Predatory

SASHA POV

Where am I?

Soft. Comfortable. Not moving—no rumble, no jazz. Pleasant light—maybe low lamps, maybe fireplace. Wood beams and plaster overhead. Blankets around me.

But something’s missing.

With effort, turn head, look around. Fake fireplace. No windows. A door, closed. A couple chairs—

Samson.

That’s right. Flashes come back—the medics, the stretcher. Exam room, all sterile white. Poking, prodding, PAIN. Missing something there, too—cold, lonely.

“Good morning,” Samson greets me. “How ya feelin’?”

I stretch a little, testing. Still aches everywhere.

“Sore. Tired,” I tell him. “Where Rika? Zoe?”

“Restin’, an’ they’ve earned it. Hell of a task, t’ get you an’ them lycans all the way out here. An’ they saved your life, my medics told me. You’ve got some nasty injuries, but I’m told they’re healing all right. Doctor’ll be in soon t’ check ya over, change dressings an’ all that.”

“Thank you.”

“Before that, though, I’d like t’ ask ya some questions, ’bout how ya got so banged up. You up to answerin’ ’em?”

“I do my best…Commander.”

“Hey now. None o’ that. The way yer friends tell it, you outrank me now.”

“Shouldn’t. Don’t want Anselm job.”

“Then why’d ya duel ’im for it?”

“Only way…avoid execute innocent.”

“I’m gonna need ya to explain that a bit more.”

“Anselm showed up…while I was in field. With target. Ordered me to execute. I said not enough evidence. He insisted. I challenged.”

“To be clear, the target was one o’ them lycans who came here with you?”

“Yes.”

“I’d guess the one who was ridin’ in the back with you?”

Drake.

“Yes.”

“He seems pretty attached to you.” Samson’s eyes too intense. Look at ceiling instead.

“Shouldn’t be.”

“But he is. An’ I’d guess Anselm didn’t like that.”

How to answer? Don’t know. Anselm always pissy.

“What were the terms of yer duel with Anselm?” Samson asks.

“To death,” I answer. Should’ve been obvious.

“Did he want to kill you?”

“He wanted…‘until surrender.’ But neither of us do surrender.” Deep breath. Hurts ribs. “He said when I lose, he kill Drake instead.”

Samson nods. Expected that?

“But you didn’t lose,” he prompts.

“No. Anselm dead.”

“If you didn’t want his job, why’d ya kill Anselm, rather than jus’ knock ’im out? To protect Drake?”

“Wanted Anselm dead. To avenge my family.”

“Your family….” Realization dawns. “Your father was Simon Sukoshku.”

Tears prick eyes. So long, since someone else said his name.

“He was a great operative. And a great man,” Samson continues, gentle, soft. “Would have liked to have him in the Underground, if I’d gotten the chance. But Anselm got to ’im first, after that incident with the dryads. That execution was the catalyst for startin’ the Underground, actually. Didn’t sit well with any of us. If we’d known that he left any o’ Simon’s family alive….”

Underground. Samson’s resistance to WASP. He mentioned, while I was still in car.

“Thank you. For remembering him,” I choke out. No cry. No weakness.

“He’s the sort who ought to be remembered. But, if ya don’t mind me askin’…. You were there, when they were executed?”

“Yes.”

“An’ Anselm…decided to spare you?”

“I fought back. He saw potential. Wanted to use it. Wouldn’t let me die.” Neither would Rika, at HQ. Tried, many times. Until I realized couldn’t make Anselm pay if I was dead.

“You must’ve hated him. Why’d you work for him so long?”

“Only way to learn how to kill him. And get skills to do it.”

Samson makes quiet whistle. “An’ he never had any idea.”

“Seems not.”

“Well then. He was right about yer potential. Ain’t no accident they say you’re the best in WASP.”

“Don’t want to be. You should take Anselm’s job.”

Samson surprised. “Years ago, I woulda taken you up on that, no questions asked.”

“What stop you now?”

“You want t’ see WASP change an’ become better, don’tcha?”

“Yes. But you better for job. More experience.”

“Now, I don’t know ’bout that. You already know all the ins an’ outs o’ special ops, ’cuz you’ve been workin’ in it. An’ I expect all the other special ops know you an’ respect you already. Even if they don’t, Anselm had a reputation as fearsome—unbeatable, even—in single combat. If I hadn’t seen what you done against Svartheron, I’d find it real hard t’ believe that you took Anselm down. You ain’t likely t’ have underlings challengin’ yer authority. An’ I got the Underground to run.”

“Can still run Underground in Anselm’s job.”

“Maybe. But I think those of us who want to see WASP reformed are better off if you take the job. You an’ I can accomplish more workin’ together than if I try to do it all alone.”

Quiet groan slips out. He’s not wrong. But I don’t want Anselm’s job. Don’t like WASP, don’t like bureaucracy. Anselm death should mean freedom.

“I know I’m askin’ a lot. An’ none of us’ve done right by you. If we’d known one o’ Simon’s kittens made it out….” Samson sighs, shakes head. “But it’s too late for that now, an’ I’m sorry for it. I wish there was a better way, or a chance t’ do things different knowin’ what I know now. But there ain’t, as far as I can tell, an’ the way things stand now, I think you’re exactly the kind o’ shake-up the WASP brass needs. An’ of course, you’ll have the full might of the Underground behind you.”

He wants me lead revolution from inside.

I don’t think I can do it.

“You ain’t gotta commit to nothin’ now,” Samson assures me. “No way are you goin’ to HQ until you’re completely healed. Must’ve been a helluva fight, between you an’ Anselm. Almost wish I’d gotten to see it. But we got time for thinkin’ and talkin’ and plannin’ about what comes next. Try to rest. Doctor’ll be in soon.”

“Okay,” I breathe. No strength to argue now.

“Thank you for answerin’ all my questions. I know it’s been tough. Jus’ one more thing, before I leave ya be. That Drake’s been askin’ t’ see you. You want t’ see him, or no?”

He still wants me.

He’s a fool.

“Sure.” The word leaves my lips without permission.

Maybe fool is me.