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"That's because he's a bad man." He gave me a lopsided grin. "It's part of my job to associate with, and then destroy, bad men."
"But this bad man seems to think he knows me, disguise or no. He's in our lire somehow, and the slightest slip could tip him off as to who we really arc."
"Warning heeded." He glanced briefly at the watching guard, then leaned forward to kiss my cheek. "Don't play with our friendly neighborhood stallion too much. You have got a job to do here, you know."
I gave him a light whack on the arm before he could jump away. He chuckled softly, gave me a wink, then walked off. I watched him until he was inside, then turned and headed for my own quarters.
The fighters' quarters were full, and most of the women were asleep. One or two were staring out the windows or chatting amongst themselves, but for the most part, silence reigned.
Berna was in bed and, as she'd warned earlier, snoring heavily enough to wake the dead. Or undead, as the case around here might be. Nerida wasn't in the room, and her toiletries bag was missing from the bedside table where she'd placed it earlier. But the sound of running water was coming from the bathroom.
Perfect. Just perfect.
I collected my still damp towel and soap, and headed to the bathroom. The water flicked off as I entered.
"Hey," Nerida said, "throw me the spare towel that's sitting near the basin, will you?"
I quietly shut the door, dumped my towel and soap in a nearby stall, then moved over to grab Nerida's towel. "Catch," I said, and tossed it high, not over the door but at the camera in the corner above it. I might never have been tall enough to be a basketball player, but I was a pretty handy shot at goal. The towel landed precisely where I wanted it - catching the body of the camera and draping down over the edge of the lens. With the camera now covered and sound not an issue - thanks to the fact there were no microphones in the bathroom - I stepped forward, raised a foot, and kicked open the door.
"You stupid bit - " The rest of Nerida's curse was lost as the door slammed back against the stall wall.
She spun around, a look of shock and perhaps a little fear etching her features. I gave her no time to react any more than that, simply wrapped a hand around her throat and slammed her back against the wall.
She grunted - a sound that was strained and angry all at once. The fear, if it had been fear I'd seen, was gone. And that in itself suggested this woman was more than what she was pretending. Anyone with any sense feared a werewolf when they were angry. That she didn't meant she could defend herself when she wanted - or she had other sources of protection I wasn't aware of.
Even as the thought crossed my mind, awareness tingled across my senses. I ducked instantly, and a fist the size of a shovel skimmed across the top of my head. I squeezed Nerida's neck harder, making her gasp, even as I lashed out backward with a bare foot. I connected with flesh, felt the blow sink deep enough to hit bone, and got a grunt in response.
"I'll break her fucking neck if you don't stop, Berna. I swear to God I will."
"Release her, then." Berna's words were as quiet as mine, but filled with the restrained promise of violence.
"Release someone who's just killed at least ten people? I hardly think so."
I twisted around to check on Berna, but didn't ease the force of my grip around Nerida's neck. The werefox was huffing, her face darkening with her battle to breathe, but I didn't damn well care. Everything I'd smelled, everything I'd felt, when I first walked up to the blast area had come back with a rush, and the dead and dying who'd filled me with their pain wanted revenge. And my fingers - my whole arm - was shaking with the effort not to squeeze that little bit tighter. To kill her, and let the dead have her.
Berna's brown eyes narrowed a little. Bear-shifters might have the rep for honesty, but I had a feeling I'd be getting anything but that from this bear-shifter. At least for the immediate future.
"Don't speak rubbish, wolf. She was with one of the people from the arena for hours, then she came here. She didn't have anything to do with that explosion."
"Hard to believe when she was actually spotted not once, but twice. And if you don't step back this instant, she's one dead werefox." I squeezed a little harder, just to emphasize my seriousness, and Nerida made an odd gargling sound. I eased up immediately. I didn't actually want to kill her, no matter what the remnants of the dead might be urging.
Berna raised her hands and stepped back. "Okay, okay, just let her breathe."
I loosened my grip a little more, and Nerida's entire body shook as she sucked in great gulps of air. Guilt ran through me, but the dead were having none of that and quickly swatted it away.
And the fact that I could feel them, knew that they were all around me, demanding revenge, was terrifying. Empathy was one thing - but empathy with the dead? What the hell kind of talent was that?
Not one that I wanted, that was for sure.
"Now, just let her go," Berna continued, in that same quiet tone. Like she was dealing with a psycho ready to explode. And if that impression meant they were less likely to try a concerted attack, then I was happy to keep reinforcing it. "And we'll talk about this like civilized human beings."
"Which none of us are." I shook Nerida a little. "Why did you blow up the kitchen area?"
"I didn - "
"You were seen," I cut in. "In your fox form, twice, by guards."
"There are tons of foxes running wild," Berna said patiently. "That doesn't mean squat."
