Page 21 of The Satyr's Guilt
“Dude, I have nothing but good ideas.”
What a lie. Hitting on the human femaletonight had been a barking mad notion.
Ram hightailed it to the gateway. He tappedhis D-chip.
****
The Whorl messed with hisbrains. What with the free-floating thing along with the stomachflips, he fought the urge to upchuck.
Leaping out of the portal in New Orleans,Ram fell into a crouch. All clear. He thudded across the garage tothe door into the alley. Stepping through it, he was in the open. Abullet whizzed by his shoulder. Another.
Pop. Pop.
He dove to the right, sliding on trash as hetook cover behind the dumpster.
WTF. The shooters are still here. How luckycan I get?
Having jumped from Scath with his dirks in achest holder and two short tactical swords strapped to his back, hewas underpowered for facing off against guns. But you dance withthe female you bring to the party. Well, he didn’t. At least not ifa better offer came along.
With alley shit on his clothes after hisslide behind the dumpster, he was happy he had ditched his silkshirt and Merino wool pants.
A deep-voiced male shouted an order. “Land asolid shot, assholes. Do not lose the mark. If this one dies orescapes, I’ll shoot you myself. Orders are, we bring in a liveone.”
A live one?
Ram hoped they’d venture closer. If theydid, he could whammy them as he did the hellhounds … if they didn’tplant a bullet into his heart first. Depending on their firepower,they could shred it. Shredding could be bad. A repair to the heartrequired some material to remain intact. And it was his secondfavorite organ. His favorite being his dick.
Is that an organ? It should be.
They stayed put, firing at him.
Ping. Ping.
More shots to the dumpster.
He couldn’t survive getting his headseparated from his body, either. And fire. The last two seemedunlikely in this action.
He peeked around the dumpster.
Ping. Ping. Ping.
He pulled his head back.
He could run faster than the approachinghumans could shoot. Maybe. It was possible he’d make it back to theportal without too many holes in his flesh. That move would get himno intel on these assholes, though.
He could speed behind them one by one,taking them out. Again, he might end up with a lot of pits in hisskin. Or the whole shredded-heart thing.
Best bet was his satyr camouflage. He wouldcloak and sneak up behind the attackers. As a Firebrand with anextra boost of power, he was strong enough to hold the illusion forhours, unlike most of his kind who were good for maybe fifteenminutes tops. He could slit a throat before they could react.Trouble was, he wanted to snag one to question. Normally, he couldhide another being with his personal body fog if they held still.Chances were good these assholes would put up a bit of fight.
Concealed in his satyr mist, Ram drifted outfrom behind the dumpster. He inched along the side of the old brickbuilding.
The three males stalked toward the dumpsterlike gunslingers in an old Western, spread out, guns drawn,blasting bullets. Once they determined he wasn’t there, theyscratched their heads, exchanging bewildered glances.
“Holy shit,” the human male with the deepvoice yelled. He pointed toward a door on one side of the alley.“Run. This guy’s like the Invisible Man.”
The sprinter wore a shabby leather jacket,jeans, and black boots. Messy blond hair stuck out under thebaseball cap. Navy blue. Orange brim.
As the male fired off a few wild shots, notknowing where to aim, he beat it toward the door, his buddies hoton his tail.
