Free The Iron Hunt by Marjorie M. Liu Page B

And then his hair lashed out, faster than I could
blink, and I felt a sting against my face in the sweet spot between my jaw and
ear. I flinched, dancing back. Reached up and felt no blood—just an indent, a
small series of lines.
    Zee
slammed his fist into the sidewalk. The demon bowed his head and stepped
sideways into rain and shadow, the tips of his sharp toes digging trenches into
the concrete.
    “We
are yours,” he whispered. “But, Hunter, you are ours , as well.”
    “No,”
I began to say, but it was like watching a living abyss fold itself into one
breath, one hollow. The demon moved—and disappeared. Vanished. So completely it
was as though the world had opened its mouth and swallowed him.
    I
stared, my eyes nothing more than two holes burning in my head. I looked at
Zee, Aaz, and Raw. Heads bowed, staring at their feet. Dek and Mal were silent,
quivering. Sorrow. Shame. I could feel it in them, and it hurt. Broke my heart.
I wanted to cry again, but there was no time. I had no place for tears.
    “What
just happened?” I whispered, but Zee said nothing. None of the boys would look
at me. It hurt more than I could have imagined.
    I
touched his shoulder. “You refused to fight for me. You betrayed me. I want to
know why.”
    “Sorry,”
Zee breathed. “So sorry, Maxine. From the heart, sorry.”
    I
brushed my hand across my eyes. More people were coming down the sidewalk; cars
driving fast along the slick road. Music pounded from the rental shop, and the
smells from the restaurants, the grease—
    I
bent over, gagging. Dek and Mal crooned in my ear. I turned back to the Jeep,
numb, fumbling for the keys. My head pounded. Tears leaked from my eyes. Zee
touched my knee, and I shook him off.
    I got
in the car, started the engine, and pulled away without waiting to see if the
boys followed. For the first time in my life, I did not care.

CHAPTER 6
    IF I
had been thinking clearly, it might have occurred to me that a gala event at
the Seattle Art Museum would be a black-tie affair.
    But I
was preoccupied. Mostly with hot shame. I felt useless, worthless. I was alive,
but not because of anything I had done. The demon had not wanted to hurt
me—simple as that—and the idea that I had been at his mercy made me sick. I
could not even blame the boys. This was my fault. I had become complacent.
Always with Zee and the others at my back, knowing they would take care of me,
best as they could.
    False
confidence. My delusion. My mother had always worked so hard: martial arts,
weapons training, games of strategy and deception. Keeping her mind and body
sharp. She had trained me, too—but she had also been dead for five years, and I
had let things lapse. I was rusty. I was an idiot. Relying on the boys was one
thing—being lazy, something else entirely.
    The
boys sat very quietly in the backseat. No music. No fidgeting. I glanced back
once or twice and found them with their hands folded in their small laps,
little clawed feet dangling above the floor. Ten minutes of listening to them
sniffle made it impossible to stay angry. Hurt, maybe, but I could not hold a
grudge. Not with them.
    “I
need answers,” I finally said. Zee made a small hesitant sound that was
distinctly uncomfortable, and I added, “You owe me that much. I thought I was
going to die.”
    “No,”
Zee said firmly. “Not death.”
    “I
thought we were family.”
    “Thick
as thieves.”
    “Then what is going on?”
    “Can’t,”
Zee whispered, and a moment later melted from the shadows into the passenger
seat beside me. He clutched his sharp knobby knees to his chest.
    I
searched his gaze. “Why?”
    Small
fingers tugged the bottom of my jacket. Raw and Aaz squirmed around the
gearshift, under my arms, into my lap. Made it hard to drive, but I did not
have the heart to push them away. Zee hugged his knees a little tighter.
“Secrets, Maxine.”
    “You
promised not to tell me what’s going on?”
    “Promised
not to tell anyone .” His voice