in anger and then that bleeding hand hit him, sending him sprawling across the dirty floor, to land in the pile of rags and paper that had been his haven, his place of comfort and happiness.  It smelled strongly of his mother.  Tiny hisses erupted from his two litter-mates as rough hands grabbed them up, he fought to regain his balance, his head ringing and his body aching from the blow. 

Then a shout came from another of the tall-ones, and the sudden scent of fear filled the air, too much to be emanating from his tiny siblings.

“Forget the runts,” the raspy voice roared, “the pigs ‘ave found us.  Scatter.  Lose ‘em and meet up at the safe house. Go!”

Relief made his tiny body sag, the pounding was the tall-ones' footsteps as they fled.  Soon their voices were all but ghostly whispers on the breeze.  He dragged his aching body upright and tottered towards the broken doorway.

He paused in the threshold, blinking in the bright light.  On the cracked concrete ground outside lay three still forms; his mother was closest to him, her broken body lying at unnatural angles, her eyes still open, staring towards the small, furry bodies of her kittens.  Blood trickled from her mouth and nose.  Neither of his siblings was moving, not even the tiny rise and fall of breathing.  He was alone.  His body didn’t know how to make a noise that would give voice to his desolation.  He made his way to his mother’s side, curled up next to her still-warm body and began to purr, barely aware of the persistent tingle on his tongue. 

 

The woman crashed through the undergrowth, her sword was gripped firmly in her right hand, her hair, pulled into a severe bun, was trailing loose tendrils and a fierce look of concentration etched her features.  She burst out of the scrubby bush and into the rubble-strewn yard of the old power station.  Her male companion was on her left, far enough away that she could only just hear him, and there were others to her right, they were closing the net on their prey.  She was breathing hard, but not panting, enjoying the exhilaration of the chase, wondering if she’d enjoy the finality of the kill when it came.  She paused, scanning the handful of abandoned buildings, garages and tool sheds; it wouldn’t do to have a rogue hiding out here, waiting for them to pass by.  She jogged a circuit of the ruins, scanning any possible hiding places and was about to take up the chase again when an outlying shed caught her attention, it was barely big enough to hold a full grown man, but something about it called to her.

“Gabi,” the man to her left yelled.  “Come on, we need to go.”

“Coming,” she shouted back, “just a sec.”

 

He heard her footsteps, nothing like the heavy thudding of the other tall-ones; hers were quick and light, barely touching the ground.  Instantly he was on his feet, puffing himself up, arching his back, using the last dregs of his will power to hiss and spit warningly.  He no longer cared about running, about saving his own life.  He would fight to the end like his mother. 

She rushed into the small clearing and then skidded to a halt, taking in the sight of him, his mother and tiny siblings.  Her mouth dropped open, and even if he didn’t know enough about tall-ones to recognise the expression, he knew innately that she was horrified by what she saw.

“Oh. My. Lord,” she whispered, quickly dropping to her knees next to one of his siblings.  She carelessly dropped her sword on the ground and gently lifted the tiny flaccid kitten, holding it up to her ear.  She’d known the truth before she checked, but she did anyway.  “Fuckers!” she spat.  “Fuckers, fuckers, fuckers.  I’ll kill them with my bare fucking hands.”

“Gabi,” the male voice yelled again.

“I’m coming,” she called from between gritted teeth.  Her jaw was set in a hard line even as she carefully lay the lifeless kitten back on the ground and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

And then her eyes met his.  And her green eyes were familiar to him; as familiar as his mother’s.  He’d dreamed of her.  Confusion reignited his fear and he hissed again, a tiny growl beginning in his throat. 

“Oh,” she said softly, and he could actually feel her happiness at seeing him.  “Aren’t you just a tiny ball of fierce?”

“Gabi where the hell are you?”  The man’s voice was becoming urgent. “They’re getting too far ahead of us.”  Annoyance flickered through the woman and she sighed.

“Well, I can’t leave you here,” she said, “You’ll have to come with me.”   She reached a hand out towards him just as a warm blanket of reassurance stitched with promises of safety and love fell over him and enveloped him.  He didn’t want to allow her to pick him up, but as she unzipped her jacket and tucked him into a pocket he couldn’t help but curl into her warmth.  His chest felt heavy with loss and he no longer had the will to fight.  As the woman began to jog again, she put a hand over him to keep him pressed close to her body where he could hear the strong, steady beat of her heart.  Within moments he was asleep; for once an entirely dreamless sleep. 

 

He didn’t know how long she ran for, didn’t know how long he’d been zipped protectively inside her jacket.  The Hunters had spoken, shouted, yelled, whispered, but none of it had made sense to him.  His mind simply drifted in a pool of grief, exhaustion and pain.  He roused when the woman’s body suddenly stretched and contorted, jostling him and re-awakening the peculiar burning inside his mouth.  Excited voices shouted and cried and roared in fury, and then there was calm and the voices quieted.  The noise of the woman’s jacket zip brought him fully awake, and she lifted him carefully from his warm pouch.  He blinked until her face came into focus; her hair was no longer tied back, it was wild and untidy, dark with sweat at her temples and nape.  Her face sported a purpling bruise and some scratches, but her eyes were warm with concern for him. 

“Thanks,” she said, reaching for something from another tall-one who approached.  She moved, tucking him into the crook of her arm and settling onto a tree-stump.  The delicious scent of milk reached his nostrils and made him cry out, he was so hungry.  A soft teat touched his mouth.  It wasn’t his mother’s nipple, but he understood it contained sustenance and he latched on greedily. 

“You alright Hellcat?” another male voice interrupted his feeding as a very tall tall-one sat on the tree stump next to her, he hissed weakly.

“Shh,” she admonished the man, “I just got him feeding.”  She stroked him reassuringly and gently forced the teat back into his mouth.  She seemed calm so he relented and resumed suckling. 

“You know what I mean,” the man persisted, but his voice was much softer now.  “No Elimination job is pleasant or pretty, but this was a particularly nasty one. It’s normal to feel ambivalent about the first one.” 

“The only thing I’m upset about,” she hissed, “is that they didn’t suffer longer.  You didn’t see what they did to that cat and her kittens.  They were brutal monsters who deserved to be put down.  I won’t lose one second of sleep over taking their lives, I promise you that much.”  The man sighed, if anyone felt ambivalent it was him, not her.

“Alright,” he conceded.  “But talk to someone… Kyle… whoever… in a day or two. Sometimes it hits you harder after the adrenalin wears off.”  The tree stump moved as he stood and then he left them.

After the milk ran dry she used a warm damp cloth to rub him until his bladder worked, and checked his body for damage.  She seemed satisfied that nothing was broken and tucked him gently back in her pocket.  He felt it as she drank something, her thirst and hunger was not as strong to him as his mother’s had been, but he could still sense it.  He felt as she settled into a sitting position, her muscles relaxing a little and then a mechanical roar startled him.  The roar died away, replaced by a more subtle hum and slight vibration.  He’d almost drifted off to sleep when the sensation of movement stopped abruptly. 

“What are we doing back here, Hellcat?”  The familiar man, the one he could scent on her, that she felt comfortable with, was near.

“You don’t have to come,” she retorted.  “You can stay at the car.  I won’t be long.”

“Argh,” the man sounded tired and frustrated. The woman once gain eased him out of her pocket, and this time settled him in a nest of something soft, something she must have worn as it smelled of her.  It was comfortable and warm and the tingling in his mouth had finally died away.  He didn’t fight the pull of sleep and dreams. 

 

The green-eyed woman with the sweat-slick auburn hair squared her shoulders and strode from the van.  The man followed with a small pile of folded white towels tucked under an arm.  He’d used one to dry and clean his face of sweat and grime, but he left that behind as he followed the woman to a derelict shed set off to one side of the collection of once useful buildings. 

He sucked in a breath when he neared the scene.  The woman didn’t pause, she’d already braced herself.  She reached for the towels under his arm, but as she made to leave he pulled her back to him, hugging her close and kissing the top of her head.  Not a lover’s gesture but one of sympathy and support, an understanding of her pain. 

She rested her head on his chest for just a second before pulling away, blinking rapidly.  She moved to the body of the first kitten and knelt to lift its body, already gone stiff in death.  She wrapped it tenderly in one of the towels and laid it back on the ground before moving to the next one.  She passed the last, larger bundle to the man.

“I’ll bury them at my place, where I know they won’t be disturbed.  It’s all I can do,” she said, tears tracked unheeded down her cheeks as she bent to collect the two smaller bundles into her arms.  

 

“Ouch,” the Wolf yelped, yanking his hand back and immediately inspecting the damage.  “Little blighter’s got claws like razorblades,” he muttered, sticking his finger in his mouth to stem the trickle of blood from four distinct scratch marks.

“Well, Werewolves did just kill his mother and litter-mates, you can’t expect him to like you right now,” the woman said, immediately scooping him up into the protection of her arms. They weren’t outside anymore or in the moving, vibrating thing.  They were out of the elements, in a den; a warm, pleasant smelling den.

“Surely he knows I wasn’t one of them,” the man sounded indignant.  Wolf, he’d heard the word many times in the past few hours.  Yes, the tall-ones who’d attacked his family had been Wolf, just like this man.  Only this man had helped kill the other Wolf-ones.  This confused him.  The woman sighed.

“He’s only a few weeks old Kyle,” she told the Wolf-one.  Then she dropped her face to look down at him, snuggled into the crook of her arm and her eyes narrowed in consternation.  “But he does ‘feel’ like a much older soul.  I’ve never come across such a young animal who seemed to have such an innate understanding of the world around him.  There’s something…different about him.”

“Well different or not, what are you going to do with him?” the man didn’t look at all convinced that the kitten was anything special.  “You work during the day and Hunt at night, you don’t have time to hand-rear a kitten.” 

The woman’s arm tightened ever so slightly against him, fiery protectiveness scalding through her.

“I’m not giving him away,” she said, her tone flat.  “I’ll work it out.  He can come with me for now, or I’ll take time off until he’s big enough to look after himself.”  She lifted him up to her face, nuzzling into his fur and kissing his ear, eliciting an immediate purr from him.  “He’s mine and I’m his and that’s all there is to it.”  Her tone made it clear there would be no further discussion on the subject, and the man, despite the shake of his head, seemed to know when to leave well enough alone, settling back in a chair to sip from his steaming mug.

The tiny cat increased the tempo of his purring, the grief of losing his mother was still a dark, heavy weight in his chest, but a new, softer glow now encompassed that sadness.  His future was certain; he had a home, he had someone to love, and he was content.

I hope you’ve enjoyed these brief insights into some of the Hellcat characters.

 

If you would like to keep up with what I’m writing and when the next instalment is due, connect with me at one of the following links;

www.facebook.com/authorsharonhannaford

www.hellcatseries.com

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5626833.Sharon_Hannaford

Twitter @shazfly

I humbly thank you for your continued support.

Sharon.

BOOK: A Short Trip To Hell: Hellcat Series Origins Volume 1
11.65Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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