Syndication: Scene Three

 The tension builds as Kellan’s words sink in. Delia fashions a smirk and lets it glide into place, delighted as Jereth’s lip twitches. Before he can speak, though, she turns on her heel and hops over a puddle. She doesn’t check to see if they follow, but keeps her pace markedly slower than normal, as one enormous man carrying another could not possibly manage to follow the twists and turns to Helga’s apartment at her usual pace.

“Why did you defect?” Kellan rasps, closer behind her than she expected. As she rounds the last corner, she stops to bang on the door, slamming her fist twice and then kicking the bottom lightly.

“My father ordered my brothers to kill me and they listened.” Delia’s voice is curt, the memory making the scars along her back itch.

“How old are those scars?” Jereth’s voice is almost soft. So soft that the door banging open startles them all.

“Which scars? The ones on her back, her ass, or her legs? Those are the bane of my fucking existence, the ones on her legs. Almost ruined my reputation!” Delia snorts as her tall friend steps out into the alley, prompting the sharp green eyes to turn on her. “Del, what the hell are you laughing about?”

“H, baby, you know how to make an entrance.”

“Oh shut up. They told me one was almost dead, but why does the other one look so confused?” Helga waves a finger in Kellan and Jereth’s direction.

“I thought the almost dead one was a dead body at first.” Delia sighs, letting a shudder run over her body once again. “I hate dead bodies.”

“Ah, the classic damsel in distress turned cold, hard murderer confusion.” Helga winks at the confused men. “Hard to believe she runs the whole city, huh?”


Helga knocks on the metal door, tucking her hands quickly back into her pockets. Minutes pass before the sliding peep-hole screeches open and the grey eyes behind the door flit from person to person before landing on Delia.




“You betcha.” Del’s shoulders relax as the younger girl’s eyes crinkle, laughter dancing.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, sisters in exile or whatever. Kyda, I know we’re all used to Tiny McNever-Cold over there in her skinny jeans and dainty little flats, but I’m freezing my ass off out here.” Helga’s jab is teasing, but she does huff something about a silly leather jacket as Kyda lets them in.

“Did the crew set up the med table down here?” Del’s voice is gentle, not the quavering woman in the alley or the cold syndicate leader moments later. The rapid changes in tone have perplexed the two werewolves, but the women pay them no mind as Kyda nods, shutting the down behind them all. “Through here then.”

“Would you lot come on? The damn dog looks like a popsicle at this point.” Helga is already half-way down the hall. By the time Del and the rest reach the main room, Helga has already rifled through her bag and laid out all the equipment. As Jereth lays Kellan down on the table, both men look around in awe, to which Helga and Del offer identical raised brows.

“Didn’t expect this from an alleyway entry.” Kellan rasps, Jereth grunting in agreement. Their eyes leap from balcony to balcony

“Yes well, I don’t like to take my deeply wounded guests in through the front door. This is a reclaimed government building, you know; we’d attract a lot of attention, hauling his ass through Towne Centre.” Del’s voice is icy once more, due in no small part to the shadows that have appeared along the wall. As Del’s eyes leave Jereth’s and travel over the newcomers’ faces, Helga picks up fabric sheers and removes the clothing in her way.

“At least buy me dinner first.” Kellan rasps, receiving a snort of laughter from Helga and a smirk from Del. Before anyone can pipe up in response, though, Helga’s face falls and her eyes snap to Del’s.

“What?” Jereth doesn’t miss a beat, his gaze hopping between the women frantically.

“I’m not equipped for this, my hands aren’t small enough and I have no poison or venom immunity.” Helga’s voice quavers slightly and the tension in the room thickens. “Del, it has to be you.”

“Why her?”

“Manchankos are bastards, but they spend a lot of time prepping their children for evading death.” Del’s voice is grim and she runs a hand across her brow.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that she was tortured her whole life so that no one could kill her.” Kellan’s voice is alarmingly soft, but he’s sitting up, eyes locked on Del.

Published by K. E. Diller

Young adult attempting to do a million things at once, including write books and follow my dreams.

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