Tera Childs - Sweet Venom

“I like it.” His mouth quirks into a dimpled smile. “Makes you look tough.”

His pale eyes are so close, I can see the fringe of light brown around the pupil. I’m surrounded by the faint, after-practice remains of his cologne—

A door slams down the hall and I jump back. The movement jars my muscles, and a dull ache radiates through my body.

Thane appears in the living room, a scowl on his face. One brow lifts. He asks Milo, “Homework?”

“Right,” Milo says cheerfully.

As they settle in at the dining table to do their assignments, I sink back into the soft couch. I could use a long soak in a hot bath—the tub in the master bath is humongous and has been calling to me ever since we moved in. But for right now, I’m content to sit here, with two of my favorite boys just a few feet away, and daydream about what might have happened if Thane took longer showers.

“Come on,” Gretchen shouts, standing over me like a hovering drill sergeant while I struggle with sit-up number forty-seven out of the fifty she has ordered me to do.

I manage to touch my elbows to my knees just before my stomach muscles give out completely. I slam back to the floor, my arms flopping out to the sides.

“Three more.” She leans down over me and grabs my hands, stuffing them back behind my head. “You can do it.”

“I can’t,” I pant. “I’m done.”

“You’re not done.” She moves around to my feet, kneels down, and braces my ankles. “You can’t give up if a Teumessian fox is chasing you down Market Street, and you can’t give up now.”

“Fine,” I huff.

Focusing all my energy on getting my elbows to my knees, I manage two more. My muscles are shaking and I can already imagine the cramps I’ll have later. The thought of doing one more is just inconceivable.

“Last one,” Gretchen cheers.

I flop my head back and forth, incapable of arguing out loud.

“If you make it,” she says, “I’ll tell you what I learned about Milo today.”

What? With a surge of hidden strength, I force my torso up, barely reach my knees, and then fall back with a thud.

“What?” I gasp. “What about Milo?”

“Nothing.” Gretchen jumps to her feet. “I just thought that might motivate you.”

Oh, unfair. “If my body wasn’t all wet-noodly right now, I’d throw something at you.”

Gretchen laughs, a big, full laugh that I don’t think she lets out very often. I smile and am relieved to discover that my cheek muscles don’t ache. That’s something.

“Here,” Gretchen says, extending a hand to help me up. “Let’s go refuel.”

I let her haul me to my feet, barely contributing anything to the effort. Just as I’m fully upright, I catch a foul smell. Like the stink of melting tires.

“Ugh,” Gretchen says.

“You smell it too, huh?”

“The burned rubber?” When I nod, she says, “It’s a satyr.”

“A satyr?” I repeat.

“Basically a man with a horse’s tail and donkey ears.” She rolls her head, like she’s working kinks out of her neck. “They’re not usually the mean and nasty type, but sometimes they’re tricky.”

I follow her as she stomps out of the training room and shrugs into her leather jacket. Monster-hunting time.

“Oh.” I’m a little relieved that my grueling physical training is over for the day, but sad that I’m going to lose out on some time with Gretchen. We’re still getting to know each other, and I like hanging out with her.

I grab my backpack off the floor. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Why?” She spins back to face me. “You’re coming with.”

I can’t help grinning. “Really?”

Then it hits me. I’m going on my first real monster hunt. My stomach turns. And doesn’t stop turning. The whole way from Gretchen’s loft to the strip of beachfront condos where the smell is originating, I feel like I’m going to be sick. Gretchen’s driving doesn’t help, either.

“Here,” she says, pulling up onto the sidewalk in front of a narrow walkway between two of the buildings. “Put these on.”

She hands me what looks like a pair of wide leather bracelets, only they don’t feel like leather. “What are they?”

“Kevlar wrist cuffs,” she answers without explanation. She nods at the walkway. “The satyr’s just at the other side of this building.”

Getting attacked by cobra lady—a basilisk hybrid, Gretchen calls her—was bad enough, but at least it came as a surprise. I didn’t know what was coming, so I didn’t worry myself into a state of freak-out beforehand.

Now I’ve had the whole drive to play out scenarios in my head. None of them end well.

“I don’t think I can do this,” I tell Gretchen. “I’m—I haven’t had enough training.”

“You’ve had more than I did when I took down my first beast.”

“But you’re you,” I exclaim. “You’re strong and brave and I’m . . . not.”

Gretchen lifts her sunglasses and looks me in the eye. “I know you’re scared,” she says, “but there’s nothing to worry about.”

I bite my lips and shake my head. She can’t possibly know what it’s like to be this terrified.

“You know I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” I say. That’s not my main concern, though. I’m more worried about letting Gretchen down, about discovering that I can’t do this and that I’m not fit for my destiny.

“Besides,” she says, patting me on the knee as she slides her glasses back into place, “satyrs are cowards. They run more than they fight.”

She climbs out of the car before I can argue more. Obviously she has confidence in me; otherwise she would have sent me home instead of bringing me to the fight. And her confidence gives me some too.

I follow her out onto the sidewalk, snapping the Kevlar cuffs onto my wrists as I go. “Tell me what to do.”

“It’s at the other end of this path,” she explains, nodding down the walkway. “You stand at this end, blocking its escape, and I’ll come at it from the other side.”

“Okay.” I nod, trying to give myself courage. “I can do that.”

Gretchen gives me an encouraging smack on the shoulder before taking off around the building at a run. I stand at the end of the walkway, feet spread and knees bent. I’m not sure what I expect to happen, but I want to be prepared.

It all happens so quickly.

A figure moves to the end of the path, silhouetted against the late-afternoon sun. At first I think it’s Gretchen. Until I see the tail.

He turns, looks my direction, and starts running. Right at me. I tense my muscles, ready to block his escape route.

But instead of trying to escape past me, he launches into the air, knocking me off my feet and pinning me to the ground. The breath whooshes out of me and I can’t even scream for help.

“I’m sorry,” he says, giving me an apologetic look. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

Like what? I shake my head vigorously. I don’t understand.

Then I see it—a dagger clutched in his fist.

“No,” I gasp.

“I—”

His weight is jerked off me as Gretchen tackles him. I suck in deeper and deeper breaths, trying to get my wind back.

“What the Hades are you doing?” she demands, practically snarling in the satyr’s face. “You guys usually run.”

“I know, I know,” he says, his face crumpling like he might actually cry. “I didn’t want to do it, but—”

“But what?” Gretchen shouts, shoving against his shoulders.

“The bounty,” he wails. “I couldn’t resist the bounty.”

She leans very close to his face. “What. Bounty?”

“Word is going around,” he explains, “that any creature who brings back a huntress will earn freedom from the abyss.”

Gretchen jerks back.

A bounty on our heads? I suddenly remember basilisk lady saying something about me earning her freedom. At the time I was too freaked out to process it, but this must be what she meant.

“Who ordered it?” Gretchen asks.

“I don’t know,” the satyr whines. “I swear. It might just be a rumor for all I know.”

“Rumor or not,” she says, smiling as her fangs descend, “you’re not going to be the one to find out.”

One second she’s biting him in the big furry ear, the next he’s gone.

“This is not good,” she says.

“Maybe it is just a rumor,” I suggest hopefully.

She pushes to her feet and brushes the gravel dust off the knees of her cargo pants. “Considering all the craziness hitting the fan right now,” she says, reaching down to pull me up without waiting for me to ask for help, “I’m going to have to go with not a rumor.”

“Yeah,” I say as I follow her to the car. “Probably not.”

She guns her engine and takes off before I can buckle my seatbelt. Definitely not good.

Gretchen

I’m sorry, Miss Sharpe,” the assistant principal says, “but all the other first-period science classes are full.”

“There has to be something else,” I say, verging on desperate. “Like an art class or maybe choir.”

I can’t sing, but anything would be better than being stuck in first period with Nick every day. I’ve skipped two more classes, forging Ursula’s signature on notes to clear things with the front office. But any more misses and the administration is going to start poking its nose into our business.

They probably won’t like the idea that I’ve been living alone for almost two weeks, or that before that my only guardian was a woman who found me on the street. Authorities tend to frown on things they can’t file into a neat little box.

Avoiding Nick isn’t worth the kind of trouble that would bring. The best solution is for me to transfer out of Mrs. Knightly’s class.