Stars Gods Wolves by Dan Kirshtein (best classic books .txt) 📕

the familiar sting of unworthiness, still wondering if he was in over his head. Perhaps delivering packages and disappointing women was his only calling. With a shrug, he stepped away from the wall and grabbed his holster without looking.

It snapped up, being much lighter than the weight to which he was accustomed. His head jolted with the realization, seeing the empty holster in his hand. He groaned, knowing exactly where he left it, and knowing exactly who took the weapon.

He wasn’t angry she took it. He knew the rules they’d agreed upon: she’d take it when she was ready. In some strange way, he felt happy for her, even though it terrified him. He worried she felt too ready, too eager to wait for the opportune moment. She was in a prime position to do something stupid, and the pit in his stomach begged him to at least be there when she did it. He wasn’t sure if he could stop her, but he’d at least be able to say that he was there for her when she got herself killed.

The pilot activated the door and bolted out of it, nearly colliding with the large Waykind standing in the hall. Harper yelped, stopping his sprint by placing a hand on Ox’s large, furry arm.

Ox was a statue of fur: unwavering and solid. The only movement came from his eyes, which were soft and smiling. “Down the hall and turn right.”

Harper paused for a moment, looking at the Waykind. It seemed like anyone who glanced at Harper knew him, knew what he wanted, what language he spoke, and what girl he was interested in. Normally, it seemed invasive, but this was the first time it actually seemed helpful. He urged himself to deal with it later. “Thanks.” He put a closed fist onto Ox’s arm before dashing around him, following his directions.

The Waykind pursed his lips as he watched the pilot disappear into the long halls. “Malindrendrox: guider of souls, wielder of the elements, soldier of fortune,” he grumbled as his eyes dashed back to the doors behind him. “Babysitter.” He leaned on his staff as his head wobbled restlessly on his neck.

Gally was realizing how much she missed the sound of her heels clicking on the floor as she walked. How could one feel important without such noises following one’s footsteps? The environmental suit felt like a combination of a work uniform and pajamas, and it perpetuated that with each boring thump of its boots.

Her lip twisted in awkward discomfort as she looked to her left. Nitro insisted on them having an escort, but he didn’t seem to want to walk next to her. In fact, he made it a point to have Josie switch with him when it did occur. She wondered why, but not for long.

Her focus was, primarily, on one of the Eighth that was leading them down the hall. Its steps were the loudest through the metallic structure, as if a stark reminder that they were in charge. Yes, she very much missed her heels.

With this thought in mind, she clung to her purse. It wasn’t a large purse, just a small, black makeup bag that no longer carried any makeup. It was just unassuming enough for no one to comment on it. Gally played up the civilian damsel role rather well, and the doctors behind her, as well as their automaton escort, didn’t give it a second thought.

She did, however, receive a curious look from Josie. The mercenary glanced at the bag and then made eye contact with her. Gally did not flinch in that moment; she did not look away or carry her usual vulnerabilities. She returned the look with a firm nod and a wry grin. Josie looked surprised, then almost impressed.

Doctor Collier, who was walking next to Boomer, was heard from the back. “I don’t suppose you know what all this is about?” he inquired earnestly. When their escort did not respond, Gally rolled her eyes. She wondered what, exactly, was the factor that made Rook so different from the rest of the Eighth. Getting the general to speak to them wasn’t difficult; in fact, getting it to stop talking was the tricky part.

The sound of running boots could be heard behind them, and Gally watched their escort turn around. It nearly raised its rifle, and was met by Josie and Boomer raising theirs in return. “Easy, easy,” Nitro called out tensely. “He’s with us.” Both parties lowered their rifles and reluctantly carried on.

Gally didn’t acknowledge Harper’s arrival to the group, for her own reasons. She didn’t want the thought of him to get in the way of killing Rook. She also didn’t want anyone in the group to know she was beginning to care for him. Feeling his eyes on the back of her neck was like hearing her mother in her head, and it made her knuckles turn white.

To her surprise, she felt conflicted. Up until recently, the only thing she saw—the only thing that mattered—was killing Rook. Why, then, were Harper’s words pinging in her mind? Whatever happened after this didn’t matter, she told herself. Nothing mattered except this. She couldn’t go back to her normal life, not after what Rook had taken from her. By the time they’d come to the end of the hall, she was burning with rage.

The guard slid open the door to reveal a large, empty room with Rook at its center. The Eighth stood straight, hands behind its back, an eerily welcoming smile on its face. It turned to greet them.

Gally and Josie entered first, and the others followed. Once they’d all come in, compartments within the floor opened up, and a large table equipped with chairs on each side ascended from them. “Please,” Rook motioned to the newly placed table, and the crew took their seats.

Gally noticed Harper rush past the others and take the seat between her and Josie. Josie’s annoyed expression was ignored by the pilot as he focused