Page 73 of Ashes of Honor

Caution was my first priority as I hunted down my prey. The stares of the citizens of Fresno were piercing. They knew who I was. Everyone did here. But more importantly, they knew who I belonged to now, and her wrath was far more terrifying than my previous owner.

The secret of switching sides was known to the residents of this compound. And judging by the way they shrank into shadows or quickly looked away, the unspoken rule was clear: don’t let the Bloodhound find out.

I moved through the narrow streets, keeping my steps measured and my expression neutral. The last thing I needed was to startle Alaric into running. Not yet.

A child darted out of a side alley, her laughter loud and grating as she chased after a loose ball. She got distracted, the smile dripping with drool at the sight of Suckerpunch at my side. The little girl made a beeline for us. Her mother snatched her arm and pulled her back before her gaze flickered up and landed on me. The blood drained from her face. Something flickered in the beady eyes that hardened in recognition. I stared back at her, eyes trained on her as I stepped around them, not breaking my stride.

Fresno was no stranger to monsters. It just so happened that I wasn’t the scariest one here anymore.

Soldiers lingered against the older infrastructure of Fresno—their quadrant of the city. The divide here already existed prior to Covert’s presence. Other side of the tracks kind of thing. Soldiers on one side, civilians on the other. Their families often resided somewhere in between—hence the woman and her child, walking close enough to feel the tension. I could sense her eyeson my back still. Then it clicked. It became clear once I fully took in my surroundings.

No women. Fresno’s military had female soldiers up until now. I allowed myself one quick check over my shoulder. They were gone.Shit.

Ducking into the nearest building, I signaled Suckerpunch to get lost until I emerged. The stench of stale beer and weak moonshine slapped me in the face. A tavern.Fucking fantastic.

It was as decent a hideout as any. Anyone here was already plastered beyond belief. All but the bartender, her exhaustion written in every motion as she slid a cup my way.

“One of two options and this ain’t the worst of it.”

I pulled out one of the coins Salem Territory traded with and pushed it across the table without a word. She took it and made her way down the bar toward the drunkest of the bunch. He rambled on incoherently, and she tossed her dark hair over her shoulder, pretending to be intrigued.

“All I’m sayin’, man. Listen, listen.” A drunkard seated beside me slapped his buddy on the shoulder, nearly spilling his drink as he gave him a shake. “They’re already prisoners. Life could be worse than a little jab in the arm to figure out where they belong.” He downed his drink in one long gulp, his face reddening further as he slammed the empty glass onto the counter.

“Yeah, but … you hear what happened to the ones who didn’t pass?” his buddy muttered, his voice low but not low enough. “Got processed, sent to … I don’t even know where. They say the program’s cleaning things up, but …”

The man cut himself off, glancing around as if the walls might be listening.

“From what I hear, Covert Province’s got it pretty nice. Electricity, air conditioning, real order—not this make-believe shit we’ve been playing at for years. ‘Purification,’ they’re callin’it,” the first man said with a grim chuckle. “Makes you wonder if they’re cleanin’ anything or just takin’ out the trash.”

I dipped my head, hiding my face. The ink lining my body already gave me away, but they were too far gone to notice. Hopefully, they’d chalk the tilt of my head up to me being amused by their drunken rambling.

“Yeah, well. Better hope the people of Fresno’s not next,” the other muttered. “San Jose was just the start. If they got their eyes on here … lot of us aren’t passing a damn purity test.”

The bartender returned, her tray of empty glasses clinking faintly. Torture flickered in her eyes when she glanced at me—a soul silently begging for help. She leaned across the counter, twirling her hair in a halfhearted act of flirting as she whispered, “You get what you needed?”

I gave her a curt nod, my mind already spinning with the weight of what had been revealed.

“You don’t write,you don’t call,” Alaric greeted the second I stepped out of the tavern. His voice carried the kind of fake warmth people used to smooth over tension.

“Are there working power lines I’m unaware of?” I replied, not bothering to turn around as he approached.

He chuckled dryly, swaggering to my side and extending a hand for a shake. “If we did, you’d be the first to know.”

“Is that right?”

Stark white teeth flashed across his forgettable face. “Found your dog.”

“Did you find him, or did Suckerpunch find you because I was ready to talk?” My tone was razor-sharp. We walked and kept his pace. “Anyway, I’m famished. You heading to lunch?”

He waved a hand, the gesture casual, though his eyes flicked to me, gauging my mood. “Funny you should ask. Melissa made some sandwiches back at the house. I’d be grateful if you could join me.”

Melissa. His wife. The same woman who’d once begged us for Henry’s help to deliver their baby via C-section, back when survival meant setting pride aside. Funny how quickly they used what they needed and turned when it suited them.

I offered a faint smirk but said nothing, following him as we crossed a few streets. He stopped in front of a tidy little house and gestured toward the door.

“You’ll have to forgive me. Georgie seems to have an allergy to the fur,” he said apologetically.

I turned to Suckerpunch, resting a hand on his neck. “Stay.” He huffed, but obeyed.

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