Blood of Gato

Consciousness broke the surface like a cork shooting out of icy water.

First—the wet forest floor pressing against his cheek, the bitter tang of pine stinging his nose.

Then—cold iron: chains biting into raw skin, links clinking close to his ear every time he breathed.

Everything hurt—shoulders, ribs, hips. As if someone had gone down his body with fists, methodically cataloging each bruise.

His tongue brushed carefully against the gap where his front teeth used to be, flinched back like from the edge of a blade.

Would they kill him? Or listen first—listen to him scream?

Let them dream. They wouldn't get that from him. Not a sound.

The thought tried to grab the tail of a memory. The smell. Yes, there was a pungent, animalistic smell, recognizable like a mark on a door: Gato. He tracked Gato down by that smell, waited in that scumbag's house with his girl laughing too loudly. The book where the redhead drowned without looking up as he entered. He thrust the blade with precision, without hesitation. His heart was like a stone. He had never seen such a weight of sins, and they could not be allowed to live. Then Gato came down, and before they could say more than a few words, they were fighting. And the wild, red-haired thing just took off and... got up. Opened its eyes.

Cain's breath hitched sharp through his teeth. His stomach iced over.

"You're awake?" A voice, so familiar it tore through the haze.

From the brush stepped William: water in one hand, a ration bar in the other. His face was wary—but not unkind.

"Gato…" Cain rasped. Relief hit hot, flooding through him. "Thank God. I thought, I thought that witch got back up, you know? Nonsense." His laugh rang harsh, too loud. "Guess it was just fever dreams."

"Ahh, bébé, I'll have ya know, I'm very much 'live an' kickin', cher," a woman's voice sang sweet as sugarcane.

Branches stirred, and the redhead stepped out from behind William.

Freckles, bright eyes far too alive. A thumbs-up and a smile that buckled his knees. A pale shirt with a rust-colored stain, a denim jacket thrown haphazardly over it, trying to hide exactly what he could not bear to think about.

The world flipped over. Chains rattled.

"Get her away from me!" Cain roared so loud the birds scattered from the canopy. "She's dead, she's dead, she's!"

"Les," William snapped over his shoulder. "We had an agreement. You don't show yourself until I say so."

"Mais non, I'm sorry now," she drawled, shrugging guilty as a child caught with sticky fingers. "I tol' m'self I'd wait, but, aw, I jus' couldn' hold it, cher."

Cain surged up, chains dragging across his sweater. The forest reeled, trees pulling too close. He lurched left, then right, then bolted. Air sliced his lungs raw, pine needles slapped across his cheek. Branches clawed at his clothes, iron links screeched, but it was better than seeing her face.

"Stop!" William barreled after him.

A dry crack of twigs—then a weight slammed into his side, knocking him flat. Earth smashed his ribs, his breath torn out. Cain twisted up like a trapped animal, kicking, but William's knee locked against his thigh, an arm pinning his wrist, the other bracing his shoulders.

"Easy!" William's voice cut sharp with irritation, but his breathing stayed steady. "I'm not looking to cripple you!"

Leticia dropped down beside them, her shadow falling across Cain's face.

"Don' ya dare fight me now," she cooed, when her fingers brushed his temple.

"Get your hands off me!" he spat.

"Ooooh, mais chèr, lookit you strugglin', strong like a wild gator, non?" She pursed her lips, but still pressed his head into the damp grass a heartbeat longer than needed.

"Mmm, makes me wonder… strong like dat on de tongue too, hein?"

She smiled light as sunshine, as though it were a joke tossed off careless, but her voice carried a sharper note that cut like a hidden blade. Cain heaved, chains shrieking, shoulder nearly popping free.

"Leticia, enough," William cut her off, voice clipped. "You can play later. Right now, calm him down."

"Aïïe, fine-fine," she rolled her eyes, scooting back a little. She folded her hands together, not for show, but simply because it was comfortable. "Breathe, bébé. Listen ta dat forest hummin', ya?"

He wanted to curse her, but the air thickened around him—denser, softer, like a warm blanket pressed against his chest. The crack of branches seemed farther away, birdsong dwindled to whispers. Inside, where panic had clawed and shrieked, an invisible hand turned down a dial—the screech reduced to a muted hum. His heart still raced, but it no longer threatened to tear free of his ribs.

"Das it… shhh, bon garçon," Leticia murmured. "Ain't nobody gon' kill ya—not tonight, non."

"Water?" William uncapped his bottle, holding it out. "Slow. Don't use your teeth. Got it?"

Cain nodded. A few careful swallows, cold sliding down his throat, curling sharp into his belly before letting go. He closed his eyes tight, opened them again.

"You remember how you got here?" William asked, finally easing his grip.

"Bits and pieces," Cain muttered. "House. Her. The knife." His gaze darted unwillingly toward the redhead.

"What even happened in Mateo's house?" Cain pressed.

"Well—after I whipped your ass, you screamed like I was skinning you alive," William said, unable to hold it back. The corners of his mouth betrayed him, twitching. "Then you saw Leticia still breathing, and—bam!—out cold. Had to drag you into the woods." He gave a short laugh, then coughed into his fist as if to bury it.

Cain clenched his jaw—a reflex that jabbed his tongue against the empty space where teeth should have been. Heat flared up his neck. He could still hear the echo of his own scream ringing in memory.

"Alright. Crystal clear," he exhaled heavily. "Now, would you mind getting off me?"

"As you say, hero," William snorted. He rolled away easily, sat in the grass, unwrapped his ration bar with a crackle. "No sudden moves, yeah?"

Cain pushed himself up on his elbows. The forest loomed close—branches, moss, damp earth breathing all around him. He turned his eyes to the redhead.

"Sorry if it's a stupid question," his voice rasped, "but you're not…?"

"What? A zombie?" Leticia flashed a grin as if he'd made the funniest remark she'd heard all day. "Non, cher. Don't you fret. I'm jus' as alive as you be."

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing sly. "But if ya doubtin', mmm, I can rip dat pretty lil' heart out yo' chest, let ya see it pumpin'—settle de matter real quick, hein?"

Her cheer carried an acid edge. She was still angry—more than angry—that he had driven steel through her heart.

Cain's cheek twitched. A cold ripple stirred in his chest.

"Sorry. I've had… poor luck with the living dead," he managed, trying to raise a smile—but without front teeth, it came out warped, childlike.

"Well den, we got us a chance at friendship," she shrugged. "'Cause I ain't no corpse nor spook. I'm a lamia. Dat's why yo' lil' knife went right through me like nothin', bébé."

"Lamias are..." William began, but Cain's head snapped up, eyes narrowing sharp.

"Demons. They devour children and men to keep their youth," he cut in, voice dry as dust. "Then tell me, red snake, how many children have you devoured?" His gaze dropped to her chest, to the place where he remembered his blade sinking deep.

Leticia's hand drifted almost unconsciously to cover the spot. She inhaled softly through her nose, her earlier warmth fading. When she smiled again, it was cool, reptilian.

"'Nuff to know dat chillen taste foul," she said flat, not even blinkin'. "An' 'nuff to snap a Dogman's neck." Her eyes burned a sudden emerald.

The air went tight. Cain leaned forward, every muscle under his skin coiling like rope.

"Hold it. Time-out!" William shot up, springing between them with arms spread. "We'll save the vampire-and-werewolf games for later. We've got bigger things to deal with."

Cain turned away, chest heaving. Leticia flicked him a glance and smirked — like a cat that had swatted a mouse, but found it not worth the trouble to finish.

"Careful wit' dis one, Wil," she said, eyes narrowing. "He peekin' straight down into de marrow, mais oui… an' he don' mind starin'."

"He's got sight like your aura tricks too?" William asked, palms still raised, ready to block either of them.

"Pff, non… don' flatter de jackass." Leticia's voice went lazy, mocking. "His gift ain't fit ta wash mine. But he…"

"My eyes see the weight of other people's hearts—and their filth," Cain cut across her, voice low and even, denying her any satisfaction. "And if you want to know something about me, Gato, you ask me. Not this devil snake. Her tongue—and she herself—drips rot." He spat to the side, disgust plain.

"You heard it," Leticia tossed back to William without missing a beat. "An' look at dat, our lil' butcher's not jus' a hypocrite — he rude on top o' it, interruptin' his elders like dat."

"I'm not a butcher," Cain said, soft in tone but sharp as a blade.

"Mmh, mais non?" Her brow arched high. "So what then? Angel? Superhero, peut-être? Bad news, sugar: folks who rip out hearts, dey already got a word f' dat. It called 'maniac.' Real popular term, don't need no dictionary, non?"

Something snapped — not outside, but in. Cain rose slowly. Gooseflesh rippled along his arms. He pulled, and the iron on his wrists groaned, strained—until the links cracked loud as rifle fire and scattered into the wet moss.

Birds burst from the underbrush, wings clattering, then fell silent.

Leticia shifted her stance almost imperceptibly — weight forward on her toes, fingers loose, air about her hands stirring faintly with a tang of ozone.

"I said enough!" William lunged forward, planting one hand square on Cain's chest, the other raised to show Leticia don't you dare. His voice hammered steel, the usual humor stripped clean. "Can we breathe for one damn second? No tricks. No posturing."

He turned fully toward Cain, lowered the hand from his chest, and offered the other instead — open, steady.

"My name's William Farrow. Pleased to meet you. And you are?"

Between his fingers glittered a smear of melted chocolate from the ration bar. Cain stared at the hand, then shifted his gaze toward the redhead. She stood a little way off, watching him without so much as a blink, but making no move closer. Leaves whispered overhead. Somewhere above, bold again, a bird dared a single chirp.

"Cain," he said at last. "Just Cain." He clasped William's grip—firm enough not to seem weak, brief enough not to become trust.

"Original," Leticia chuckled under her breath. "Jus' hope ya don't got a brother lurkin' 'round, cher."

"Three's enough company for now," William answered, cutting the jest smooth, but his nod was short and resolute. He didn't release Cain's fingers just yet.

"What's this task so important?" Cain narrowed his eyes, suspicion threading his even voice.

William shifted, fumbling into his pocket. He pulled out a sheet, folded four times over, and smoothed it along his knee. The paper was gray, cheap stock; the edge blackened, browned as though kissed by flame. He held it closer so Cain could see.

"Last night, in Mateo's house, we were digging through the girl's things. And… before we tore the place apart, I found this."