by Amy Star
“We’ve got to get you out of here,” she said.
He groaned as she lifted him up and put his arm over her neck. The cavern walls seemed to close in on them menacingly. “Got a plan?”
She nodded and whispered into his ear as they hobbled down the corridor.
***
In another section of cave, Damon approached a small crib made from bone tied together in sinew and a filthy carrier of pelt that bent like a hammock in the middle. He rubbed his beard, and kneeled down. In the bassinet, a small creature with black hair regarded him curiously, and gripped at the finger he pushed toward her.
“Yes, I know, little one,” he said, his voice a deep grumbling that could have belonged to the mountain itself, “your parents are quite strong. I admire strength, even in my enemies. You belong to me now. I will take care of you… and in the end, you will grow up as a true Bear, among your own kind. I will see to it myself.”
There was something wizened in his appearance and in his decorum. His whole life, Damon had known only the wilderness. The few times he had ventured, in human form, into the settlements of humans he had been disgusted by what he saw. They were a clumsy and weak race that could hardly be pitied. But he knew, from the stories that had passed down from his forefathers, that there was something worse than even the humans.
The other Bears. Every one of the Bloodweres knew the stories by heart, and he could hear himself reciting it like a kind of litany. The old tales told of a time when all Bears lived together as if they were brothers and sister. But then war had struck. It was only natural. War was a way of nature balancing itself, and among those fighting, there were a few who were particularly adept at it and they had become the first Bloodweres.
They were a group of exemplary warriors who understood that the cycle of seasons and the movement of life and death could only be retained through the constant supply of blood being fed into the ground. The other tribes had seen this as a blasphemy, and tried to kill off his kind.
The Bloodweres were stronger than they had anticipated, and had fought back in full force. But for their breaking with the Tribes, the great houses of the Clawgrove and the Greybacks had cast them out. Still, they had survived… the wilderness was not their enemy, but a companion, like death, who came along with them for the ride.
In those years of his childhood, he had looked up at the sky, and at the ceiling of the great den, and wondered if there was not a better way, a way to reclaim the birthright of his clan. He’d grown strong, proved himself a worthy hunter, until at last he, like those great leaders before him, had challenged the Alpha for control of the group.
He had won, and still had the scars to prove it – long vertical streaks down his back. The pain had been good, a reminder that he was alive, and testament to his ability to overcome anything.
Now, there was another hope – this young child, who would in time become a warrior. And, in time, would return to the lands of her parents. This time, she would return as the usurper, and Bloodweres would take over and rule all the lands.
He smiled in spite of himself and rubbed his chin. The little girl cooed happily and played with his finger, and he stood back up. His massive chest and arms flexed tiredly. He had grown used to the smell of the den and his brothers and sisters. Like the blood of their prey, it had become a kind of badge of honor, and he wrapped it around himself like a way of acknowledging his roots.
Suddenly there was a stirring in the far antechamber and he spun. The sound was sharp like the crack of a whip or the trunk of a great tree snapping in a windstorm. He took another look at the girl in the crib and walked toward the entrance.
He knew that cave-ins were not uncommon. Many of them had been lost during the first years when his ancestors had built his place, carving it out of the mountain with their tears and sweat and claws. Still, from time to time places deeper into the mountain would collapse.
“Damon!” he heard, and suddenly Maara skidded to a stop in front of him, standing awkwardly in the doorway of the cave. She had on a loose-fitting loincloth, but the rest of her was naked. The ochre dark on her skin had become a kind of rusty brown, like dried blood in the dimness. He had often thought of taking her to his bed – she had been marred in a run-in with an elk when she was young, and the right eye had healed over well but she was now unable to gauge depth perception.
In spite of her injury, Maara had proved herself worthy. It had been under her guidance that the small pack had set fire to the village and made off with the Clawgrove and Greyback heiress. He owed her much, and in turn, had given her more freedom than the others had.
“What happened, Maara?” he said frantically.
“The Greyback bitch,” she said, “she’s inside. She freed her mate, and she’s got a gun.”
“Dammit!” Damon swore and marched toward her.
There was another hollow sound and Damon saw a movement behind Maara, and his favorite warrior dramatically crumpled to the ground. From the shadows, Sarah slipped into view, holding the barrel of the gun at an angle with his chest.
“You!”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t kill her… but that’s the second time she’s had a blow from one of my clan. I don’t think she’ll be happy when she wakes. If she wakes up… but whether or not she does, depends on how cooperative we’re all willing to be?”
“So, you’re the stronger one, I see. Your mate was weak… easily caught.”
“He took two of you fuckers down before you outnumbered him. And still wouldn’t give me up when you were beating him senseless. Who do you think is stronger?”
Damon took a step back, and she pulled back on the gun.
“You’ll shoot me,” he taunted, “that is not our way. It doesn’t matter if we belong to different tribes, we’re all still Bears, and there is something solemn about the battle. I intend to kill you, lass, don’t get me wrong. But I’m not giving you the slightest chance to beat me and not feel guilty about it.”
His words were gruff and uncompromising, but they were strong. An image of Caroline flashed in her mind again and she was able to see her poor cousin still floating through the air – an image frozen in her mind. She supposed that it would always haunt her. She had broken the most ancient of laws: never kill your own. More than that, she had killed her own blood, which was unforgivable. However, she wasn’t looking for forgiveness anymore.
Whether or not forgiveness was in the books for her, she had rationalized everything that happened as being right. Caroline would have killed her. She had done the only thing she could do to survive. And now, facing off against the leader of the Bloodweres, she was in the exactly same position.
Behind the bulk and muscle of Damon, she could make out the dim outline of something small, like a crib. The faintest cry from within was suddenly like a spike in her veins and she quivered for a moment, trying to equalize the fear and relief that entered her in a panic. Damon must have noticed her reaction, because he let out a smirk she thought was particularly ugly. The muscles on his chest bulged and he cricked his neck.
“What will it be, Greyback? You shoot me dead now, in front of your daughter… or do you take me on with honor?”
She knew she could just as easily put a bullet in his head and that would be it – the nightmare would be over. Nevertheless, he hadn’t been wrong either. It was unnatural to kill this way, merciless, and even though he deserved less, she knew it wasn’t about him. It was about her. About what she could live with.
She let out a low growl, began to unzip her jacket, and pulled off her shirt. Damon watched with a bemused expression as her sleek feminine form ignited the room with its brilliance, and her heavy breasts gleamed at a seductive angle. He licked his lips, and she tried to resist the urge to use more profanity. Next, she pulled down her pants and stepped lightly out of her panties.
Damon looked her up and down, and seemed to nod in approval as he pulled off his loincloth as well. He was hairy everywhere, like some terrible abominable sn
owman. Heavy greasy hair curled over his chest and went all the way down along his bulky but ill-defined abdomen. At his crotch it became a massive shock of black hair, tangled and effusive – from its thick wilderness protruded a heavy penis, drooping and eager.
“Then we shall see, girl,” he said, and crouched low.
His transformation was swift, almost terrifyingly swift, as the hair simply grew longer on his back, and his face started to erupt, pulling forward in a huge nose and jawline that snarled as it moved. Bones and tendon realigned under the flesh in a sickening sound, and his eyes were red with the bloodlust that was inherent to his particular Clan.
His huge teeth were slathered in spit, and he barked again, his giant Bear ears swiveling, and Sarah felt a slight moment of disconcerting fear. He was gigantic, even bigger than the one they’d seen outside the caves. Even now, if he were to stand up on his hind legs, he’d hit his head before he was fully erect. On each paw, six-inch long claws raked the cave floor, and she heard a sudden squeal of a cry. Cora had probably sensed the transformation herself, in whatever small way she was capable of, and it was scaring her, too.
In her mind, she tried to calm the child. Shush, my baby. I’m here now. Everything’s going to be okay. She closed her eyes and transformed as well – but unlike Damon, there was something subtle and beautiful. While he had changed out of rage, forcing his form to change, it was like going against the grain of things. In her heart, Sarah knew that she was neither Bear nor human wholly – balance was the key, and rather than forcing her transformation, she simply let it happen.
A warm light seemed to bathe her body, and black fur the color of her hair sprung forth, swathing her in its jet matte sheen. When she was finished, the two bears stared across the room at each other. Damon leaped first, springing forward so fast Sarah barely had time to dodge. She dove over his swinging paw and rolled to the floor, skidding back for another attack.
It was a very un-bearlike maneuver and she had learned much from watching (and occasionally grappling) with Connor. Early on, Connor had seen the wisdom in attempting to bridge both human and Bear movements together. All the martial arts training both had received in their youth to prepare them for the future, had proved an adaptable skill. Damon was clearly surprised by it too, and his eyes widened in shock.
She came back at him this time, swiping at his hind leg, which gave out. He swung angrily, catching her in the side of the shoulder with his claws, and she felt a sharp pain. He was much stronger than he looked, which was saying something. Her mind raced furiously – there would only be one way to succeed in hurting him, and it meant putting herself at risk.
He swung again and tried to bite her, and she drove forward, allowing him to get his teeth into her other shoulder – it was a strategic loss. He thought he’d gotten her, but she simply redistributed her weight and was able to come up behind him, locking her arms and claws around his throat.
She had no idea if a sleeper choke would actually work on a Bear, but she had no choice. He was too strong physically. Her only hope was in technique. Damon must’ve caught onto what she was doing and tried to reach behind him. His claws raked at her back and shoulders again, but she closed her own eyes and grunted, bearing with it, as her grip tightened around him.
Damon became frantic. Even a Bear needs to breathe, and he sensed that she had the upper hand on him. He stood on his hind legs, and slammed his back with her on it into the ceiling. She grunted, and almost lost her grip but steeled her resolve and hung on tighter, trying to filter the pain and focus on strangling him. Across the room, she could hear Cora whimpering – the only thing she could do, for herself and her daughter, was hold on and hope that sooner or later, Damon gave up.
He sagged again, and she knew it was almost over, but he still had some strength in him for one last blow. Sarah perceived what he was going to do a second before he acted – he needed to get her off of him, and the only way to do that would be a strategy similar to hers.
He ran at the far wall, hoping to head-butt it, and dislodge her. She held on as he ran and moments before impact pushed off him with her hind-legs. Damon was even more surprised by this, and was unable to slow down. His whole body hit the cave wall and there was another crack, the sound of vertebrae shifting, and his massive black lope of a head hit the stone. His neck broke in a second and he collapsed with a long sigh.
Sarah shook her head and tried to come to her senses – dizzily she returned to human form and looked at Damon. Even in death, he had stayed as a Bear. She shook her head. There is only this, she wanted to say, but it didn’t seem right.
Casually she turned and headed over to the crib and kneeled down. There were no tears in her eyes as she stooped and picked up Cora, who smiled and giggled again and clung to her neck.
“I’m here,” she repeated, and picked up the child, “did you miss me?”
Cora simply burbled something in reply and Sarah laughed and pressed her face against her daughter. She was too relieved to feel anything but gratitude, and hugged Cora to her breast for long moments before she walked back to the cave entrance. Cora watched her get dressed again, and cooed again gratefully when she was picked up.
“Let’s go home,” she said.
*
At the doorway, there was a small troubled gasp, and Sarah looked down and saw that the one-eyed girl Maara had regained consciousness. She held her head and moaned again, too ill to fight back. She looked up and saw that Sarah was leering over her. Then her eyes went to the crumpled body of the bear in the corner, and she let out a little gasp of horror.
“Your Alpha is dead,” Sarah said, remembering the old ways. “Now, there is nothing left to fight for. I won in honorable combat. Your sire is dead, and I am victorious.”
Maara growled. Clearly she was heartbroken that her master had died. If anyone else had suffered the injuries she’d suffered in the past, she would not be here today. He had shown pity on her, but more than that, he’d given her a chance to prove herself. She loved him, had loved him, as much as she was capable of that emotion. And she hated the woman who had killed him.
But, law was law, and she knew that even better. It had been instilled in her since the very beginning of her early years that it was important to obey. She lowered her head and let out a small little nod of compliance.
“You have won,” she said with a resigned voice.
“Good,” Sarah said, propping Cora in the crook of one arm, “then gather your people and leave this place. I have won, which means that all of Damon’s territory now belongs to me. I am bringing this place down. You have ten minutes to evacuate everyone… before this place will fall back into the mountain.”
Maara’s eyes grew wide. “You can’t destroy the den!”
“I can do whatever I like! I earned that right!” Sarah flashed again, sudden anger showing in her eyes. Even little Cora was shocked into silence. “Get your people… and flee,” she said, and her ultimatum had a weight behind it was sudden and definitive.
She turned to go and Maara ambled for a moment, unable to believe that things had just progressed so far. “Curse you, Greyback,” she muttered and ran off to the main den to evacuate the others.
***
Sarah’s plan worked brilliantly. While she had wandered off to find Cora and Damon, Connor was instructed to head to main dens and bring down the heavy posts that held up the internal structure. Sarah could already feel a shaking of the earth by the time she and Cora escaped from the tunnel she had originally entered. She took another look at the cave entrance and heard a resounding explosion that could only have been the main antechamber.
Damon was buried, and that would be the end of it. His tomb now lay beneath Devil’s Couch. Part of her hoped that the other Bears who were part of the Bloodweres had managed to escape but she had resigned herself to the fact that she was doing what she needed to. Did that make her harder? Maybe. Did it make her cruel? Some might say so.
But nothing could equal he
r joy – or the knowledge that what she had done was correct – as having Cora close her eyes and snuggle against her breast again.
“You made it,” she heard a tired voice, and suddenly large arms wrapped around her, and she smelled Connor. Cora opened her eyes again and grinned at him.
“My love,” she said.
He still looked a bit beat up, but the Clawgrove genes were working their magic and he seemed almost back to himself, even though the cuts on his face and his back would probably take months to fully heal. He had found a pair of pants, but she could feel the bare skin of his chest press against her. She had never felt so wonderful, and reached out to extend their hug when he tried to pull back again.
“What about Damon?” he said finally, touching Cora’s cheek.
He probably knew that the outcome could only have been one thing, but there was a worried look on his face. He, of all people, knew how much the death of Caroline years earlier had affected her, and he no doubt feared another episode. She simply smiled and brushed the hair out of his eyes. One of his eyes was still heavy with swelling.
“It’s okay,” she said honestly, “I have no regrets.”
“You didn’t shoot him?” he noticed the way she was limping and checked her back and let out a hiss of anger. There were cuts seeping through her shirt, and she winced a bit. “By the gods…”
“Easy, my love,” she said, “it’s over. You were right. We got Cora back, that’s all that matters.”
“You bested him in combat?” he said approvingly.
“You don’t mess with a momma bear,” she said.
“I found our old sacks and phoned in Marcus,” he said, pointing toward the skyline where a row of three helicopters were coming in low, their heavy thumping almost indistinguishable from the wind. “And look, the Bloodweres.”
She followed his finger to where he was pointing up the hill. She gasped. Coming out of various other entrances in the hill a number of ragged forms were emerging, one at a time, and then in droves. They looked sleepy, like they hadn’t seen the light for years – she wondered if some of them hadn’t. As she understood the politics of the den, there were hunters that were allowed special freedom under Damon’s jurisdiction to leave. The others… who knew.