Switch of Fate 3

by Lisa Ladew

  Normally Gemma would have turned and run, only using the self-defense skills she’d acquired if she was forced, but instead she stepped closer and smiled back with the exact same thought that seemed to occupy his mind. Shit’s about to get fun.

  Bizarre, but I’m down for it. The feeling took hold of her, obliterating the parking lot, her surroundings, everything, until all she could see was the man in front of her. His pale skin got paler still, his lips going from smiling to slack as Gemma took another half-dozen steps, cutting off access to his car door. Here I come, she thought, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions she didn’t understand, but didn’t wish away. There was power in it.

  His hands scrambled to tuck a phone in his pants pocket as he spoke. “No fucking way,” he said, his tone matching his words. Then he turned and ran into the forest, quick like a scared little bunny. She followed, aiming for the thin trail he’d gone down.

  Gemma’s logical brain screamed at her, telling her, Go back to the hospital! Back to your car! Stop and use the phone in your pocket to call 911 and make this creeper someone else’s problem.

  Instead, she kept running. Her speed increased until Gemma was jogging in her sassy red heels, then kicking them off and sprinting into the thick trees, pine needles and pebbles poking at her feet. She barely noticed.

  Her breath ripped in and out of her body, unexplained rage boiling inside her as she ran after the man for no reason at all.

  Chapter 3 - Riot Grrl

  The pale man with the smarmy smile was fast through the hilly forest trail, but Gemma was faster. Rocks and pinecones jabbed her toes, making her hiss in pain, but not once did she think of slowing down. She’d catch this jerk-off and rip his throat open.

  The thought sent her brain stumbling, tumbling down a rabbit hole of questions. I’ll what? But why? The thought crossed her mind but Gemma gathered herself and kept going. He has to die. She felt it in every cell of her body, she had no choice but to obey.

  Dodging between the trees as her prey left the trail and headed into thicker forest, she gained on him. Every time he looked over his shoulder she saw the desperation, knew she was closer to catching him. Gemma could practically taste his fear.

  Five feet in front of her the fucker stumbled. Gemma saw her chance, heading for a knee-high boulder rising up from the forest floor. She leapt, hitting it with one foot, pushing off hard. With a whump she landed on the man’s back, grappling one arm around his neck while the other hand sank into the hair on his head and yanked.

  Her prey struggled to free himself, reaching with frantic hands as he screamed through her chokehold. “Get off me, switch!” The unfamiliar word caught her attention for a second, but Gemma tightened her arm and wrenched harder with her hands. She had no idea what she hoped to accomplish, but she’d give it a hundred and ten percent of her energy. He’s going down. Gemma scrambled with her legs, wrapping them around his waist, feet reaching to lock together as she crushed her forearm against his windpipe.

  The man leaned sharply forward and Gemma tumbled over his head like a sack of laundry, landing hard on the forest floor. Pain seared her shoulder as it scraped rock, her body sliding a little on the uneven ground. Gemma flipped to her knees, hands grappling at leaves and sticks as she scrambled to her bare feet and turned to face her prey.

  He wasn’t running anymore. A mean-as-a-snake snarl curled his lip as he spat his words at Gemma. “Fucking switch.”

  Fucking what!? Dude obviously seemed to think she should be insulted, so she was. A little bit. But Gemma ran out of time to wonder exactly what he meant when the man faced her head-on and lifted his shirt, exposing his pale, sunken belly. “Go on, then. Do it.”

  Gemma’s lip curled. Just now she didn’t feel as out of control as she had when she was chasing him. Like she got some of her brains back and wanted to use them for a little game of cat and mouse. And guess who’s got the claws. “Ew. No. Put your shirt down. What is this, Jersey Shore auditions?” Hit him where it hurts, in his toolishness.

  The confused disbelief on the man’s face threw Gemma even more off-balance and she fought with the surging emotion inside her, only the barest sense of self-preservation keeping her from launching herself at him. “Fuck this.” What about that weapon?

  Gemma looked around at the ground around her. Picked up a stick. It crumbled to mulch in her grip. Shit. She scrambled for another and the same thing happened. “Dammit! Where are all the good weapons in when you need them?”

  She stabbed a look at her prey while she searched for anything, even a big rock, but what she saw stopped her cold. He wasn’t scared anymore. The smarmy smile was back. The creep dropped his shirt and scratched at his hairless chin with two fingers. “Missing something?”

  Gemma’s already-fast-beating heart sped up to triple time. The man took a step toward her, a menacing look in his black eyes. “Oh, I am going to enjoy this. C’mere, sweetheart.”

  Every neuron in her brain was firing, telling Gemma to run, get the fuck out, she could make it because she was fast. But her feet wouldn’t move, and her own lips twisted in a challenge. “Come and get me yourself.” What?! Gemma needed to find herself a weapon and some superglue chapstick, STAT.

  The man took another threatening step, tilting his head to one side. “You don't know what you're doing. You’re just a baby switch.” His smarmy smile turned skeezy and he spit out his last words. “I’m going to enjoy this, and you’re going to die.”

  Gemma held her empty hands out. Of everything he’d said, this was the first thing she believed.

  * * *

  Riot cursed at the darkening skies, angry. The Cause had sidetracked his responsibilities again. He’d wasted time on those vampire bones and now he’d be lucky to make it back to his bike before night fell. He had to get this batch of bud mixed into oil before Faith ran out of CBD for Baker. Riot picked up speed, the forest path moving swiftly underneath him.

  Inside his head, a sort of zinging started, like a ringing in his ears only it was at the top of his skull, and instead of one note it was a chord, an almost-harmonious blend of sound. What the hell? Am I high? He’d wear gloves next time.

  Except he wasn’t high. He was hyper-alert, tuned-in to the forest around him. It felt like there was an electric grid connecting every point, from the oldest tree to the smallest leaf, past every dip in the terrain, and he was a point on the grid. Fully connected. Part of the magic.

  (listen)

  Riot froze. It was his Instinct, the strong-as-soul voice that served a shifter in times of trouble, also serving The Cause by directing Cause shifters in how they could be of use.

  You’re a day late, Riot thought, but the feeling didn’t recede. It intensified, stopping Riot mid-stride.

  (listen)

  Riot listened. Instinct never lied, but sometimes, shifters didn’t hear what Instinct was really saying. That had happened to Riot a few times in his life, always with dire consequences.

  A sound carried over the wind and rolling hills, calling Riot into sharper alertness. He listened harder, letting his puma rise just to the surface of his mind, tuning his sharp ears to the sounds of the forest and then letting them go, listening only to what was not forest.

  It sounded like… grunting? Definitely human sounds. Not sex. Fighting. Shouting. Two voices, and one of them was a woman.

  Riot ran that way before he’d even made the choice, before he’d even thought it through, but he stopped after three steps. Yes, he had to investigate, but he had to cover his own ass, too. Twin boulders to the high side of the path caught his attention in the almost-full dark. Riot walked over, pulled his knife out of his pack, shoved his pack of buds in the crack between the rocks, and was just about to cover it with leaves when another breeze swept across his face and he smelled… vampire.

  The scent of pine and bitter herbs reached him. Not stale like those bones, no, this was a fresh smell, which meant an alive vampire. And Riot might not be a member of The Cause anymore, mig
ht be turning his back on being covenbound for a greater goal, but he wasn’t going to let any woman become a vampire’s prey while he was around to stop it. Riot clipped the knife he’d used for harvesting to his waist, a little stab of shame piercing him when he touched it. He shook the stab off. He couldn’t kill a vampire, but he could hurt one enough to give the woman time to escape. Riot just hoped the fucker didn’t have a bloodblade, or he’d really be in deep shit.

  He took off at a run through the trees, correcting minutely as he ran, according to what his ears were telling him. It was familiar, this urgency, but for different reasons than the last time. He considered and rejected shifting to his puma in one thought. No reason to scare the poor woman more. He’d made that mistake already.

  The sounds got louder, the smell of vampire so bitter and thick Riot breathed through his mouth to avoid it. His pores popped sweat and the wind blew hard through the flop of hair on top of his head, but still he picked up speed, seeing easily in the dark. He was closing in. Almost there… He pushed harder, thighs and lungs burning with the effort.

  He crested a hill in the terrain, skidding to a stop in shock.

  A switch, one he’d never seen before. Fighting a vampire. With her bare hands.

  The tiny woman aimed an impressive roundhouse kick at the bloodsucker’s head, letting Riot see her feet were bare, too. The bloodsucker bared his fangs and said something Riot couldn’t hear, but it was something stupid, Riot was sure. From what Riot had heard and seen, vampires loved to verbally spar with switches, right before the switches opened them from gill to tail.

  He took her and her situation in instantly. She was a tiny woman, in trendy, comfortable clothes. None of that told him what she was, but the glow around her did: bright apple green. The same color he glowed. A Breath switch, bound to the same coven he was. It gave him pause, letting him catch her scent: lime and green apples, bright and sweet and juicy enough to make his mouth water, like sucking on a Jolly Rancher.

  Riot got himself together and prowled closer, deciding what to do, eyes on the beautiful switch, assessing her from her curly black hair to just beyond the delicate length of her feet. She pulled back, threw him a glance, not quite meeting his eyes, then she looked back quick and easily ducked a haymaker from the vampire. Riot was surprised she even knew he was there.

  He swayed on his feet, the knowledge that such an attractive switch existed threatening to knock him over. Question was, does she know what she is? Riot looked more closely. No weapon. Not conclusive proof it was her first time being switched on, but a pretty good bet.

  “Who taught you to fight?” she spat at the vampire, cutting off her next line as he came after her hard, one attack after another, and she had to fall back, land on her ass, and twirl out from underneath the vamp, coming up behind him.

  Decision made, Riot pulled his knife from its sheath and whistled through his teeth. Both their heads swiveled his way, as they broke apart slightly. It was the switch’s eye Riot sought. He got it. The fire in her eye told him she was ready for whatever he could throw at her, so he lobbed his titanium knife into her hands.

  “Catch,” he said, while it was in the air.

  The Breath switch snatched his knife out of the air, the blade flashing with her green glow. A slow grin crossed her face, one that made Riot relax a bit. Riot had seen that grin before, it meant a vampire was about to die.

  At the same time, he realized her smile felt… familiar. The feeling haunted him as he got closer to the switch and her prey. If that vampire knew what was in store for him, he wouldn’t be standing there, mouth gaping open, eyes on the knife in the switch’s hands that seemed to be glowing apple-green with her.

  All that was left was the Undoing, the magical killing of a vampire by a switch. Riot was a shifter, and whether he was a part of The Cause or not, he had a job to do. He ran for the vampire, square on, like he was going to tackle him, but at the last minute, he feigned to the left and snagged only the vampires arm, wrenching the skinny bloodsucker off-balance and toward the switch.

  It was all over but the killing.

  Chapter 4 - Riot’s Girl

  Gemma stared at the hunting blade in her grip. It was lighter than she would have expected, landing in her hands with barely an impact and fitting perfectly. It felt agile, fluid, like it became an extension of her arm when in her hand. The tapered blade had a sheen to it, like a rainbow, the whole spectrum of color reflecting off the blade.

  That perfect knife was the only thing in the world that could have pulled her attention from the man who threw it. He had come from the shadows, but she had an impression of him. Lean, strong, tall. Deep voice. Sexy. Almost as compelling as the weapon he’d tossed into her hands. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the knife.

  Beautiful. Incredible. More than up to the task at hand, the task she did not want to think about but suddenly knew was the only solution. She would stab her attacker, and it was right, and it was good, because he was a predator. The most dangerous sort, the kind of monster that would never stop for as long as they lived. She’d done enough interviews with criminals to recognize this asshole’s dead eyes, even if his were, well, more dead than most.

  The urge to stab him, once in motion, couldn’t be stopped no matter how Gemma’s mind protested. A scream escaped her throat and her hand shot out, seeming against her will, her body following, all of her weight behind the thrust of the knife.

  Two things happened during the arc of her attack, almost simultaneously. She realized she could see the knife so well because it was glowing. Or she was glowing. Something was spilling lime-green light all over them both and the light revealed her knife-guy moving in fast and low from the side. She had a split second to expect a full tackle, which would pull predator-guy out of her stabbing range, but instead, all knife-guy did was spin predator-guy off balance, pointing him and pushing him toward Gemma.

  In full motion before she could think about a thing, her arc completed itself. Knife slipped into belly.

  Gemma skidded to a stop, her mind already anticipating a blood gush that would unhinge her.

  She’d stabbed a man.

  No blood came. She didn’t unhinge.

  Her mind careened back into whirling overdrive, but only some of the thoughts made sense.

  Not a man, not a man. Could she believe that? She could, she did. She tried to care that she had stabbed him, but she couldn’t, her energy shooting higher, as she wondered where there might be more just like him to stab. There had to be more. There were always more. She didn’t know where the thoughts came from, but she could feel their truth in her bones.

  The hilt of the hunting knife protruded from the man’s designer shirt, stunning her, startling her, scrambling her on some level, giving her pause. She had read mystery novels her whole life. She would have expected to know what she would feel in this moment. But nothing could have prepared her for the exhilaration moving through her. The power. It made no sense, especially after doing something so heinous.

  But all her thoughts and doubts were eradicated as something magically violent happened, something that blew apart her world view and erased everything she thought she knew about herself.

  The monster fell backwards, pulling off her knife as his body crumpled bonelessly to the ground. His mouth opened as he fell, red light shooting to the sky, blinding her.

  He didn’t look like a man anymore, only a monster.

  The monster she’d stabbed, who had then fallen to the ground, was decaying in front of her eyes. As she watched, mouth open, mind spinning, his skin dried and drew up tight against the bones of his skeleton, while red light first spilled, then dribbled from his mouth and the hole in his gut.

  The corpse was just a corpse, an old one. It didn’t even smell. It didn’t even gross her out. She’d seen worse chasing stories.

  Gemma shook herself, trying to make sense of it all, feeling a pull inside her, a foreign pull she’d never felt before, a pull that said the killing had
been justified and it was time for more. It whispered, but she heard it clearly.

  She looked up at the canopy of trees above her, as if they might fall from the sky, ready for her knife. Come get me, monsters, helpless woman right here. I don’t know how to use this knife, I swear.

  A voice spoke in the darkness. She knew immediately it was Mister Sexy Voice, her weapons guy. “You okay? Did he hurt you?”

  Gemma startled, her senses on hyper alert. Did she recognize the voice? Probably shock, she thought. It reminded her of someone special to her. Someone she hadn’t seen for years.

  Gemma gripped the knife in her hand and turned in place, no clue which way she should go, just that she needed to destroy more monsters. Back to the hospital. She didn’t answer the question, just turned and headed back the way she’d come. Mr. Sexy Voice followed her, she could hear him, but she got the feeling he wanted her to hear him, like he was deliberately scuffing his feet behind her and shaking tree limbs as he passed them.

  Gemma tightened her grip on her knife and moved as fast as she dared in the dimly-lit forest. “Get lost,” she threw over her shoulder.

  He laughed. She couldn’t see his face, his features, slightly blinded by that glow. The green glow she couldn’t shake. What was it?

  “You look a little lost.” he said. “Where do you want to go?”

  A mumbled reply snuck out before she could stop it. “Wherever this knife says to.” It didn’t make sense, but again, she felt how true it was. It was all she wanted, to follow this urge, this compulsion, and the blade in her hand was somehow the key to her newfound mission.

  She couldn’t deny it, even as objections swirled in her head, trying to talk sense to her, slow her down. Just think for a minute. You are a grown woman. A journalist, not a street fighter. How are you going to listen to a knife? You have a story to chase. But, the only story she cared about at that moment was: where are the rest of them? Since she didn’t know who ‘them’ was, she wouldn’t say it out loud.