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."
