by T. A. Grey
Skin stretched, like working in new leather. Hair sprouted like fresh grass, as she grew in height until she towered like the great Avagarian she was. Taller than 6’, muscles ripped with sinewy strength, canines ready to pierce and rip flesh; venom in fangs prepared to bite.
Penelope toppled backward at her transformation, looking stunned.
“Y-you can’t be,” she was saying. “You’re…one of them…”
Lysse smiled to reveal a row of canines. Then she pounced.
Something stuck in her side—pain erupting at the spot. Lysse landed on top of the dancer, slamming her back into the ground so hard it made her lose her grip on the blade. She knocked the breath clean out of the dancer, leaving her gasping and unable to breathe.
Looking down at herself, Lysse saw the silver knife embedded deep into her lean, ebony chest. The pain shocked her senses—her skin bubbled, boiled like acid at the touch of silver. She howled in ungodly pain and tore the blade from her chest flinging it far away.
Blood dripped from the wound, saturating the dancer’s white dress with angry red splotches. Growling in the back of her throat, Lysse could smell the fear clinging to Penelope. It saturated her like wet clothes, clinging sickeningly.
Lysse tossed back her snout and laughed, or made some similar sound as close as she could.
Then she opened her mouth wide and howled in victory. In victory of the kill—a moment before she readied her strike.
* * *
Penelope must be close by. Or so Ryon told himself. She must be.
With the help of King Lyle and his guardsmen, they searched the perimeter of the arena inside and out. Some clue must be around, but it was difficult to find them when more than twenty-thousand people were screaming as they ran away, the war bells scattering them like cattle. So far, no sign of Penelope, save for the disaster of her dressing room.
“Maybe we should search further out,” offered Reece, of the king’s personal guard.
Before Ryon could respond, a peculiar cry caught their attention. A howling roar charged through the air. It came from the isolated forest nearly a mile west from the arena which was further from the chaos, the attack taking place on the eastern border.
“What was that?” a guard asked, unnerved.
“That’s the sound of an Avagarian howling,” Ryon said. “They took her.”
Ryon needn’t say another word. He merely exchanged a look with his long-time friend, Lyle, before they both broke out in a sprint toward the sound.
Amazing that he’d been shot yesterday. He could not feel the wound at all. Last night, the pain had kept him awake the entire night. That, on top of worries over today, had left his mind fretting. However, any pain he experienced vanished in the wake of adrenaline surging. He knew he had to tap down inside him, push aside the pain, and fight for Penelope. He never thought it’d happen like this.
“What do you suggest we do now?” Lyle asked, raising his voice to be heard over their breathing.
“Kill the Avagarians who took Pen.”
Ryon was left-handed making his sword arm opposite most of his opponents. The enemy he was about to face didn’t bother with swords or pistols. Their weapons were different and more dangerous. Avagarian strength was incomparable. As an opponent, you had to stay a clear distance away. The physical strength and vicious bites could easily kill a human. They’d been known during the war to crack people’s spines clear in half, severing the life from them.
The forest grew sparse on the western countryside, creating an open expanse where wheat flourished in chest-high waves. The forest, normally alive with earthen-creatures scurrying to find food and shelter, sat still and watchful. Even the ants had packed up at the sound of the war bells and gone into hiding.
Another sound struck him—sending Ryon into a charging run the likes of which he’d never felt. It was Penelope, screaming in unholy terror. The scream abruptly stopped but, it didn’t matter; he’d already pinpointed where the sound came from. Cutting a hard left, he surged over fallen logs, leaping, feet sinking into squishy mud. Lyle’s pounding steps beat right behind him.
They broke through the clearing, leaving mere moments to make a decision.
He saw three Avagarians, one already dead on the ground. Another had Penelope pinned beneath it. Ryon shook, a switch being thrown he never knew he had. Like a snap of the fingers, he was ready to kill. His first target: the Ava holding Penelope by the neck. In the mere seconds he had to take in the situation, he saw his woman crying and shaking but fighting fervently against the attack. He told himself he wasn’t too late. That she hadn’t been bitten yet. He could still save her.
Some things in life made you simply react. Your brain shut down, save for two thoughts: kill or be killed.
And he wasn’t dying today.
The sound of his running steps garnered the attention of the two agitated Avagarians pacing near Penelope. Ryon marked the first one he saw as his primary target, mentally ticking the second as his next. The Ava on top Penelope would die a painful death. He’d make sure of it.
Ryon leapt into the air with an almighty roar. Three massive, yellowed-eyed heads turned to him in surprise. He raised his elbow back, sharp point out, and used his voice to strike fear as he roared.
The Ava he targeted jolted, stunned at the surprise attack.
Lyle came in behind him, giving an answering battle cry. “For Tarlè!”
Ryon swung his blade as he landed within distance of the creature. Snarling, it dodged and Ryon fell on the Ava’s chest knee first. They collapsed to the ground locked in a physical embrace. Ryon’s grip slipped on the blade during the wrestle as the beast wrapped its solid arms around him in a bear hug.
It squeezed him, the pressure unbelievable, sending warnings of pain to his mind in constant flashes. Air exploded from his lungs in sharp gasps, muscles creaked, bones cracking as the Ava growled, pulling him tighter, trying to break him in two pieces.
Ryon grunted and flexed his muscles, every single part of himself using his own body’s force to push against the pressure trying to squeeze him in half.
Penelope. He had to do this for her.
Suddenly, his mind cleared, a brand-new pathway opening to him. He calmed, not hearing, not thinking—only reacting.
Ryon snapped his head forward in a brutal blow, catching the creature on his snout and busting it open. Blood gushed, bones crunched, broken. The grip on him loosened—just what he needed—and Ryon sprang for his dropped sword.
Lyle, never particularly good at swordplay, raised two silver pistols, decorated in gilded gold and designed just for the hands of the king. They were loaded with silver bullets, the highest level of protection one could carry.
Two gunshots blasted, loud and ricocheting in the quiet woods.
Ka-Pow! Ka-Pow!
The other Avagarian dropped in a heap, two silver bullets ripping through it from rib to spine. Twitching, howling, with bloody foam spewing from its mouth; then, stillness.
Ryon finally reached his sword handle, latching on right-handed, not his strong arm. But that didn’t stop him, only slowed him down.
As he wrapped his palm around the familiar leather handle, the Ava bucked beneath him tossing him off sending Ryon through the air like a catapult. The sword loosened from his hand for the second time. Damn! Panic struck, and at the last moment, he fisted his hand around the blade. Then he crashed into a tree, knocking the wind clean out of him. His bullet wound, which he’d ordered his body to ignore, flared violently, making him spasm in pain. He needed to dig down and push past the pain.
Panting, he stood, wobbled unsteadily then caught himself. Sweat poured from his body sticking his clothes to his body like a wet glove. His vision blurred, but he blinked and realized it was only sweat on his eyelashes. He swatted it away.
Lyle was reloading his pistol. It held two rounds. The creature on Penelope had stood and was coming toward him. Ryon noticed it was a female. It wasn’t every day you saw a female A
va. Usually they kept their females protected back home.
The female Avagarian blocked the sight of Pen from him. She had better be alive.
“Kekekekekekekekek.” The threat rolled and crackled in the back of the beast’s throat.
The beast lunged, its heavy paw covered in black, bent talons. It made to scratch his face off, but Ryon ducked to the left and sent a brutal front kick into its abdomen. The Ava was shoved back but only a mere foot of space. It was too strong, even the female form, for him to fight hand to hand and possibly win.
Its glowing eyes tracked him, blubbery lips flapping in the wind while it growled.
The beast surprised them all. Its great, hulking head turned toward Lyle for the first time—recognition flashing in its eyes.
This creature knew Lyle.
He didn’t have time to question. Taking the beast’s surprise to advantage, Ryon deftly lunged to retrieve his sword from the dead carcass he’d shoved it into.
The female Ava spotted the move which snapped her out of her stupor. She jumped too fast for him to react and swung her great big paw against the side of his head. Or so she attempted to.
“Drop down! Now!”
Ryon dropped and the Ava’s arm swiped where his skull had been.
If not for Lyle’s shout, he might have had his head taken clear off.
Gunshots fired.
They missed the mark.
The Ava reeled in panic and darted into the forest.
“It’s going to run!” Ryon shouted, fury driving him. It couldn’t get away, not after what it did to Penelope.
The Ava picked up speed; they were so fast, too fast to catch by foot. She made it twenty feet away as Lyle lined up the shot. Carefully, calmly.
He fired. The final explosive blast echoed thrice before fading.
The bullet ripped through the creature’s back. A cry sounded, then it toppled to the earth, its great body trembling and bloody foam spewing from its mouth.
What happened next took them all surprise.
The creature slowly started reverting back to its human form. Ryon had only ever seen the Avagarians transform into their natural form, not out of it. He’d heard that a dying Ava would naturally morph into its lesser form for easier healing.
The creature’s human limbs became apparent: long tresses of brunette hair, caked with blood, grime and mud, could not hide the woman’s identity.
Lyle dropped the gun to his side, his face a picture of shock. “Lysse?” The gun dropped to the dirt. “I can’t believe it. An Ava?”
Ryon left Lyle to deal with the devastating news about his mistress. He had bigger problems to worry about.
Ryon dropped to his knees to check on Penelope.
Lyle spoke as if to himself in a daze. “She’s an Ava.” His surprised voice said it all. “She’s the mole. Who knows what she’s told them. She helped to plan their attack on us. Lysse…”
The guards finally caught up to them. They began ensuring those who were dead were truly deceased, and checked on Penelope.
Ryon was still stunned at what he found with Penelope.
It was so much worse than he thought. Far worse.
Her chest still rose and fell, but her breathing was shallow. Her eyes were open, but glossy, like her soul had left her body already. She stared sightlessly up at the sky, her face pinched in agony.
The worst of it was her neck. Her chin hung cocked at an angle as she panted through the pain. The wound was on the right side of her neck—a nasty, gash exposing tendons and the raw meat of her neck. The blood loss turned her naturally glowing skin a sickly parlor.
“Help her!”
Ryon snapped out of his shock.
She looked so close to death. Ryon tore his shirt off, wadding the material and pressing it tight to the wound to staunch the bleeding. “Get a medic here now!” he shouted.
The guards ran to do his bidding, Lyle and Reece staying behind. Lysse was still alive, but they’d trussed her up so she couldn’t escape.
“Reece, you know something to help?” Lyle asked. “I know you’ve had some experience in combat healing.”
Reece knelt beside Penelope. He prodded her wound, watched her pupils, took note of her heart rate and the massive amount of blood loss.
The female Ava, none other than Lysse, had nearly eaten a bite out of Pen’s neck. The truth of Lysse’s identity was staring them back in the face.
“Lysse bit her,” Lyle said. He looked as though he was having difficulty coming up with anything to say. Ryon supposed that would happen if the woman he’d been sleeping with was an Avagarian traitor. How had they never figured it out? Who knew what information she had leaked to her people? Already Ryon could see his friend trying to work it out.
“She’s going to turn,” Reece said, finishing his examination.
The men looked away. “Maybe not,” Lyle said, hopeful.
“Everyone who gets bitten by their venomous fangs turns,” Ryon said. He’d known the second he saw her torn neck, the second he’d seen that Ava on top of her. He’d known then, but he’d blocked it out, trying to ignore the ugly truth.
Reece jumped in. “Not necessarily true. Sometimes they just die.”
Ryon’s head turned slowly; the glower he set on Reece made the man leap back a step and blush.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean---”
“Forget what you meant,” Lyle cursed, waving him away.
The guards finally returned—empty-handed. Ryon stood. “Where’s the medic?” Penelope was looking even paler than she did a minute ago. They didn’t have much time before she either sank completely into death—or her body absorbed the venom, transforming her genetically into one of the creatures.
Out of the breath, the guard panted. “Can’t find a medic. It’s chaos in the kingdom. No one knows where they are. If I’d guess, probably at the front lines. People are hurt. They say a bomb went off at the border wall destroying part of it. Ava’s leaked in heading straight for the silver mine.”
“Of course,” Lyle said bitterly. “So that’s how they got in. Do we know how many there are?”
“Rumors are saying a throng. We’re pushing them back though. They haven’t made it in far. Some homes are already burning. People are dead, sir.”
Ryon heard the conversation, but he kept his eyes on Penelope. He was at her side, holding her hand. He wanted to scream from the top of his lungs.
What did he do now!
He didn’t have an answer.
For the first time in his life, he had no idea of what to do. He had no way to fix things from being so terribly wrong.
And if he made the wrong choice—he’d kill her.
Chapter 14
“There’s only one way.”
“What that?” Lyle paused in his conversation with the guards.
They had Lysse tied up and she was unconscious, but the traitorous bitch wasn’t dead…yet. Ryon wanted to rectify that problem with his bare hands. He wanted to make her bleed, to make her pay for what she’d done. Woman or not, she’d lost his respect when she’d bit his fucking wife. Wife, yes. That’s how he thought of Pen. Hell, he’d scream it from the top of his lungs. Penelope was his and he loved her and would protect her until his dying breath.
“There’s only one way,” Ryon repeated.
Ryon removed the wadded, bloody shirt from Pen’s festering neck wound. Her eyes hung at half-mast, in a glazed, dead expression. Her chest faintly rose and fell, her breaths alarmingly slight.
“There’s no more time. I have to try to empty the poison from her.” It was crazy, he knew. But it was not like he had a lot of choices right now.
Lyle blinked. “How so?”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Reece said in disbelief.
Ryon held out his hand. “Give me your knife.” Reece withdrew his blade, looked at it for long moments, then handed it over. “Mind telling me what you plan on doing with that?”
“Just watch.”
He’d triaged soldiers before, even friends, but this—seeing the woman he loved hurt, shook him on a whole other level.
The flesh of her neck was torn up enough, that in a way, made what he was about to do easier.
Ryon cut into the wound, worsening it and causing a fresh resurgence of blood—what little she had.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Reece shouted, stepping forward to intervene.
Lyle shook his head at him. “Let’s see for ourselves.”
Ryon might have laughed if Penelope’s life wasn’t, literally, in his hands.
The blood came, surging, squirting from severed veins, and with it—venom. Dark, royal blue, swirling almost like black viscous oil. The venom had penetrated deep into her body. With how much blood she’d lost, the poison had to be completely pumped out. He literally needed to drain it from her, and hope she’d have enough blood left to survive.
Sweat dripped into his eyes. He swiped it away with his shoulder, breathing hard with focus.
“She’ll need a transfusion,” he said, an afterthought. His eyes and mind were absorbed on the task at hand.
The oozing venom, thicker and stickier than blood, slowly started to ooze out of her veins. Her slight breaths pushed more and more out. He gently stroked the veins to relieve more of the poison.
“Stay with me, Pen. Don’t go now,” he whispered to her. He didn’t know if she could hear him or not. There was so much he wanted to say. And he needed her to be alive and well for it.
“She’s losing too much blood,” a guard said, looking rather pale himself.
Lyle was stiff as a board. “Ryon, maybe you should---”
“No!” He cut him off viciously. “Don’t tell me what to do. Not now. I’m so close. Have to focus…” he trailed off, coaxing more poison from her.
Her chest rose, scarcely an inch of depth.
So much blood, coating in a thick pool that was soaking into the earth. It covered his hands making them wet and slick. He told his brain to ignore that. To remain focused. Her life depended on it.