In one strategic move, Warwick made sure he ended anything with me and also took away my one friend here.
“War-wick...” His name sang from the windows of Kitty’s brothel, women and men calling out to him. Only a few were left trying to wrangle in their last customer at this late hour. I heard loud grunts and moaning from open windows and down the side alleyways.
“Bring me something tasty?” Peering up, I saw the snake-shifter sitting in the window, the one he had been with before.
“If you like them bleeding and half dead.” Warwick started up the steps.
“I do, but I wasn’t talking about him.” She flicked her tongue out at him suggestively, and I hated that I knew where it had been. “I’m especially hungry tonight... want me to join you? She can watch. We can pick up from last night?”
Anger surged up my spine, my cheek twitching, a low growl emanating from my throat. Her word confirming my fears, eliminating any tiny doubt I clung to.
“Not tonight,” Warwick replied, grabbing my arm and yanking me into the brothel, firing more fury through my muscles.
Not tonight? As in, maybe tomorrow?
Fuck her and fuck him.
“Let go.” Ripping my arm away from him, I stumbled inside, straight into the Madam herself.
Her head was high, her hair in a long bob style. She wore skintight leather pants, a backless, almost sheer, red silky tank, and stiletto boots. Her arms were folded, her expression hard.
“No.” Her jaw tightened.
“Kitty...” Warwick started.
“No.” She lifted a perfectly manicured finger, pointing back at the door. “Return the way you came with that... thing.” Her nose wrinkled, taking in the man over his shoulder.
“Kit—”
“Warwick, you are dancing on my last nerve. It is one thing to harbor you and even her.” She eyed me. “But I’m not a halfway house or an infirmary. I have two soldiers upstairs. I will be jailed if they find you, and you will be quartered and hung on sight.”
“Don’t worry, Killian doesn’t want my head on a plate right now.” A cheeky smile curled up the side of his mouth.
“I didn’t say the soldiers were fae.” She curved a perfect eyebrow up. “And you think that makes this better?” She motioned to the limp man. I could see he was barely breathing. Time was running out. “He’s certainly a criminal, and you both still have bounties on your head from HDF and who knows where else.”
“Kitty—”
“I know you, Warwick, don’t give me that tone. Do not make me a promise you have no intention of keeping.” She held up her hand, gesturing toward the door as a wheeze came from the man. “Now get him out of here.”
“Please.” I grabbed her hands, her thin figure jolting at my touch, and I quickly let go. “This man is the only hope I have of finding where his gang is hiding. They took something important of mine. Something that could be vital.” To me and to this country. “I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t exceptionally important.”
Her dark brown eyes watched mine, no emotion flickering through them, like she was seeking out the truth in my claim. After a few moments, she exhaled, her glittery lids shutting briefly. “In the back bedroom behind the kitchen.” She glanced up at the ceiling like she couldn’t believe she was doing this. “I will send for the doctor. Now go before I change my mind.”
Warwick bowed his head, moving around her, obviously knowing the exact location she was referring to.
“Thank you.” I folded my hands together in gratitude.
“You two are like battling a tsunami. Pointless and exhausting.” She shook her head, looking over my wounds and down my torn and bloody clothes with another sigh. “Suppose you will need more clothes also. I’ll send them up to your room with a first aid kit and some food and drink.” She huffed, looking past me, waving me off. “Go, before anyone sees you.”
What I owed this woman seemed beyond a thank you. She continued to take me in, feed, and clothe me every time Warwick and I got into a life-and-death situation, which was every time.
I dipped my head in utter appreciation before slipping by her and following Warwick to the back room. It was small with no windows, barely room for a twin bed, a nightstand with a lamp, and a single wooden chair.
Warwick flipped the man onto the bed, the springs squealing under the impact. The thief’s wound still oozed with blood, his clothes soaked, his chest struggling to rise with each breath. The guy was human, average height, weight, and looks, if not slightly baby-faced under the scraggly beard. Dirty blond hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, the round-brimmed hat he had been wearing long gone. His torn, bloody clothes were what I’d picture a gunslinger wearing, with a bandolier of bullets and guns strapped across his torso and around his hips. He appeared to be around his mid-thirties, but living the way he did had marked him with deep scars that hadn’t healed right, making his age hard to pin down.
Warwick was stripping him of all weapons and ammunition when another man entered the room. He was at least half human—gray-haired, slight, short, and fragile-looking, glasses perched on his nose. He wore dark clothing and held a black doctor’s bag. But something ethereal in his eyes and face structure suggested he might not be pure human.
His eyes widened at seeing Warwick, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “Warwick, I didn’t expect you here. It’s been a long time.”
“Doctor Laski.” Warwick nodded at him, moving out of his way so he could reach the patient. “This time, the call isn’t for me.”
The moment the doctor’s eyes landed on the man in the bed, his demeanor changed. Locked on the patient, he scuttled to his side, tossing the bag on the bed. He ripped the man’s shirt open, inspecting the wound, scowling.
“Unless you are here to assist, I need you to leave.” Dr. Laski yanked off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves before diving into his bag and retrieving a syringe. Jabbing the needle into a small bottle, he flicked his finger at the syringe, filling it.
“Will he survive?” Warwick’s tone was neutral, not caring either way.
“Doesn’t look good. He’s lost a lot of blood, and the bullet might have hit a vital organ,” the doctor stated, jabbing the thief with the needle.
Warwick grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the door.
“I need him to live.” A harsh demand broke from my mouth.
“I treat every patient I have with the same hope.” The doctor didn’t even spare me a glance, his focus entirely on his patient.
“Let the man work.” Warwick dragged me from the room. “If anyone can save him, it’s him.”
“Have experience?” I clipped as Warwick shut the door behind me, yanking me toward the stairs.
He snorted. “More than once, princess.”
“Is he human?” It was more out of curiosity, my mind still getting used to all the various people in Savage Lands. I grew up with one kind: human. They were all I knew or understood, never realizing the one who might be different in HDF was me.
“He has fae blood in his family line, but he’s more human than fae. Still, it’s there, and he can heal patients quicker and better than any human doctor. His own friends and colleagues turned on him when they saw how good he was, also realizing they were aging faster when he wasn’t. It became a witch hunt, and he had to go into hiding, leaving his practice, his home, and wife of thirty years and disappear in the Savage Lands to survive during the years of persecution.”