Siya scowled at Atticus’ instruction to help Hoyle. She didn’t want to but would because it was right and she’d been asked. She had offered largely because she understood that through Hoyle she might get some answers, it had been her bargain with him and if he died there would be no one to collect from. That didn’t mean she wanted to. With a heated little puff of air she prepared herself to do what she needed to. [i]But he was so old, and furry[/i], a small part of her whined. 

[i]Just do it[/i]. A bossy voice said in her head, [i]Veti would want you too.[/i]

That was enough. Before Atticus tossed the aged werewolf back over his shoulder Siya moved, darting her head in and lapping at the wound behind the man’s knee, focusing on being grateful that it wasn’t his groin that had been wounded. Even so the second she tasted blood her mouth flooded with the narcotic saliva that made certain her food never minded being food. Her saliva also acted to help regulate blood-flow so that she could feel leisurely, in control of the act. That the act of feeding meant something else to her only added to her discomfort at feeding on an old man. She didn’t feed, the old man couldn’t spare the blood but her body and her instincts didn’t know that or didn’t care and they reacted as if she were going to do just that. It was horrible. It was not an ideal method of healing, but then it wasn’t an idea situation. When she lifted her mouth, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the wild, deep woods taste of the old man, his bleeding had slowed though not stopped and some of his pain would be eased. 

She wiped her mouth, resenting that the taste of Atticus was no longer present. She stepped back as he hoisted the werewolf onto his shoulder and followed behind, wiping her mouth and cheeks on the collar of the overly large dress shirt she was wearing. She didn’t like Shade gates, not after their last trip through them ended so badly. It was one of her motivations for still playing at the travel between she had learned despite the danger involved in it. At least that way she was in control, or so she told herself. But she wasn’t about to leave Atticus if he was going to go through them and she didn’t think she could pull as many as were with them through the between without consequences no matter how charged up she was on Demon Blood. 

As she followed him down the stairs into the dark that felt good against her skin she could see that Atticus wasn’t doing well and guilt speared at her for her possible part in it. He’d said she hadn’t taken too much and this last time she’d only had a sip before they’d been interrupted. But he looked beat and she didn’t know how to help him. She stepped forward, determined to carry at least part of the insensate Werewolf when there was an explosion of something ahead of them. Fear filled her.

Veti? Thad?

Siya whirled around in time to see a scene of blood and Chaos, she watched as some enemy wolf stabbed Aislinn and then darted, wounded and bleeding into the shade gate, something in his hand. 

“Oh fuck that!” she snarled, her accent ripening the curse word. She moved forward with the speed that was her birthright, powered by the blood of a Demon, a taste of blood from an ancient werewolf and honed by just a little practice. She was fast, more than fast, but it wasn’t enough. She reached forward as she streaked into the gate, feeling the coldness of the void all around her. She felt her fingers touching fur, just ahead of her, nothing more substantial than that and though she gripped and felt a handful of it give way in her fingers it was not enough to stop his flight. Then the gate and the whirling darkness had her and she was swept away to wherever the gate was taking them. 

It spat her out into a crumpled heap onto ground that was eerily familiar. She scrambled to her feet, though she liked to think that the scrambling translated more into springing to her feet than it actually was. She stayed low in a defensive crouch like Veti had taught her and looked about the enemy. There was no one, just a handful of fur clutched in her hand and green lines of power slowly fading away on the ground and on the stones all around her. She was alone.

“Fuck.” She snarled and maybe stamped her foot a little. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Was there ever a more satisfying word? 

She looked around at the very same circle they had started in, where Hoyle had called them together on this little misadventure.