~~Natasha~~
She coughed. Talking wasn't working too well. Lungs punctured, ribs cracked, and while her vitae was doing its best to heal her so she could talk, the thick liquid caught in her throat and on her tongue. Best she could do was nod when it said Kindred.
The beast stood back up, and turned to face its pack. Each put Goliath to shame, and she winced as she looked at the claws of the one who'd been ripping her apart.
Werewolves.
When she looked down at her body, she let out a quiet groan. So much of her insides were exposed. Dead. So dead. Couldn't do anything to defend herself, couldn't stand up, couldn't run or fight or anything. It'd take hours to heal, and she'd need blood to complete the process; not like they were just going to give her some. Good as dead.
The chatty one turned to face its pack, and started talking. Harsh, loud words. Something about Kindred, but also kuruth, and other things she didn't get. The titans, some around eight feet tall, some over ten feet, each wide and thick with muscle and mass, growled and snarled at the talking one, but they nodded. The werewolves ran the gamut of shades of gray, from black to light gray.
One of the werewolves, also a lighter color, didn't seem so eager to listen to whatever the black one was saying. They stepped up, and shoved their shoulder. Her shoulder, now that Natasha looked closer. The animals did have humanoid features, and the woman had a hint of bosom and hip under their fur, where the males had broader shoulders. The third werewolf gestured to its friend, the one who'd suffered most of Natasha's bullets, before she barked her frustration at Natasha. No language barrier to understand 'fucking pissed'.
The black one didn't reciprocate. She waited, folded her furry arms across her chest, tail wagging in a slow, stiff manner. Dogs. Fucking dogs. Fucking gigantic dogs. Pack leader structure, complete with barking and shows of dominance. The black one stepped in closer, stared her female pack mate in the eye, and waited. Dead silence, even among the monsters.
The other snorted, threw up her arms, and walked away. And as she did, she started to shrink. The fur fell away from her body, the muscles, the height, it dripped away into the blackness of the barely lit tunnel. A woman emerged, and so too did clothes, fading in where the fur faded out.
The others began to change as well. Men and women, clothes on each of them, including the man she'd sunk a host of bullets into. Their clothes were undamaged, inside their bodies while they were transformed? What the hell?
The black one became a woman as well, a short one, only a few inches taller than ant-sized Natasha.
"I am Avery," she said.
Natasha squinted at her. Half to focus her blurry eyes, half to ignore the scorching sensations running along her skin. The woman was strong, fit, with a black ponytail down to her hip. Tanned skin, and unless Natasha was going crazy, she had silver eyes. Not extreme or obvious silver, but subtle, like a hue off of blue. Pretty.
"... I—" Blood, thick Kindred, heavy, sticky, caught in her throat again, and she forced it down. "... are... you going... t-t-...t-t-to kill me?"
The werewolf shook her head. "No. You are not our prey."
Natasha looked at herself, at the exposed bones, the ruined clothes, the tight muscle of a vampire's pale body ripped open.
"... why... d-d-did... you d-d-d... do this to me."
She wanted to cry. God she wanted to cry. But she didn't have the vitae to spare for the blush of life, so her dry eyes stared at the woman as best they could before rolling up when another scream started to bubble in her throat before she pushed it back down.
"Wrong place, wrong time. But you're a vampire, right? You'll heal."
She coughed, and the agony swept through her again. But she was healing. The werewolves put her to shame for how quick they healed, but then, maybe they wouldn't heal so quickly if someone had nearly cleaved off their limbs and stabbed a few dozen swords through their thorax. Closing the holes the enormous claws had created in her lungs, her chest and flesh, was a slow, agonizing process, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't keep back the whimpers.
"F-F-Fuck... you..."
Avery laughed, and motioned to one of the men beside her. "Take her. She'll live, but don't give her any blood. I don't want her up and moving again. Fucking fast little mosquito."
Fast mosquito. Fuck her god damn fuck her. If she still had her pistol, she'd put a few bullets through the bitch's head. Apt insult.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They took her out of the tunnels and back topside; under threat of having her head ripped off if she attracted attention though. And they'd do it, she was sure. Considering the mess she was in, holes in her body and flesh torn open, she wouldn't be able to defend herself. If only she still had her sword. Or maybe a high-powered shotgun.
One of the men was carrying her in his arms, like a doll held across them horizontal. Comfortable enough she could focus on fixing her body, now that she wasn't putting so much effort into running for her life. The sickening sensation of bones realigning before they pressed groove to groove made her groan, and every so often as the tendons started functioning again, she whimpered. But her wrist was working again. Now all she had to do was put a sword in that hand and maybe she could stab someone.
Dumb idea. The rest of her was still a mangled mess. The tips of her ribs were poking into her lungs and other withered organs. Her arms and legs were shredded like paper. The back of her skull was split. So she lay there in the man's arms, and healed herself.
"How... how d-d-did you catch me?" she said.
"Hmmm?"
"You... you had... someone ahead-d of me."
He laughed, and nodded. "We hunt in packs, but we're not mindless animals, Kindred. When we realized you had slipped into another tunnel, we sent our fastest man ahead, and we herded you toward them."
Herded. Well, she could have taken a right instead of left when she got into the second tunnel. So fuck him, not as herded as he was acting.
"Just t-to catch me?"
"We thought you were something else."
"... why?"
"You smelled odd."
Smelled odd? She smelled faintly of blood and maybe a bit of flesh; Kindred didn't go around smelling like corpses, or even smelling like kine.
She frowned at the man holding her. He was a tall man, with tanned skin and an athletic build. Course all the werewolves looked fit and strong, but this one looked fast, and agile. His hair came down to his jawline, black, wavy and messy. Clean shaven. Would have been kind of cute, if she wasn't imagining putting a sword into his stupid face.
"I'm Arturo Ibarra," he said.
Arturo. He had a touch of Spanish to his accent, and he looked like he could be from Mexico. Dark brown eyes too.
"... you're the one that headed... me off."
"I am."
Find a sword, or any sharp object. Stab him, stab him now. Anger was an effective pain suppressant.
Or it was for a few moments at least, but as her immediate rage subsided, and all she was left with was waiting as they walked toward the city outskirts, the pain returned. Her flesh was closing, but she was low on vitae and every moment awake was tiring. She needed sleep. She needed blood.
When she'd gotten out of this mess, she was going to ask Jessy for another night with the ghouls. And she was going to drink all four of them. One at first, to heal her wounds, and then a second to soothe her aches and pains. And then the other two, she'd drink after having a nice, long, very very very very very gentle bout of tender sex. Because after all this, she deserved some serious pampering.
