James Axler – Stoneface

“You’re not so unique after all,” Krysty said.

A smile drifted onto the man’s angular face. “Very true. My name is Lars Hellstrom.” His tone was much more relaxed. “Sorry about the coldness of the reception, but we can’t be too careful with all the anarchist crazies and night-creeping Indians running loose these days.”

“I agree,” Ryan replied. He could hear the person behind him breathing. The pressure of the gun bore was still against the back of his neck, and he considered disarming the bastard, but Hellstrom raised a languid hand.

“Hold on that, Fleur. I’ve scanned him. He’s not an enemy. At least, not yet.”

The pressure of the gun barrel was removed, and hearing the rhythmic clacking of boot heels on wood, Ryan turned slightly.

The tallest woman he had ever seen walked slowly around him, giving him the briefest of appraising glances. A black .380 Beretta 85-F dangled from her right hand. She looked to be only half an inch shy of Ryan’s six feet, two inches. Her face might have been beautiful if not for the grave, joyless expression she wore, the X scar on her forehead and the gold-embroidered black patch covering her left eye.

There was an air of dangerous assurance about her, of knowing precisely what her abilities were and how superior they were to others. However, that quality, coupled with her manner of dressbrown leather jacket, skintight jeans and knee-high black bootsdidn’t detract from the femininity exuding from the smoothly chiseled features, one cobalt blue eye and the luxuriant waist-length fall of dark mahogany hair. A fourteen-inch bowie knife was scabbarded crosswise across her belly.

The woman squirmed into a comfortable position on Hellstrom’s lap, and he absently fondled her upper thigh. “This is Fleur, my warlord. Looks like you and she have something in common, Cawdor, at least in the old glassie department. You both fall a little short of a twenty-twenty vid.”

Fleur impaled Ryan with a blue glare. “I’ve never found it a problem,” he said.

“You’re a very adaptable fellow,” Hellstrom replied.

Addressing the armed X-men, he declared, “Blasters down. It’s secure for the moment.”

Ryan made introductions all around and removed his hand from the SIG-Sauer, but went back to it when a commotion broke out behind him. Several sec men were dragging Zadfrak’s limp form into the saloon. The backswing of the bat-winged doors dealt him a nasty crack on the head. He cried out, and Mildred made a move to intervene.

Krysty put a hand on her arm. “No,” she breathed. “Great danger here.”

Mildred subsided, but she favored the sec men with a ferocious glare.

Zadfrak was dropped roughly to the wooden floor, six feet in front of Hellstrom. Fleur arose from Hellstrom’s lap and leaned against the back of his chair.

Crooking a long finger, Hellstrom gazed down at Zadfrak and said, “Come here.”

The man tried to rise, but the meager reserves of strength contained in his diseased body were exhausted.

“On your belly, then,” Hellstrom said. “By returning here after you were cast out, your status is less than an animal’s.”

Sickened, more than a little angered, Ryan watched as Zadfrak slowly and laboriously crawled toward Hellstrom’s feet. His breath came in harsh, aspirated gasps.

“Why are you treating him like that?” Mildred asked, voice full of fury. “He’s sick.”

Without looking at her, Hellstrom snapped, “Mind your tongue. You have no idea of our Family’s traditions.”

“Agreed,” Ryan said. “But the question still stands. Why are you humiliating this man?”

“You’re a very cocky cat,” Fleur said. She had a pleasant, melodic voice, despite the overtone of menace in it. “But guess what can chill you?”

“Another cliche?”

Fleur rushed from the back of the chair, cheeks reddening, hand raising the Beretta. Ryan drew the SIG-Sauer in one smooth motion. He had the bore on a direct line with her eye patch just as she centered the Beretta on his.

Hellstrom cried out, in a surprisingly pettish voice, “Freeze on that, Fleur, Cawdor!”

The woman froze, but she didn’t lower her blaster. She reminded Ryan of a ravening beast of prey, preparing to spring. With a self-indulgent chuckle, Hellstrom reached up and drew Fleur back by the wrist.