Marked In Flesh

CHAPTER 47

Watersday, Juin 30

Stavros watched the passengers boarding the ocean greyhound. So many of the wealthy HFL supporters were taking the last ship leaving Toland before the storm descended on that part of the coast. They were going to Cel-Romano to see for themselves the triumph their money helped bring about.

Fools.

And there was Nicholas Scratch in a “disguise” that wouldn’t fool a human, let alone one of the terra indigene. Of course, most of the people coming aboard had talked to Scratch—or at least seen him enough times that he couldn’t really believe a disguise would work for the length of the voyage. He had probably told the elite that this was a ruse to escape his “enemies.”

Scratch did have enemies now among the humans. Toland’s elite might still support him, or still believe there would be some reward for that support once they reached Cel-Romano, but those who understood the connection between the human places that were disappearing and the HFL movement were now pointing fingers and calling Scratch a charlatan who had deceived them.

Stavros had found this epiphany quite entertaining since it came in the wake of Scratch’s final speech, in which the man stated he could not be held responsible for actions other people took because they misinterpreted his motivational speeches as a call to commit violence against the terra indigene. Every man should be held accountable for his own actions.

Scratch had slipped away before the stunned crowd could react.

Stavros smiled. Now Nicholas Scratch was here, and so was he. And somewhere in the waters just beyond sight of land, the Sharkgard waited.

Stavros flowed from one shadowy place to another, observing, waiting—and wishing he’d fed before coming on board. Was there no one on this ship who wasn’t inebriated? There was the captain, but the water had turned rough—Ocean’s version of foreplay—and he didn’t want to weaken the man. And he didn’t want to dull his own senses by consuming alcohol thinly disguised as blood.

He’d overheard enough throughout the evening to realize the HFL supporters had some wildly romantic ideas of being hailed as heroes for providing food and steel and whatever else they’d helped Cel-Romano acquire under the table. But now, with a bounty of land newly won by the Cel-Romano armies, those supporters were no longer needed. There was only one human on this ship who would be welcome in Cel-Romano.

Stavros idly watched a few people come out on deck.

Stavros told the Sharkgard. That gard had been following the ship for hours in a relay, waiting for him to deliver the promised special meat. He needed to strike soon. He had no intention of going all the way to Cel-Romano, and even in smoke form, he didn’t want to travel too far over open water.

Finally, he heard the hated, familiar voice.

“Today we have conquered the land,” Nicholas Scratch said as he stepped onto the lower deck with two other men. “Soon the human race will conquer this too.” He waved a hand to indicate the ocean.

You think so? Stavros calculated the distance between them.

he called.

Stavros watched the other two men. The ocean at night held no appeal to them, and rubbing elbows with Scratch was no longer a novelty. They wouldn’t linger outside.

“You going to join us for cards, Nicholas?” one man asked a minute later.

“Go on without me,” Scratch replied.

“Nothing to see out here.”

“That makes it a good place to think.”

The men nodded wisely and went inside.

Shifting to human form, Stavros wandered over to the railing and smiled at Nicholas Scratch.

“You must be glad to be heading home,” Stavros said pleasantly.

Scratch gave him a look that sharpened when he took in the quality of the suit and black shirt. Stavros could almost hear him wondering how to play this new fish to get a fat donation for the cause.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Scratch said.

“We haven’t, but I’ve listened to your speeches with sharp attention,” Stavros replied, extending his hand. “You’re of great interest to many of us, Mr. Scratch.”

Scratch’s hand gripped his. “You belong to a group?”

“More of a fellowship of like-minded groups.”

“What’s your group?”

Stavros tightened his hold on Scratch’s hand and smiled, revealing his fangs. “The Sanguinati.”

That instant of shock, of fear. That’s all it took to pull Scratch close and slash the man’s neck—not to feed but to wound.

Still holding Scratch’s hand, Stavros took a fistful of the man’s coat in the other hand. In smoke form, there wasn’t much that could harm the Sanguinati. In a tangible form, they had the strength of the terra indigene. Before Scratch had a chance to scream for help, Stavros stepped up on the railing, hauled Scratch over the top, and jumped.

Shifting to smoke as he fell, Stavros flowed down to the surface as Scratch hit the water and went under. Spotting a hand, Stavros shifted to human above the waist and pulled the man up.

Wild-eyed, Scratch coughed and batted at Stavros. Then he screamed and went under again as one of the Sharkgard took a playful bite.

Stavros hauled Scratch up again and stared at this enemy who had been responsible for killing so many and hadn’t faced any of the terra indigene.

“We’re going to destroy Cel-Romano. I wanted you to know that before you die,” Stavros said. “You upstart infestation. You thought you could wipe out the terra indigene? It’s your species that is going to wither—and you will be one of the things the survivors, if there are any, can thank for that.”

He released Scratch and floated a safe distance away as dozens of the Sharkgard rushed in to strike the enemy, consuming the human piece by piece. A foot. A hand. A forearm. A thigh.

How long before Scratch is missed? Stavros wondered as he drifted above the waves. If I can’t get home, how long before I’m missed?

A fin sliced the water nearby.

Stavros rose to a column of smoke and turned slowly. Yes, there, going in the opposite direction of the ocean greyhound.

the Shark said.