The Infernal Itch Ch 05

Zarel's head was spinning as Aavi closed the door to Vyx's office behind them, cutting off the shifter's enraptured cries. The brothel next door was leaking much of the same sort of ambience, but at least the cool night air helped to calm her a little. She took deep breaths, trying to focus on something that wasn't the burning ache between her legs.

Aavi was watching her with concern, but he didn't say anything yet. She was grateful for that as she tried to gather herself. She hated him seeing her like this, despite everything he'd already witnessed. Zarel was the older of the pair, the soldier, the strong one. Every compassionate look he gave her was a dent in her pride.

She bounced on her toes, suddenly full of restless energy. The curse wanted her to fuck. Fuck the curse. She'd walk it off. She started off for the end of the alleyway and the street beyond.

"Are you ok?" Aavi fell into place a few steps behind her, hurrying to keep up.

"I will be," she grunted, "after we find these werewolves."

Zarel set a pace that made conversation impossible to begin with, winding her way hastily through the diminishing crowds of the Midnight Market and scattering passers-by in her wake. She bumped shoulders a few times, but her furious scowl was enough to dissuade anyone from taking issue with it. And besides, it kept anyone from looking too hard at Aavi as he followed in her wake.

Walking helped a bit. Having to look where she was going, and keep an eye out for Aavi, kept her from thinking too hard about what she had just witnessed. Watching Toro and Ardour dominate the effeminate fox boy had been... eye opening. She'd felt the raw heat coming off them, seen the sticky glistening of corrupting juices on fevered skin. Most of all, she'd seen the focus and the raw intensity in all three of them during the encounter. The building might have burned down and she wasn't sure they'd have noticed. Nothing had mattered but the fucking, the desperate scratching of their Itch. Zarel shivered, feeling the chafing of her damp thighs. How long before she ended up like that?

Eventually Aavi was panting hard enough that she had to slow down and let him catch up. They were out of the populated district around the market anyway, back in quiet empty streets, headed vaguely north. Zarel had recognised Vyx's description of the werewolf lair, a factory with two chimneys. Endless hours on guard duty atop the Abbey's walls had given her a familiarity with the city's crumbling skyline. Actually finding the place on foot at night might be challenging, but at least she could see well in the bright moonlight.

"What are we going to do when we find them?" Aavi had his breath back, falling in step beside her now their pace had slowed.

"Make them give Tomasz and the others back."

It was very simple when she put it like that. Aavi had to go and poke holes in the plan, of course.

"There's only two of us, we might not be able to make them..."

Zarel grunted dismissively.

"And the devil might be there. Or the Seraph might not be"

Dammit, Aavi. She sighed.

"Ok. No fighting if I can help it," Zarel conceded, "I'll just see what's there."

And find out why they left me behind when they took the others,

she didn't add.

Another thought struck her.

"And only I'll go in."

He started to object, of course, but she spoke over him in her best big sister voice.

"I'm already infected, and they've spared me once. You've got a lot more to lose."

"But-"

"And if it doesn't go well, you can fetch the Seraph. They'll follow you now. And I bet the Abbey has some silver swords somewhere."

Aavi sighed. "It does, they offered me one."

"And you said no?" Zarel rolled her eyes. "Next time they offer you something sharp and pointy, say yes and just give it to me."

He squirmed and she could see he didn't like the idea of the lying that would involve. Aavi was far too nice, it was why she had to protect him.

It took a few hours to walk to the right neighbourhood. Dawn was breaking, pink and orange and beautiful, on the eastern horizon. The city streets had gone back to the empty, abandoned feel that she had known of them for all her life up to this point. It seemed the city mostly spent the daytime sleeping off its nighttime revelries.

The crumbling factory turned out to be easy enough to find. A long, narrow building of sandy yellow-white bricks, about two storeys tall except for two tall chimneys at the far end. Sandy spoil heaps covered the ground around the place, giving them some cover as they approached. They stopped behind the first one they came to, Zarel determined to play it safe.

"Ok, wait here."

She glanced around, the sun already starting to light up the bare ground around them. It was promising to be another scorching hot day.

"Or... somewhere nearby. Somewhere you can see me when I come out."

Aavi nodded. "I'll wait until you do."

"Wait until noon. Then go get the Seraph and as many silver swords as you can find."

He didn't like that, but he didn't have a better option. They hugged. Zarel came away feeling both comforted by his touch and also slightly ashamed, like she was sullying him with her own.

"Good luck Zarel. You can do it."

---------------------------------------------

She found her way inside easily enough, slipping through a darkened doorway at the near end of the building. The room she entered was relatively small, probably an office area, though all of the furniture had been dragged out long ago. She moved as slowly and quietly as she could, conscious of how loudly footsteps would echo in such an empty place. A dark corridor led deeper into the factory.

The loud ringing clang of metal on metal made Zarel jump. The noise had come from ahead, where she sensed the old factory floor must be. It came again, then again, like a blacksmith's hammer. Surely there couldn't be any actual industry going on here?

She pressed on down the corridor and sure enough came to a cavernous space that filled the entire remainder of the building. Three enormous metal machines squatted in a row before her, overtaken by rust and vandalism. Each one was too high to see over and ran half of the length of the room, with narrow dark aisles between them. Huge skylights should have provided plenty of illumination, but they were covered with metal shutters that admitted only intermittent shafts of morning sunlight through damaged sections.

The metallic banging sound came again, from the far side of the space behind the machines. She could hear some other noises too, between each peal of protesting metal. Low voices, footsteps and what sounded like a scuffle in progress. Zarel crept forward, picking her way between two of the machines in search of a better view.

The shadows between the two great engines were thick and the air was full of the smell of rusty metal. The floor turned out to be uneven, with pipes and joints criss-crossing it at ankle height to form a treacherous web of hazards. She went through it as stealthily as she could, slow and steady.

The banging increased in frequency and volume, reached a fever pitch, and then stopped after a loud discordant thunk. Two distinct jangling noises followed, pieces of metal hitting the floor. There was a ragged cheer, though Zarel thought it came from only a handful of throats.

"Alva next!" a man's voice boomed, deep and resonant.

Zarel neared the end of the aisle between the machines and peered out to look. Marek was there, she remembered his broad muscular torso and scowling bearded features from their last encounter. He was holding a hammer and chisel and standing beside a flat-topped metal post that seemed to be serving as an anvil.

A dwarven woman was just lowering herself to kneel beside it. She was heavily scarred, missing her left eye and half the ear on that side, face still bearing the deep red claw mark of whatever monster had done the deed. Alva was wearing the spiked metal collar that Zarel remembered from the werewolves, much too large and heavy for her frame, but just a little too narrow to lift over her head. She positioned one edge of the thick metal neck ring atop the makeshift anvil, where Marek pinned it with the chisel, then shuffled her head and neck as far away from that side as she could reach.

"Should've started with me, chief. Less to mess up if you miss." Alva had a gravelly voice, like someone who had smoked for many years.

"You could bear the weight better."

Marek's grunted words made more sense when Zarel noticed the remains of several broken collars around the anvil. They were lit up by a flickering lantern.

Her lantern

, she realised with a spark of anger.

"Aye, better than your skinny elf. Though I'm surprised hers didn't fall straight down her waist when she changed back."

Zarel scoured the rest of the room, trying to count the pack. There were three people watching Marek and Alva, only one of whom was still wearing one of the unwieldy collars. Away from the lantern two human women, already collar-less, were engaged in something that was either a no-rules wrestling match or sex so rough it made her wince to watch. One of a row of hammocks slung from the far wall looked occupied. How many was that? She thought she might be one short.

Bang! Marek's hammer came down on the chisel with enormous force. The heavy iron collar jumped but seemed otherwise undamaged. Alva gritted her teeth against the jarring impact only a few inches from her cheek.

"Fuck that's loud!"

"Shut up," Marek punctuated the statement with another ringing hammer blow. "Don't move."

Zarel watched the big man work, powerful muscles rippling as he pounded hammer against chisel again and again. She saw the chisel's edge bite into the collar and form the dent that would eventually become a crack and snap the metal. But it looked like it was going to take a huge amount of effort from Marek, and a huge amount of endurance from the dwarf, before her freedom could be accomplished.

The werewolves were distracted, then. Time to look for her friends.

Zarel turned to go back the way she had come, but there was someone there, right behind her as if they had emerged from thin air! She didn't wait to look, just attacked. A shove sent the newcomer crashing against one of the big machines with a clang. Zarel followed, hands outstretched for her enemy's throat.

They were an elf, she realised, though with frosty blue skin that was surprisingly cool to the touch as she got her hands around the other's slender neck. Ice-white eyes widened in alarm and willowy limbs flailed unsuccessfully in an attempt to fend her off. There was just enough light to see the elf's face, which Zarel judged to be female. Her features were exotic, beautiful but oddly-proportioned in a way that Zarel couldn't quite explain.

The elf struggled for a moment longer, Zarel's fingers cutting off her breath, then suddenly she was gone. In her place was a white-scaled snake, wrapped halfway around the human's arm and rearing up to bite. She let out a panicked shout as the creature lunged but sank its fangs only into the fabric of her long sleeve. It went to bite again and she cast it away, tossing it to the ground.

She managed to get a foot on the snake so it couldn't bite, then started climbing over it and back between the machines. If she could get back out of the space fast enough then perhaps she could evade capture. Zarel felt the snake twist and change beneath her foot, then something else was clawing at her retreating heels. It was compact, furry and powerful. A badger! She was fighting a druid!

Long burrowing claws raked the back of one leg as she scrambled away from it, half running and half hauling herself between the pipes and fixtures with her hands. She got a solid kick in that seemed to deter her opponent for a moment and the badger dropped back, lost somewhere in the shadows behind her.

Blood running down her leg, Zarel scrambled back the way she had come as quickly as possible. She picked up a few knocks and bruises from protruding machine parts as she did, but these were an acceptable price for speed. She made it to the end of the aisle and looked for the door that was her escape route.

There was a flutter of wings and the druid appeared in front of her again, returning to that tall and skinny elf shape. Her snowy white hair was dishevelled, her hands held out placatingly. Zarel put her head down and charged, intending to go right through her.

There was a tearing sound and a growl, right before she collided. Rather than flattening the lightweight elf, Zarel cannoned into a hard and fur covered chest. Snowy white hide backed by powerful bestial muscle stopped her cold. Her nose filled with familiar musk and pheromones, tinged with the exotic scent of pine. Something hard and hot jabbed against her side.

The werewolf, the same one that had defiled handsome Tomasz, balled two clawed hands in the front of her shirt and lifted her from the ground. Legs kicking helplessly, Zarel dangled while a narrow fang-filled muzzle inspected her. Her captor inhaled deeply, seemingly examining her more by smell than sight. She glanced down and saw the furry white length that had violated her friend pointed up at her.

Then the druid-elf-werewolf was moving, carrying Zarel across the factory floor. They circled the big machines, sticking to one wall where there was much more space, before arriving back before the gathered pack. All of the activity had stopped and they were watching, alerted by the sounds of the scuffle. None of them looked particularly worried, she thought. They were confident in their den.

Zarel's captor dropped her at Marek's feet, shoving her back down as she attempted to rise. This repeated twice more, the determined fighter bouncing back upright after each shove, before the scowling man banged his hammer angrily on the anvil.

"Enough!"

They both stilled, Zarel breathing hard but keeping her feet on the fourth try. She saw that the dwarf's collar was removed now and she was standing at his side. Apparently Marek had kept working to break it even as her fight with the elf had unfolded. He was still wearing his collar, she noted with interest. Waiting until last? Or was nobody else trusted to wield the hammer and chisel?

"You have come sooner than I thought you would."

Marek put the hammer down and scratched his beard. His scowl seemed permanent, making him hard to read. Zarel gave him her best defiant glare in return. It was getting a lot of use these days.

"Where are the others?" she demanded.

"Not here. The devil claimed them." His voice was hard, unsympathetic.

"Then where did she take them?"

Marek shrugged and didn't reply.

"You work for her!" Zarel shouted.

Marek snarled, as did the werewolf behind her.

"Our association has ended." He picked up the hammer again and beckoned the remaining collared man over. "Speaking of which, come here Ruus."

The man that came over was grey haired and weathered, he was in his fifties at least and ageing rather badly to Zarel's eye. He gave her such a hateful stare that it took her aback for a moment, until she recalled the grizzled werewolf she had stabbed twice during their last encounter. That gave her a flicker of pride - she had bested this one at least.

"Kneel down."

Marek's growl interrupted their staring match and Ruus reluctantly knelt beside the anvil. He had a thick neck and it took some squirming and readjusting until the tip of Marek's chisel was positioned where it would bite only metal and not flesh.

"So she let you go, but didn't take the collars off?" Zarel didn't exactly mean it as a taunt, but it drew a growl from the bearded man anyway.

"It was a bad deal. The details do not concern you." Marek picked up the hammer again.

"Yes they do, she took-"

Bang! The ringing peal of hammer and chisel cut her off. Ruus barked a curse but held still.

"What did she give you in exchange for my-" she tried again, only to be drowned out by the hammer again.

"Fuck's sake!" Zarel shouted over the noise, "What was worth the lives of all of my friends?!"

The answering hammer blow was the strongest one yet, but also the wildest. Ruus let out a furious shout of pain as the chisel bounced from the iron collar and scored a vicious scratch in the side of his neck.

"Hold still," was Marek's unapologetic grunt.

"So you can chop my head off with the next one?!" the older man demanded, clambering to his feet and rounding on Marek. The wound was bleeding profusely, but it was already starting to close. Werewolf regeneration worked on their human forms as well it seemed.

"First you humiliate us with the devil to save the elf and now you're too busy jawing with the girl to aim your swing!" He jabbed a finger in the bearded man's face. "You should have more care for your fighters and less for your favourites!"

The two angry men were chest to chest now, both tense but still. It seemed for a second like the moment might blow over, then Ruus slapped the hammer from Marek's hand. In an instant both had changed forms and instead two enormous werewolves grappled each other, one black and one grey. Their clash was deafening, the air filled with barking roars and snarls as clawed hands ripped at tough hides.

A third werewolf, a black furred female, seemed to join the fray out of nowhere, crashing into Marek's side and biting at his ear. A moment later Zarel's white furred captor had swept past her, nearly knocking her over, to go to his aid and drag the interloper off. Others were shifting too, battle lines being drawn that seemed obvious to everyone except Zarel.

The dwarf, Alva, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away from the melee. They watched from the shelter of one of the machines as the pack scuffled and snarled.

"That's been brewing for a while," the dwarf observed sagely, "good to get it out before tonight."

The real fight was between the two dominant men, Zarel realised as she watched Ruus try to maul his pack leader's face with claws the size of daggers. All of the others were making a lot of noise but not really aiming to wound.

"Why are they fighting?!" she asked, alarmed. "And why aren't you?"

"Bloodlines. Or maybe I should call 'em bitelines? Marek favours his get, though he'll never admit it." Alva watched the fight with disinterest. "And I'm too sensible to let it bother me, unlike some."

Zarel tried to parse that, ducking as the big grey furred werewolf came backpedalling past them, bleeding from a kick by a powerful clawed foot.

"He favours his... children? And Ruus doesn't like that."

"Aye, those he's turned. Like Salis."

"Salis is the elf?" Zarel indicated the snowy white werewolf, still grappling with the black furred female.

"Yeah. Eladrin elf from the mountains, now you from the Abbey. I reckon our chief has an eye for the exotic."

"Wait, me?!"

Ruus's huge bulk crashed into the machine beside them with a sound like a building collapsing. He sprawled there and did not rise. Zarel looked up to see the enormous dark bulk of the werewolf pack leader, all shaggy fur and animal muscle. He was bleeding from numerous cuts and bites, all closing swiftly before her eyes.

She was moving before she really knew it, incandescent with anger.

"You turned me into a werewolf?!" she kicked Marek in a huge bestial shin. It was stupid, but she couldn't reach his face for a proper punch.

"Easy," Alva warned, "don't provoke 'im up when the blood's up."

"Provoke him?!" Zarel stormed, booting the werewolf in the other shin. She tried punching him in the groin for good measure, but he didn't seem to feel either blow.

"You're saying this... creature... got all my friends kidnapped, gave me the Itch AND turned me into a monster?!"