Page 20 of They Call Me Blue

I tune them out, having heard the watered-down tales a dozen times before.

Focusing on the cooking meat, I let the cadence of their voices lull me into something almost soothing.

The high of the hunt is gone now, and the worst of my anger is gone with it, replaced with an exhaustion that makes my bones feel like lead.

“What’s her story?” Chest Wound asks, snapping me out of my haze.

No one answers—not right away. Eventually, Julian fills the awkward silence. “Two years ago, I found Arden half feral in the Lycean Marshes, fighting off a twenty-foot mudsnake with her bare hands.”

“I was hunting it,” I correct, “and I had a knife.” I pat the blade the spotter gave me, and Julian chuckles like I said something funny.

“I’d never seen a child fight like that. I knew then, I had to have her in my unit.”

Child.

I bristle at the insult.

“I wasn’t a child then, and I’m not one now,” I hiss, sitting up straight. Unfastening my blade, I stab it into the swamp dog’s hind leg. Cartilage pops as I twist it free at the joint, the calluses on my hands thick enough I barely feel the searing heat.

“My mind is twenty-one,” I explain to the new guy. “It’s my body that hasn’t caught up yet.”

I bite into tender muscle, and grease dribbles down my chin. Seeing the look of absolute disgust on Chest Wound’s face, I flash him an open-mouthed smile—teeth still full of meat.

“You're twenty-one?” he asks.

“Last time I checked.” Swallowing, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand then swipe the jug of pisswater from the floor, belching loudly.

I relish the way his nose crinkles in response.

Being repulsive—feared—is far better than the alternative.

I’ve spent years building my reputation across the squads, ensuring no elf will think of me as anything less than monstrous.

As for the childlike features that haven’t vanished? Well, that’s an added bonus.

No one can breed me if I’m not fertile.

“I thought all elves reached their Age of Majority by eighteen,” Chest Wound says, scanning me like I’m some kind of mutant.

“Most do,” Julian interjects. “Some never reach it at all. What happened to Arden is rare, but her size allows our squad to do things others can’t.”

I tip the jug back. The soury bitterness makes me want to cough, but I chug my way through it.

“Can she . . .?” The recruit has the decency not to complete his sentence.

“Can I what?” I ask. Slamming the drink down, I take another bite of meat, chewing open-mouthed and loudly—smacking my lips together as I do so. “Can I fuck? I don’t have the sexual organs that would make it pleasurable, so why the fuck would I?”

His cheeks turn dark gray. “I wasn’t . . . I didn’t . . .”

“Can I become a citizen? Can I lead a unit?” A piece of bone snaps beneath my teeth, but I continue chewing. “Apparently, it takes a properly working cock or pussy to wield a blade correctly. News to me.”

I stab the swamp dog for emphasis, and the new recruit stares at his feet.

I’ve made him uncomfortable.

Good.

Julian frowns at me then works to pacify the situation.

“The Starra’lee charter says only adults who’ve completed their Rite of Passage are eligible to vote, marry, and, yes, lead their own units.

We’ve been debating Arden’s situation for a while now.

If it were up to me, she’d have full citizenship, but the others aren’t convinced. ”

“Because she’s a fucking lunatic.” The words are out of Cheevy’s mouth before he has time to think them through. Everyone cringes, sucking in a collective, audible breath as they wait for my reaction.

I snort. “Better a lunatic than missing half my nose.”

A grin spreads across Cheevy’s face, and just like that, the tension breaks.

Slicing off a hindquarter, I eat directly from my knife. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m fine being second-class if it means the elgrew have no use for me.”

Chest Wound’s eyes widen in realization. “You’re the elf Azerin is hunting?”

“I’m the elf his son owns.” The angry scar glares at me as I stare at the inside of my greasy palm.

Thirty-eight midnight-blue bumps mark me as Lyrick’s—to eat and breed as he pleases.

But I’ve seen enough through our bond to know he doesn’t hunt children.

And he can’t impregnate someone without a womb. So long as I remain this way, I’m safe.

“I’m too tired to get into it right now,” I say, waving away whatever questions Chest Wound might have. “Maybe later.”

“Maybe tomorrow?” Julian suggests. “He needs someone to show him around.”

“No.”

“Arden.” Julian's voice is a low growl.

“I’m busy with Nirissa.”

“I’ll take you off scouting duty next week.”

I know what this is—some desperate ploy to make our unit function.

To make us friends. But I also know that a few hours touring the underground, teaching a new recruit the ins and outs of Starra’lee is far preferable to the weeks I’d spend away from Nirissa.

In the end, it’s not a hard choice to make.

“Fine. But you’re cleaning that for me.” I point toward the bucket of gore. Then, I carve my next slice of meat.