Angel of the Damned

AotD - 14

Drake tested his weight on his leg as he stood, unsure of whether he should put all his weight on it already.  The elf who healed his leg sat back with a smile, her hands clasped on her lap. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen someone new around here.  Will you be staying?”

“Sorry darlin, leaving tomorrow for Dontnod,” Drake said.

She smiled softly and looked down, “Okay.  Whenever you’re in town and hurt, just come find me.  I’ll patch you up.”

She stood and brushed off her skirt.  Leneath walked over to her and placed an eleven round clip of nine millimeter rounds in the elf’s hand.  “Thanks, Elan.”

“No problem, anytime,” Elan said and walked away.

“Come on, Rachel will be pissed if we are late,” Leneath said, “and I have to change.  These clothes are all sweaty and nasty.”

Drake and Nathan followed Leneath out of Elan’s home and back out into the street.  The orbs seemed to shine brighter as the night progressed.  Leneath started up the ladder that lead to her home and pulled the door open, climbing in she stopped in the doorway.

“What the hell did you two do!” She screamed.  Nathan and Drake looked at each other, with a shrug Nathan hooked his hand around one of the rungs and started up.  Drake followed and popped his head up in time to see Leneath dropping through a hole in the floor.

The crate contained a table made of pieces of metal twisted around into a smooth surface, a couch and several locked boxes.  Over the table were several shelves lined with various metal objects.  Drake spotted his pack and weapons leaning against the wall beside Leneath’s duffle bags.  The entire container was spotless, not a thing out of place.  Drake walked over to the hole Leneath vanished down and grabbed a rung of the ladder that lead down it.  He dropped into the hole and lowered himself just far enough that he could twist around and see the interior.  It was lit by light orbs and it was nearly impossible to see the floor.  Standing tall in ankle deep clutter were two men.  Each towered over Leneath’s short frame and appeared to be able to swat Leneath across the container is they wanted too but they stood with their hands behind their backs, looking at their feet.

“What the hell did you do!” Leneath demanded.

“Nothing,” the one mumbled.  His jeans slouched down hanging off his hip, exposing a pair of boxers.  He wore a white wife beater, his heavily muscled arms were covered in tribal markings from the Northern Pack, a narcowolf.  His dead white eyes flickered up and he offered Leneath a cautious smile as a peace offering.

“Don’t lie to me, Brock!” Leneath snapped.

“Swear, we didn’t do anything,” the other said.  He didn’t tower as far over Leneath as Brock, but he was taller than her.  His arms were also covered in Necrowolf tribal markings, only these were signifying the Southern Pack.  

Leneath turned to the other one and narrowed her eyes.  She looked ready to slap the both of them. “That front room is never clean, Marcus, even if my brother is coming over!  What did you do!”

“You’re yelling at us because we cleaned up?” Brock cried. “and that means we did something?”

Drake let loose a high, shrill whistle and all three turned their attention to him. "Leneath, I don't think we want to keep the Rysen's waiting."

He dropped off the ladder to allow Leneath to blow past him and vanish up it.

“Thanks man,” Brock said.

“No problem.  She doesn’t seem like one you want to piss off,” Drake said, taking the ladder. "Just tell me something.  Seeing as you are Nercowolves from different packs, how are you not trying to rip each others throat open?"