Valknut: The Binding by Marie Loughin

electrical charge that
radiated through her hand and prickled up her arm like a column of
fire ants.
    Then Junkyard tackled the Ragman and Lennie
stumbled as his grip tore from her arm.
    Dazed, she straightened slowly, still seeing
those yellow eyes, full of alien malice. El Lobo—didn’t that mean
“wolf”? Like in her dream.
    The Ragman yelled somewhere nearby. There was
a loud smack, a fist striking flesh, and the thud of something
large hitting the ground. A knife bounced to her feet. She looked
at it stupidly, then scooped it up with a foggy idea of helping
Junkyard. But the Ragman was already flat on his back. Blood
streamed from his nose, and Junkyard’s booted foot pressed down on
his throat.
    Blood ran from Junkyard’s temple and smeared
his chin. He glared down at the Ragman, the whites showing around
his eyes. Mouth twisted in a snarl, he drew a harsh breath, ready
to bear down on the Ragman’s neck.
    Lennie shook off her stupor. “No, Junkyard!
You’ll kill him!”
    Junkyard didn’t look up. He was going to do
it. Lennie started toward him, but Jungle Jim got there first and
laid a hand on his arm.
    “Let it go, Dougie.”
    They stayed that way for a moment: Junkyard’s
foot pressing down on the Ragman’s neck, Jim’s hand on Junkyard’s
arm. Then the wildness drained from Junkyard’s face. His shoulders
slumped as if he were the one who had been defeated. He released
the gangbanger and nudged him with his boot.
    “Get up,” he said dully.
    The Ragman lay as if still pinned, chest
heaving, looking up at Junkyard with wide, terror-filled eyes.
Brown eyes.
    Junkyard waved his hands as if shooing a fly.
“ Ya estuvo . It’s over. Go home.”
    Watching Junkyard suspiciously, the Ragman
scrambled to a safer distance before climbing to his feet. He
backed away, rubbing his throat. His smirk returned.
    “Pay now or pay later.” He shrugged,
grinning. “It’s all the same to El Lobo.”
    Irritation crossed Junkyard’s face. “I said
go!” He stomped a foot toward the Ragman, who jumped like a
startled dog and ran.
    Junkyard sighed and worked his jaw. Wincing,
he probed his bruised and bleeding temple. Reaching into an outer
pocket of his pack, he took out a wet wipe and dabbed at his
injury. Lennie watched, nervous about him all over again. He might
look harmless, but she would never forget how he took down that
streetwise punk so thoroughly.
    Still, she had been with him for more than
twelve hours, and he had done nothing but protect her.
    “Here.” She reached for the wipe. “Let me do
that. You can’t see.”
    “You might want to put that away, first.”
    She looked down and realized she still held
the open knife. The blade looked sharp enough to cut herself just
thinking about it. She tried to figure out how to close it,
fumbled, and let it drop to avoid slicing her thumb off. Junkyard
picked it up and folded the blade away, showing her how the
mechanism worked. To her surprise, he handed it back to her. She
held it between finger and thumb like a dead fish. “Aren’t these
illegal?”
    “Probably. Some places, anyway. But death is
more unpleasant than a little jail time.”
    She shook her head and tried to hand it back.
“No thanks—I’m more likely to cut myself than someone else.”
    His lip twitched. “Yeah, I know.” But he
closed her fingers on the weapon. “Take it. The threat alone might
be enough to stop a fight.”
    Under his firm touch, she realized her hands
still trembled. She met his eyes. “What you did to that guy—I’ve
never seen anything like that before. You saved my life. Twice,
now.”
    He reddened and looked away, withdrawing his
hand. “So bake me a cake when I get you back to your house. I like
chocolate.”
    An awkward silence followed, and he avoided
her eyes as she cleaned the blood off his face. She was on her
third wet wipe when Jungle Jim gave a yelp and bent close to the
ground.
    “Hot dog, Dougie! Lookit what I found.” He
scooped up the