The Banished Lycans 9. The First Hunt part 2 of 2

Regaining my composure, I answered Izzy's question. "We have been considering enlisting help from your kind, particularly the Long Fang pack, for about three months. We were already equipped to gear up and accommodate sudden size shifting. Our ranks include special members with extraordinary abilities, but unfortunately, they're in hard-to-reach places."

I could tell Izzy was pondering the term "special members." Like clockwork, she asked, "What kind of extraordinary abilities do they possess?"

"I'm sorry, that is what you might call privileged information," I responded.

Izzy and Sarah rolled their eyes, and Sarah said, "Fine, keep your secrets."

Izzy continued the interrogation. "What specifically interested Garra de la Plaga in the Long Fang pack? It's evident that considerable thought has gone into this alliance."

As they continued making adjustments, she asked forcefully, "Why us?"

I had to think carefully. "Long Fang, despite being a gigantic ass, runs a tight pack. He instills in his pack the importance of not turning people on purpose, not targeting humans, and not drawing attention to themselves. You guys know when to blend in when necessary. That's why we've mostly left the Long Fangs alone."

They stared through me, processing my words. Izzy added, "That does make sense in a way." Then Sarah asked, "So, about these special members?"

I looked down and shook my head. "If this partnership works out and you earn the trust of Garra de la Plaga and Xavier, I will answer that question. Eventually. But until then, please don't ask me about it. We have our secrets."

Izzy let out a somewhat sinister chuckle. I sensed an incoming jab. "So, if you're older and more experienced than your cousin, why isn't he following your lead?"

I closed my eyes, my heart thumping in my ears. Then she laughed out loud and said, "Did I hit a nerve, Drengr? Do tell." She somehow said that in a way that could be creepy if it wasn't coming from her.

I retorted in a more stern voice, my words echoing back at me, "The five Ancianos have spoken and made him the leader of this hunting party."

I bit my tongue, realizing I had just said too much. And for some stupid reason, I doubled down and said, "I shouldn't have said that." Like a naive young child, Izzy also doubled down and asked, "Who are the five Ancianos?"

Izzy, I swear, made her eyes change colors and tilted her head, giving me a pointed-tooth smile. Sarah, seeing her partner's actions, mimicked it. They looked up at me with what I knew were not innocent puppy dog eyes. I tried to shrug them off. "I can't answer that question."

They asked another question, "Why are there five of them?"

I sighed, realizing there was no easy way out. "Fine. I will answer one question."

They said in unison, "Why us?"

"The five Ancianos told us to think outside the box to take on the new threat. So we did. Izzy," I looked at her, "Sarah," I turned my head to look at her. "Aligning with the Long Fangs was a calculated risk. Now I am overseeing your participation. While I'm starting to like the two of you, if I find that you're doing more harm than good to this group, I will deal with you accordingly."

The two demented puppies looked at each other, nodded, and seemed satisfied with the answer I provided.

Part 4.3 Izzy

Drengr's serious demeanor faded as he resumed his game face and spoke again. "Let's move. You two are presentable again," he said, motioning for us to follow. Sarah and I kept a reasonable distance as we heard the sounds of a nearby town. Drengr checked his gear, adjusting his gun belt and ensuring the snaps were fastened correctly. He then looked at us and instructed, "Check your gear, make sure the snaps over your guns are secure. Check your knives and your ammo, and put your gloves on. You don't want to touch those rounds barehanded."

I foolishly disregarded his advice and proceeded without listening. I quickly regretted it when I grabbed the ammunition and felt like I had grabbed a hot knife. I dropped it as fast as I had picked it up.

Drengr chuckled and picked up the round. "Don't touch the tips, kid. That's blessed silver. And I told you to put your gloves on." After that hiccup, I put my gloves on and he handed the round back to me.

I made sure the snap was over the gun's hammer when adjusting my belt. Drengr gave us a nod of approval and we set off towards the town. As we walked, I couldn't help but feel nervous about carrying a gun. It was a foreign feeling to me. I remembered the lessons I had learned from Fang and the other gunslinger, but I also remembered the mistake the latter had made that had resulted in a painful lesson for him.

Looking down at my gun, I noticed that Mrs. Everclear had carved a wolf into the handle. Sarah's gun had the same carving on hers. While I had given her a few lessons, guns were not something we had many of in the caves. We preferred hand-to-hand combat or claw-to-claw. Sarah was proficient with the gun, but she too preferred the physicality of combat.

Part 4.7 Sarah

After getting our new clothes right, we made our way into town. Our eyes were prone to changing color and sometimes literally glowing, which could draw unwanted attention. Xavier had the foresight to give Izzy and me tinted glasses and cowboy hats to hide our eyes and other features. For some reason, wearing them together made me feel childish and giddy. Izzy told me to calm down, but Drengr was frustrated because, apparently, being happy is a crime. Actually, it's because my eyes tend to glow purple when I'm happy, and I haven't learned to control it yet.

We entered the bustling livestock town, immediately noticing its liveliness. Gathering information was our priority, and we knew the best way was to hit up the local watering hole where the drinks flowed freely and the gossip flowed even freer.

Drengr led the way, instructing Izzy to go ahead with a few dollars to a different tavern where her people would congregate and listen to what the townsfolk were saying. I couldn't help but recall the last time she had gone drinking and the trouble that had ensued—it was Drengr who had shot her. Surprisingly, Izzy didn't seem to hold a grudge.

While Izzy was gathering intel at a different tavern, it was disheartening to see that this town had an "us and them" attitude.

Drengr and I headed to the marketplace to ask around about any recent livestock attacks, but not many people were willing to talk to us.

After getting brushed off repeatedly, we grew frustrated with the town's closed-off attitude. We decided to head to a pub. As we entered, I saw Izzy sitting at the far end, at a seat known as The Last Bar Stool. The bar itself was a masterpiece of polished wood—hard oak with a mirror-like finish. It was attended by a man about six feet tall, wearing a white button-down shirt with suspenders attached to black trousers. His dark maroon curly hair made him stand out, and he looked proud as he spun a glass in his grip, polishing it with his towel.

He glanced my way with a nod and a warm smile. I turned away as I heard the unmistakable mirth of Izzy. She was surrounded by three men who had a similar look—black trousers, button-up shirts, and suspenders. Two of them had to be twins.

Then I heard one of them speak, “You're saying a wee little thing like you can take down that bear? The same bear that's been tearing up Cochran’s cattle, including his prize bull, which easily weighs about a ton?”

One brother chimed in, “No, it didn't tear up that prized bull. It broke its neck, then chucked it.”

Izzy was about to speak but was unintentionally cut off by the other brother. “Oi, don't forget his pigs. He's up in arms about them big time.”

Drengr walked to the bar, and I assumed he was ordering drinks. I walked over to Izzy, and she scooted over absentmindedly to make room for me to sit with her.

The first gentleman who had spoken looked at me. “Ah, another one. Tell me, do you two have a knack for tall tales, or is there some truth to this bear business?”

His brother, the one who mentioned the pigs, nodded in agreement. “Aye, they say the beast is a fierce one, like something out of an old Irish legend. You lot sure you’re not spinning yarns?”

The third man, who had been quiet until now, leaned in, his voice low and conspiratorial. “You know, back in the old country, we had stories of creatures like this. The kind that’d give even the bravest a shiver. But here? Didn’t think we’d see the likes of it.”

Izzy, always quick on her feet, smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Well, gentlemen, sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction. And as for the bear, let’s just say we’ve got our ways of dealing with beasts.”

The men chuckled, clearly intrigued. The one with maroon curly hair behind the bar called out, “Paddy, Mick, Sean, leave the poor lass alone. She’s got more guts than half of ye lot.”

Drengr returned with a round of drinks, setting them down on the table. “Here’s to brave souls and wild tales,” he said, lifting his glass.

The first gentleman, Paddy, laughed heartily. “Sláinte! To brave souls and wild tales indeed. But do tell, have you really faced such a beast?”

Drengr smiled as he sipped his pint. "Why yes, I hunt things that like to hunt us," he said with a hint of pride.

Paddy leaned in, clearly intrigued. “Is that so? You must have some stories to tell, then.”

Drengr nodded, his smile widening. “Oh, I’ve got a few. Been hunting since I was a lad in Spain. Back there, we’ve got creatures you wouldn’t believe. Wolves the size of horses, boars with tusks like sabers.”

Mick, the second brother, looked impressed. “Sounds like you’ve seen your fair share of action. Ever face anything... out of the ordinary?”

Drengr’s eyes twinkled with a knowing look, but he kept his secrets close. “Let’s just say, not everything that goes bump in the night is a figment of the imagination. But those tales are best told with a strong drink in hand.”

Sean, the third man, chuckled. “Well, you’re in the right place for that. This town’s got plenty of strong drink and no shortage of wild stories.”

Izzy grinned, nudging me with her elbow. “Looks like we’ve found some good company, eh?”

I nodded, raising my glass. “To good company and the stories that keep us entertained.”

Drengr clinked his glass with ours, his voice deep and resonant. “To the hunt, and to those brave enough to face what lurks in the shadows.”

Drengr turned to Sean. “So, about this bear. How big is it, and has it hurt anyone?”

Sean looked back at him, his expression turning serious. “Aye, two nights ago it left a trail. Six men went after it into those woods. Only two came back, ripped up, and one carrying the other. The man that got carried in had a nasty bite—I ain't ever seen a bite like that. If you ask me,” Sean looked around conspiratorially, “it ain't no bear. It's too smart, and that ain't no bear bite.”

I glanced at Izzy. He had no idea how right he was.

I spoke up for the first time. “Sean, where did they take the man who was bitten?”

Sean smiled at me. “They took him to the doc.”

I tried to stay calm as I replied, “And where is that?”

Sean shrugged. “Don’t know. Never needed him. Still new to town,” he said as he stood and returned to the kitchen.

When it was just the three of us, Drengr looked at Izzy. “Good catch on this place, good intel. But now we have another problem.”

Izzy held her head, her expression troubled. “Yeah, a desert bit somebody. And now that person is turning. God knows about those other four men. If they're still alive out there and they turn, we'll have a serious problem.”

We did another lap of the town and finally got some solid information on where the doctor was located. But it was late now, and we had to wait until morning. I mean, we didn't have to, but The Last Stool looked to be having some kind of event going on.

We returned to the tavern where we stumbled upon two men in the middle of a fistfight, a crowd around them cheering them on, and Izzy couldn't resist the excitement. She darted towards a local to inquire about joining the fight. The local belittled her size but eventually directed her to the big guy in the corner who provided her with some extra clothes and bandages. Izzy then dragged me to a side room where she quickly removed her shirt and undergarments.

I stopped her. "Wow, Izzy, Jesus. If I'm flattered, but..." She rolled her eyes and said, "I need help binding. I'm fighting in a few minutes."

I dropped my jar as Drengr walked in, took one look at the situation, and immediately turned right back around.

"Is that a good idea?" I asked, concern evident in my voice.

She was over the moon. "Yes! I love bare-knuckle boxing. As fucked up as it was, my grandpa was a Mandingo fighter. Sad for them, happy for me—he was never defeated. It's fucked up, but I do like a good fight."

I nodded, understanding a bit more about her now. “Alright then, let’s get you ready.”

I helped her bind her chest and wrap her hands tightly. Her eyes gleamed with excitement and determination.

“You know,” she said as I finished wrapping her hands, “there’s something about a good fight that just gets the blood pumping. It’s like all the shit we’ve been through fades away for a bit, and it’s just you, your fists, or your claws, and the moment.”

She ran a hand through her short hair and wiggled and bounced in place, making sure her chest bindings were secure. She then explained that it was a twist on an English sport called bare-knuckle boxing. Having fought in some towns after the war, she knew how to control her healing, but only to a degree. After all, she wasn't an apex predator, and this was just training for her.

We walked back out into the main room, where the crowd was still buzzing with energy. Izzy headed towards the ring, her movements confident and purposeful. The spectators laughed as Izzy confidently stepped into the fight space. The guy she was meant to fight scoffed and told her, “Get out of here, this is a man's sport.” Izzy, speaking in a hyper-excited voice, taunted him back, “What, afraid to get your ass kicked by a little old girl?”

As others in the room looked closely at her, they pointed out that she wasn't built like a normal girl and noticed the scars on her back. Some of the spectators began to make racist remarks, but they were quickly told to leave their hate outside. One burly man stepped forward and shouted, “We don’t tolerate that kind of talk here. Let her fight!”

Izzy taunted again, “Are we going to talk or fight?” and started to bounce and rock in place, her eyes glinting with anticipation. The other guy started to walk towards her, and she offered her fist to tap. The other fighter hesitated for a moment, then tapped her fist and stepped back, putting his guard up.

The room grew silent as the crowd sensed the tension building. Izzy’s opponent circled her, sizing her up. She smirked, her stance relaxed but ready. The spectators leaned in, eager to see how this unconventional match would play out.

Drengr shifted uncomfortably. “Is it really fair, that man stepping into a ring with a lycanthrope? She can heal as fast as he does damage to her, if not faster. So, is anyone betting on this? 'Cause it'd be foolish not to.”

I laughed. “Wait, are you okay with her participating in a fighting contact sport because of her unfair advantage, or are you not okay with it and hiding it?”

Drengr scoffed. “I'm not okay with it, but she's going to do whatever she wants. So, might as well profit from it. This gear isn't cheap.”

As Izzy demonstrated her fighting skills, it was clear that size didn't matter when it came to her. With her arms tucked in, she lunged forward, catching her opponent off guard. A powerful blow landed behind his ear and on his jaw, leaving him seeing stars for a moment. In his dazed state, Izzy struck again with a knee to his gut, pushing him back to create space. The man began coughing and struggled to catch his breath. It was apparent that underestimating Izzy in a fight was a big mistake.

The room fell silent as Izzy's opponent crumpled under her fists. The man who had been hurling racial slurs was quickly thrown out by the bartender, who shouted, "This is an Irish pub, you eejit! We don't give a dryshite about her color!" The room erupted in cheers, and I turned my attention back to the fight just in time to see Izzy take back-to-back hits to the face. Despite this setback, she got back up and laughed it off, further fueling the crowd's excitement.

Izzy's laughter unsettled her opponent, who rushed towards her. She rolled and got behind him, grabbing and pulling him down. As she wrapped her arm around his neck, he leaned forward, tossing Izzy over him. She landed hard on her back but quickly rolled to avoid a straight punch that made a loud thunk as it hit the ground.

Izzy quickly got back on her feet and charged towards her opponent, tackling him to the ground. She mounted him and landed ferocious blows, the sickening smacking sounds echoing through the tavern. After three hard hits, she asked him if he surrendered. Begrudgingly, the man gave up, his face a bloody mess with swollen, meaty flesh. His left eye was already swollen shut.

The tavern erupted in cheers and applause after witnessing Izzy's seemingly surprising victory. However, it was clear that her thirst for violence wasn't sated yet. She proceeded to engage in three more fights, stringing her opponents along before unleashing a flurry of fists, feet, and knees. Despite her impressive skills, Izzy didn't emerge unscathed. She took some ferocious blows, resulting in a blackened left eye, a split lip, and possibly some cracked ribs.

As with all good things, Drengr eventually appeared and called an end to Izzy's fights. Despite being bombarded with drinks and making a good amount of money from participating in the bouts, it was time to move on and continue our investigation.

Drengr eyed Izzy's swollen cheek and split lip, clearly irritated. "You know you can actively control your healing ability. Why don't you just fix your damned face?" he asked, clearly frustrated. Izzy, who was feeling a bit full of herself after her impressive display in the fights, smirked and replied, "If I heal myself completely, anyone who saw the fights would know something was up. Plus, a little bruising never hurt anyone."

I couldn't help but release a laugh at Izzy's words and almost fell over laughing. Drengr, clearly not amused, said in a low voice, "Bruising is exactly that, a sign that you were hurt." His serious tone brought our attention back to the gravity of the situation. We needed to focus on finding and stopping whatever was attacking the livestock and the people of this town.

Izzy's bravado had momentarily lightened the mood, but Drengr's reminder sobered us. We needed to gather more information and come up with a plan of action.

Izzy walked out of the pub, doing a little dance. Walking into the middle of the road, she froze her eyes turned to their glowing brown gold and glowing. “I smell fresh blood and it isn’t from the pub.”