Salt Storm: The Salted Series: Episodes #31-35 by Galvin, Aaron (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

the opposing Leper shook off the newer, smaller opponent easily enough. Grabbing the back of Vasili’s Selkie coat, the Leper threw the little man away and sent him skidding across the ice.

Henry Boucher seized the moment, descending upon the little Russian before Vasili had come to a stop.

Too far away to stop the coming blow, Lenny shouted in vain. “Henry, don’t!”

If Henry Boucher heard him, he made no acknowledgement. In two moves, the Frenchman whirled his blade around, the tip of it pointed down at his smaller foe. Then, Henry drove both his knee and his dagger into Vasili’s chest to pin him to the icy floor.

Vasili’s arms and legs seized for a moment, then slumped against the ice with Henry still atop him. In an instant, the little Selkie’s face relented of the grimness that Vasili had carried in life. The Russian Selkie never moved again, but Henry Boucher plucked his dagger free and rose to continue his fight.

Lenny howled in equal parts rage and pain at the loss of another he had fought and bled with. Anger drove him on and away from Brutus’s side then, Lenny hurtling toward Henry Boucher with the thought to end his former crewmate. He called upon all the loathsome memories and encounters he’d had with Henry since they were assigned together. From Henry threatening him at the Indianapolis Zoo, to their fight outside the jail where Garrett Weaver was taken, and the bout in Crayfish Cavern. Lenny thought of Henry’s abandoning both he and Declan in Røyrkval too as he closed the distance between them.

But Henry Boucher’s life was not Lenny Dolan’s to claim.

At the loss of Vasili, Tom Weaver had come roaring back. Nearer to Henry’s position than Lenny, the elder Weaver ran at his friend’s killer too.

Henry swiped at the oncoming behemoth of a man, only for Tom Weaver to block and bat the attempt away. Grabbing hold of the Frenchman, the feral strength that Tom Weaver used was matched by the speed and cunning that Henry Boucher countered with. As Tom drove him back toward the crematorium wall, Henry allowed himself to fall, grabbing Tom in likewise fashion, using the larger man’s momentum to carry him over and dip him face-forward as well.

Henry used their shared speed and impact to his advantage too, flipping Tom Weaver on the flat of his back to steal the larger man’s wind away. The Frenchman arched over, then, rolling so that he landed atop his opponent’s chest. Snarling, he raised his dagger to plunge it into Tom Weaver’s heart, the same as he had done for Vasili.

Lenny struck Henry before he could. The young Dolan threw all his weight into a diving attack, driving his shoulder against his former crewmate, knocking Henry from his perch atop Tom Weaver.

Move! Move! Move! Lenny’s instincts and Declan’s teachings screamed at him as both he and Henry landed together on the cavern floor. Lenny rolled away the moment he could manage, the wind of Henry’s dagger strike to follow missing him by inches. Wheeling, Lenny lost his footing when trying to stand.

A vice-like grip snatched his ankle then, yanking him back.

Lenny angled around, determined to face Henry if only so that he might make as brave an end as Declan Dolan had done.

For a moment, time seemed to slow.

Lenny’s lip curled at the sight of Henry looking down on him, his gaze like a soulless demon, his weapon raised to deal the killing blow.

And then Tom Weaver returned, smashing a rock against the side of Henry’s face and knocking him off of Lenny.

The vice-like grip released, Lenny gasped for air over and again. He was helped to his feet by Brutus and Jemmy T, both of their faces blood-streaked and dripping with sweat despite the surrounding cold. Scouting the area, Lenny’s chest pained at the sight of all the newly dead, both sides near decimated. And for what? Lenny thought, looking out over the pallets of stacked Selkie skins that cared nothing for which side had won. Blinking blood and sweat and grime from his eyes, Lenny used the sleeve of his suit to wipe the remains away.

The echo of constant knocking called him to turn and find the source, finding it in the form of a red-faced Tom Weaver battering a limp and defeated Henry Boucher into a meaty pulp. It took the strength of both Brutus and Jemmy T to haul Tom Weaver off and away from Lenny’s former crewmate. Even then, Henry Boucher did not rise.

Lenny had the thought, then, to wonder if the Frenchman had finally met his end.

Henry’s head lazed to the side, coughing and spitting blood. Still more poured forth from of his nostrils, the twisted angle of it leaving no doubt his nose was broken. His right eye was drenched in blood also. His left eye fluttered open, the iris searching in disbelief at Henry’s suffering loss. Like a newly-made zombie, Henry groaned in a weak attempt to roll over on his side and place his hands under him to rise and fight again.

Brutus met him before he could. With barely an ounce of his true strength, the larger Selkie nudged Henry in the ribs and rolled him to the flat of his back. “Tommy,” Brutus called out, even as he stepped clear of Henry’s reach in case the Frenchman feigned at a weakened state. “What do you want to do with him?”

Jemmy T spat, already fitting another bolt to his crossbow. “Let Jemmy T kill this one for you, eh, brudda? Aye, kill him and be done with it, yeah? Before him rally others to fight again.”

Aye, do it, Tommy, Lenny thought, his body aching with the hollow notion as Tom Weaver approached the fallen Leper. Kill him, so that none of us have to worry about Henry Boucher ever again.

His blade in hand, Tom stalked toward Henry. Kneeling without a word between them, he grabbed the hood of Henry’s Leper suit, then yanked up on it and dragged