by RJ Blain
“Courier. Attacked? Lost your horses?” Charlie shook his head and blew air, the sound a lot like the one my horses made when annoyed.
“My horses were confiscated by Dawnfire, where they are under guard.”
A loud bang from the street silenced me, and I twisted around on my stool towards the door, lowering my hand to my katana. The infuriated scream of a horse rang out.
I knew the sound too well; I heard it at least once a day. I inhaled, considered saying something, and exhaled, shaking my head. There was no way my horses could have busted out of the Dawnfire stable so soon. Impossible.
The clatter of hooves on cobbles drew closer, and horses screamed. Was it a crime in Charlotte to leave two angry horses on the loose? Would I be responsible for the bill? I contemplated the bar and the selection of liquors.
They couldn’t be my horses. It had to be a coincidence. I was far enough away they would have had to scour the entire city to find me. Two scorned, wild-caught horses couldn’t be that determined to hunt me down and splatter me to paste.
I grabbed my beer, took a drink, and didn’t stop until it was gone. No matter how long I contemplated the dark glass, it refused to offer me the secrets of the universe. It also failed to offer an answer to how the hell my horses could have possibly broken out of the Dawnfire stables and found their way to the bar.
Horses made a very distinctive sound when they decide to plow through a doorway too small for them. Wood cracked and crunched. The grunt of effort and a squeal of pain and fury betrayed the animal’s determination to break through. More wood splintered, and I resigned myself to picking out splinters for a week and fending off infection.
I turned on my stool.
It would have helped their efforts if Dipshit and Devil Spawn hadn’t tried to plow through the door at the same time.
“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, sliding off the stool. “Gentlemen, please excuse me for a moment.”
The Secret Service stared at my horses, as did the gathered police officers. I tucked my katana under an arm and marched to my animals. Neither wore tack.
Both stilled, jammed together in the doorway, blowing air at me, their nostrils flaring as they hunted for my scent. “Back,” I growled.
For once in their lives, both horses scrambled back in their hurry to obey. I pursued, clacking my teeth together. Dipshit reared, pawing his hooves in my direction.
“If you even think of clipping me, I’m going to tenderize you from head to toe so you’ll remember never to do it again.” Stooping to threatening my horse should have bothered me a lot more than it did. Maybe it was my hoarse voice or ice-cold tone, but my stallion dropped down to all fours and snorted.
Devil Spawn snapped her teeth at me.
“Sit,” I snapped back.
Both horses obeyed, their hind hooves sliding forward on the cobbles as they dropped their rumps to the ground. I’d taught the trick to Periwinkle but hadn’t had any success with either of his parents.
I wasn’t sure who was more startled, me or the crowd of people gathering to watch their antics.
I inhaled, slow and deep, forcing myself to cool my temper. “That’s better. Good. Stand.”
Dipshit scrambled upright first with Devil Spawn following a moment later. While they pinned their ears flat, they kept their heads ducked, something I’d learned was their best show of submission—something I rarely earned.
I stepped within biting range. Both kept still. I stroked Devil Spawn first; she took offense if she believed I didn’t love her best.
We had so many issues they wouldn’t fit in the National Archive even if I tried to jam them all in.
Dipshit bumped my hand with his nose, lipping my fingers and drooling all over me without biting. Sighing, I kept my sword pinned between my arm and side while rubbing their noses in equal measure. A few shouts from the street warned me of new trouble—likely Dawnfire trouble.
“I’ve had enough trouble for one day,” I complained in a soft mutter. Devil Spawn bobbed her head as though in agreement, reached out, and grabbed hold of my braid, giving it a tug. “This is as bad as it gets, right?”
Startled cries drew closer, and I leaned back and to the side for a look.
A glowing stone rolled down the street, bouncing out of the reach of a crowd of people chasing after it. It pulsed with a blue-white light, shadows dancing over the cobbles. My mouth dropped open. Dipshit and Devil Spawn shied from the stone, and my mare’s grip on my braid yanked my head to the side. I yelped, dropping my katana in my effort to free my hair from her hold.
The Starfire stone bumped to a halt against my moccasin and erupted in golden light.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The damp scent of forest filled my nose, and darkness held me in a warm embrace. A gentle current sheltered me from the early summer heat. I took a deep breath. A soft scree filled my ears, and the sound startled me to my feet.
My effort to stand was aborted with a splash; my legs knew what to do, but my arms and upper body refused to cooperate. Instead of lurching upright on two legs, I remained on what felt like my hands and knees but wasn’t. The cool river stones numbed me, and my knees didn’t touch the ground at all.
I shook my head, and the rattle of beads and rustle of feathers reassured me.
As long as I had them, things couldn’t be too bad. People liked stealing unique things, and if I’d been robbed, the beads and feathers would’ve been long gone. Their tinkling, however, didn’t sound quite right. The feathers should have whispered, but they rustled far louder than I anticipated. A feeling of wrongness crashed down on me.
I blinked, shook my head again, and turned my head to get a better look at my surroundings. Through the darkness, tree trunks rose towards the sky, branches burdened with new leaves. I sneezed several times. The place stank as though someone had spilled a bottle of floral perfume everywhere and, in their attempt to mop it up, had spread the disaster far and wide.
Why would anyone douse themselves with perfume in a forest? My throat ached, but instead of the cough I expected, I made a bloomed behind my eyes. When I went to rub my brow, the simple act of lifting my hand unbalanced me, and I splashed down, water flooding into my nose and mouth.
I scrambled upright, but nothing about how my body moved was normal. Fear shivered through me. Without a single memory of how I’d gotten to the forest, I’d have to get my act together before I ended up dead—or worse.
The first thing I needed to do was figure out what was wrong with my arms and legs; the thought of being unable to ride or hold my sword horrified me. I’d made a name for myself in the west as a courier, using everything I’d learned as a paid killer to ensure I delivered without fail. Nothing had been stolen from me, and I took pride in never being late.
I liked my life, and I didn’t want to lose it.
Sucking in long, deep breaths, I forced myself to calm down. Panicking wouldn’t help. If I couldn’t ride or fight, I’d find something else to do. Maybe if I kept telling myself that, I’d believe it. Bracing myself for the worst, I lifted my hand and looked down.
The water flowed around me in gentle, rippling waves. Moonlight reflected on the surface, offering enough light for me to make out a dark shape. I’d tanned a lot in the west, spending most of my days under the heated sun, but not as dark as my eyes perceived.
Or as large.
Or quite so… blocky? Misshapen? Hands weren’t as broad, and their shape seemed to shift in the current. I struggled with my memories. Had I been wearing gloves? Gloves explained things, if my fingers were somehow bound together. Water distorted images and created illusions. Everything had an explanation of some sort, even magic.
I stared at my hand—or the dark splotch that was supposed to be my hand. How had I gotten to a forest? I froze, struggling to remember anything through the pain stabbing through my head. The memory of going to a bar for a beer teased me. I’d fought someone—several someones?—but the why of it escaped me.
/> Sometimes I forgot what happened in a fight; it had happened on the road when the three men had tried to steal Dipshit and Devil Spawn. Most of the time, it occurred when I banged my head on something. I’d have to check my head for lumps. A bump to the head would explain everything.
If I could force my hand to move, I’d be all right. With even one hand, I’d be able to salvage something of my life. Bracing for the worst, I spread my fingers.
My hand moved, and when it did, my eyes focused on the space between my fingers—if I could call the dark digits fingers. Something weaved and waved in the water, pulling in the flow. I turned my hand over and pulled it out of the water. My body refused to behave the way I expected, my shoulder and wrist less flexible than I expected.
Instead of skin roughened from exposure to the sun and road, I watched water drip from dark fur—dark fur with even darker stripes crossing it. Instead of my palm, the moonlight exposed pads. I sucked in a breath, gaze fixed on my hand. No, paw.
I had a paw, a fur-covered paw.
I swung my head from side to side. The shore rose to a tree-edged bank several feet overhead. There was no sign anyone or anything had the root-ladened clay and soil.
When shifters spoke of their first transformations, it all boiled down to the same thing; they became a beast, and the beast became them, two souls merging. The surge of instincts and needs drove many new shifters to the brink of madness. If I had a beast, she slept, silent and unaware of me while I remained unaware of her.
Many didn’t remember the moment of their first shift or the events immediately after. I stared at my lifted paw again.
I had shifted. My anxieties and fear bled away into wonder, and I flexed my paw. Long claws peeked out between tufts of short fur. I stretched my toes, marveling as the claws extended, curved to a lethal point, the natural weapons of a feline—a large one.
Memories of Cleo and Todd discussing my nature six years ago came to mind, as vivid as though they had happened yesterday. Excitement burned through me.
Somehow, I’d crossed the threshold. I had a second form. I had claws and fur. My tongue, far more mobile and flexible than a human’s, rubbed over long fangs meant to tear into prey.
I breathed in. The air rumbled in my chest and throat, itching as though seeking to claw its way free of me. Lifting my head, I opened my mouth wide.
The pressure within burst out of me in a roar.
My paws fascinated me, something that made going anywhere challenging. A lifetime of walking on two legs instead of four caused almost as much confusion as the way my pads sank into the loamy forest floor. My ability to flex my paws and unsheathe long claws stopped me as often as the marvel of my body flowing over the ground, my stride as fluid as the river’s gentle current.
If I wanted, I could scuff through the decayed leaves of last year or stalk in silence so deep my sensitive ears couldn’t detect my passage. The golden eagle feathers, attached to the fur covering the back of my neck, rustled with my movement.
Other shifters took nothing with them when they changed forms, tearing through their clothes and mangling their jewelry. I’d seen a bison snap the leather of his belt during his transformation and remembered Todd’s clever way of preserving his dignity when shifting from stallion to man.
The elders must have included some hidden magic in the jewelry to preserve it. Even the cuffs remained latched around my forelegs, although my awareness of them was limited to faint pressure whenever I moved. I found the presence of the tribe’s gifts comforting.
I hadn’t lost them during my shift. I would have missed the turquoise cuffs and their careful beading filled with meanings I didn’t understand but cherished all the same. Stalking through the trees, I paused often to breathe in soft screes, exploring the many new scents surrounding me. Even the different types of leaves, rotten from the winter, differed in smell—and taste.
I never would have guessed scents could have a flavor; my tongue seemed to enhance my ability to distinguish the aromas lingering in the air. A whole new world stretched out before me, urging me to explore it and claim it as mine. A dull ache built in my stomach, and I licked my fangs. I recognized the pangs of hunger.
The thought of warm meat woke a deep, quiet instinct. I tensed, my body quivering with the need to hunt and tear into anything crossing my path. I flexed my paws, unsheathing my claws and digging them into the soft earth.
I’d hunted many times in my life, killing to survive. As a human, I cooked my prey before feasting. Maybe the beast I had longed for had been with me all along; I understood the old and familiar need to survive.
Instead of traps, swords, or bows, I’d kill with fangs and claws, and the thought excited me. I lifted a paw, staring at my long claws. How easily would they tear through flesh? How hard would it be to strip the meat from the bones of my next meal?
I wanted to know.
Three escaped rabbits, four mice, and a herd of deer later, I came to the conclusion I was the Earth’s absolute worst hunter. I would starve to death long before I figured out how to make four paws and my tail work together in harmony. My first few attempts at running resulted in me somersaulting and slamming onto my back hard enough to knock the air out of me.
I didn’t want to think about the number of trees I’d collided with before I figured out how to come to a stop without tripping or misjudging my distance. Sometime between shifting from human to an oversized, clumsy predatory feline destined to starve, I’d lost all grip on reality, including the basic survival skills I’d once been so proud of.
Sitting on my haunches, I lifted my paw and stared at it. Were all shifters so useless following their first transformation? Lions and the truly large predatory cats had a reputation of mauling anyone nearby when they shifted, which had fueled concerns about me.
I considered my mastery of a basic walk an accomplishment. If I met a real predator, I’d go down without a fight, a sobering enough thought I slinked my way to the deepest shadows I could find. Thick brambles grew among the trees, but my fur protected me from the thorns while I wiggled into their protective confines and turned to guard the way into my shelter.
Until I figured something out, hiding was my best strategy. I hunkered down, lowering my head onto my paws, sheathing and unsheathing my claws in a steady rhythm. The motion soothed me, reassuring me I could slice my claws into anything too close for my comfort.
I waited until dawn’s light eased the darkness.
Muted colors greeted me, far less vibrant than I remembered while details I’d never noticed before overwhelmed me. Had bark always had so many fine, prickly layers? Were leaves all veined with such thin lines? Distant motion drew my gaze, and I froze in the shelter of the brambles. The rustle of leaves drew closer.
I licked my teeth, my body tense and quivering in anticipation.
Rising enough to have my paws underneath me, ready to burst into motion, I waited, both of my ears twisting back, my mouth opening to display my fangs for the world to see. Hunger cramped my stomach, demanding fresh, warm meat.
A shape stepped from between the trees, and my entire body went rigid. A human. Disappointment smothered my interest.
No matter how much I hungered, I wouldn’t eat another human. I dug my claws deep into the soil, inhaled, and roared my fury at the unfairness of it all.
An acrid scent hit my nose, accompanied by a startled shout. The human—a man dressed in jeans and a rumpled, button-up shirt—kept still, although his hand dropped to the sword at his side.
If I had a sword, I’d be able to eat. My plan had a kink in it; I’d have to figure out how to shift back to human first. I swatted at the brambles in my frustration, my claws tearing through the vines and branches, scattering thorns and leaves over the ground. Emerging from my hiding spot, I roared at the human again, voicing my frustration, my hunger, and annoyance at his presence.
“Well, aren’t you a big one?” he muttered, standing his ground.
A huff burst out of me.
“Now this is awkward. What a mighty fine set of teeth you have and such lovely black fur. Don’t try to eat me, please. That’d make this even more awkward.”
Awkward? I sat, canted my head to the side, and stared at him. Did the man think I was a mundane animal? I growled at the thought, digging my claws deep into the ground.
“You’re worth a lot more to me alive than dead, so I’d really rather not have to hurt or kill you.”
Great. I had another bounty on my head. I growled, wondering what I’d done to deserve it or if it was part of the black, gaping hole in my memory. When I stood, my shoulders easily came to the man’s waist, and when I lifted my head, I stared him in the eyes. I took a few prowling steps forward, breathing in to capture his scent.
Males smelled interesting.
“I’m not your breakfast.”
I huffed my disgust, and I could smell my own annoyance hanging in the air.
“I’m not trying to offend you, either.”
I prowled within a few feet of him, lowered my head and stretched out, snuffling to pull in the scents around me, identifying leather, cloth, dust, oil, the familiar odors of a mercenary, someone who lived and died by their sword. The smells were far stronger than I was accustomed to, but I found them comforting, even if his presence meant I had yet another bounty on my head.
“Can we do this the easy way? I hate first shift gigs. They’re always trouble.”
I tried to make my mouth and tongue cooperate to form words, but instead of a question, a few growls and a huff came out. I crossed my eyes to stare down my nose, which was a charcoal gray in the dawn light. Frustrated, I sat back on my haunches again and studied my front paws.
The man crouched in front of me, lowering himself to my eye level. “You’ve already melded, then? Lift your right paw if you understand me.”
Aware he hadn’t removed his hand from his sword’s hilt, I obeyed his instruction, lifting my right paw.