Cleaning Up

Cheyenne Perrault loved the taste of blood in her mouth. The thrill of hunting beside her family. The satisfaction of tearing the flesh from the bones of her prey after hours of stalking, spying, and finally striking.

She felt none of her gleeful bloodlust today. It was a far uglier feeling she felt today.

The blood which tinged her tongue and morsels of meat and fur caught between her teeth belonged to her family. ‘Curse you, Vulpis,’ Chey thought bitterly. Her body tensed, drawing a choked groan from beneath her as she applied a little more pressure than she’d have liked.

“You’re still alive, Dresden?” lifting her bare foot from the throat of the abnormally large warg.

He was about twice her size, built like a brick yet surprisingly quick on his feet. He’d been the last of Vulpis’ pack still standing and even got a few good hits in on Chey before she’d finally taken him down. Now he gazed up at her nude form with bloodshot eyes, a mixture of fear, sorrow, and lingering traces of affection still present. Chey, too, felt great sorrow; they had shared a bed on occasion, and that was perhaps why she hesitated to strike the final blow.

She sought out the eyes of her darling niece, who watched from close by. Her beautiful golden-blonde hair — like her mother’s — had been sullied with grime and blood, and at some point in the recent fray, it had lost the ribbons that kept it together, causing her locks to tangle in a wiry mess. A hideous gash had opened on her right cheek, but she looked otherwise unharmed. She had fought well.

“Is he one of them?” Chey asked grimly, gesturing to the warg under her.

Red stepped closer and knelt beside Dresden, before carefully leaning in to get a sense of his scent. She shook her head after a short moment. “He was present during the raid, but he hasn’t touched John’s mom.”

“I see,” Chey replied with a slight breath of relief before her eyes turned towards the Order Knights being tended to by Adelia and a few of their own medics.

They had been awfully pushy about being the main **** in the ambush against Vulpis’ pack, likely seeking justice for their fallen comrades. But Chey would have none of it. Leaving the execution of her brethren to another was perhaps the only thing worse than having to slay them herself. It was only thanks to the intervention of the Brighton girl that the Order had agreed to play an auxiliary role.

Chey turned her attention back to the warg beneath her. The question remained: what should she do with him? She had known that it would be more difficult to convince the wargs Vulpis had taken to Springfield to turn tail than those he’d left behind at the manor. After all, there were two qualities that earned you the right to hunt: strength and loyalty. Still, a part of Chey had hoped their loyalty wasn’t absolute. None had taken her initial offer, however, bringing them to their current, bitter circumstances. But perhaps for wargs like Dresden, there might still be hope. He was simply afraid, and while it disappointed Cheyenne to see that fear had overcome him, she could not fault him for it.

“It is fortunate that you controlled yourself, Dresden,” Chey began her voice low as she signalled the Order Knights over, before tearing up his shirt to and wrapping up his wounds. “You’ll get some proper medical attention,” she promised him. “But if you are questioned about the previous night, you will answer that you were left behind to defend the camp.”

By then, the Order Knights had drawn close. Their hauberks irritatingly clinked from under the golden plates of their armour. Typical of religious institutions, the Order seemed to design their gear to be as ostentatious as possible. “What is it, ma’am?” one of the Knights asked.

Chey gestured to the injured warg. “Take this one to my sister, he needs to be treated.”

The Knight glanced towards the warg with clear disdain. “With respect, I don’t think that’s a good idea; we’re better off just killing him.”

Chey wasn’t going to put up with anyone’s shit tonight. “Did I ask for your opinion?” Chey barked back. “I don’t give a flying shit what you think. There is only one man that needs to die today, yet he still breathes while here I am covered in the blood and surrounded by the corpses of my family. This one couldn’t hurt a fly with the wounds he’s got, so don’t you dare tell me we’re better off killing him. What kind of pansy Knight are you?”

“Auntie, you need to calm down,” Red pleaded. “We don’t have the time to fight amongst each other. Pa is still out there — I’m worried about John.”

Perhaps Red was right and she should have minded her words, but Chey was far too tired to give a shit about diplomacy right now. Once Vulpis was dead she fully intended on taking a weeklong nap, and perhaps get Red’s new stud between her legs just to stick it to her brother in the afterlife. Her thoughts, having admittedly drifted a bit, snapped back to reality at the sound of the safety unlocking on a sidearm.

Like Red, the Knight’s fellows tried to intervene on their side before things got out of hand. “Hey, calm down, Andrew—”

“Your attitude is an offence to the Lady!” the Knight named Andrew cried. “I demand you apologise this instant!” Evidently, the efforts of his companions came too late.

Chey’s already dark expression turned a few shades darker still at the Knight’s half-baked threat. Cheyenne had no clue what it was about her that made her look like a pushover to this idiot. Maybe it was her nudity, or maybe the fool was too pumped up on self-righteousness to realise he wouldn’t be able to draw his sidearm faster than she could sever his jugular. “You’ll get nothing from me, you twat. I’ll give you one more chance to get out of my face before I turn you into a puddle of blood uglier than your mother’s menstrations.”

“Why, you vulgar—”

“What’s going on here?!” a young voice demanded, causing the Knight to freeze. The Brighton girl, Moira, briskly walked up to them. “Well?”

“My Warden, this foul… beast has insulted the Lady. Surely such a transgression cannot go unpunished?”

“No, I insulted you. So why don’t you get off that pedestal, you wanker, and help someone in need? It’s what your Order claims to do, right?”

Moira regarded her men with an unimpressed expression. “These are our allies, Sir Andrew. Please, do as she says for now, but I assure you justice will come to those proven guilty.”

“I don’t—” the Knight began before he was firmly hit in the sides by one of his comrades. “Yes, Warden,” he relented before helping his companions get the warg on his feet.

The warg looked back at her one last time as he was carried towards the makeshift medical station. “Thank you, Chey,” he said hoarsely.

“Don’t thank me. Those wounds are gonna reopen later when I kick the shit out of you again,” Chey snarled back. She might understand his reasons, but she had by no means forgiven him for fighting for Vulpis. Dresden let out a choked laugh before the fumes he’d been running on were finally all consumed. He fell silent, slumped on the shoulders of the Knight.

“Thanks, Moira,” Red sighed. “That could have turned ugly.”

“I’m sorry for his behaviour,” the red-headed paladin said with a slight bow. “I hope you’ll forgive him, you see, his brother was one of those three who died last night.”

Chey’s eyes briefly glanced towards Dresden being hauled away by the Knight in question. “...Right.” It would probably be best not to make any further comments.

“By the way, would you, uhm, like a towel and some clothes?” the Warden addressed Chey, a slight blush creeping on her face.

“No,” Chey replied with dismissive wave. “Clothes will simply inhibit my transformations.”

“Oh…” Moira replied, her eyes drifting to a fully clothed Red.

“I don’t use full body transformations ‘cause they’re too slow and I prefer to fight on my own two feet,” Red explained. “But for Auntie Chey, shifting forms is as easy as breathing; it makes her much harder to fight.”

Moira nodded her head in understanding before turning back to Chey again, doing her best to keep her gaze above her neckline. “Do you need any time before we move on?”

Chey dragged her eyes across the clearing of her fallen brethren, forcing herself to look at it one last time. “We do not have the luxury of time,” she said grimly. “Vulpis’ absence here means he was likely expecting John.”

Moira’s expression hardened, though her eyes were unmistakably tinged with worry. “Then we must regroup before striking with celerity,” she said, the leather of her glove straining as she gripped the handle of her shield tightly.

In contrast, Red’s eyes were ablaze with a wild fury that reminded Chey of herself. Her niece made it two steps before she grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and pulled her back.

She struggled and clawed at Chey’s hand but couldn’t pry her fingers away.

“Don’t you dare think about rushing off to save your boyfriend alone,” Chey snarled in her ear. “I made the same mistake by going to fight your daddy alone and got the worst kind of fucking for it. Vulpis is no mere pyromancer. Whatever **** has buried its way inside him is far more destructive than a few candle tricks; he could barely control it when I fought him. He’s too strong to fight alone, but we’re a pack; we’re stronger together. C’mon, you’re smarter than this.”

Red glowered but otherwise ceased her struggling.

“Good girl,” Chey said as she relinquished her grip on her niece and slapped her once on the back. “Alright then, ladies, we’ve got a mutt to put down and a prince to rescue —”