by Taylor Fray
“There’s more to you than killing.”
“When I came across your sister, I wanted to help her. I thought of what they did to Emily… what they might do to her…” He squeezed the wheel.
“Thank you, for trying. You did the best you could,” Morgan said, realizing in all the chaos, she hadn’t actually said so.
“No, I didn’t. I could have done something. Been faster. Snatched her away, by force if necessary. I should have kidnapped her. Should have… I should have known. Should have done something. But it seems I can’t help anyone, not even myself.”
“You helped me. You saved my life.”
Zak took that in. His face swelled with emotion. He pulled to the side of the road, the Rockies now beginning to turn to dry crags in these parts.
“I’ll always treasure that I did. That I could get you out of their reach. That’s why I’m getting you to Grey Home. But you saw what happened back at Ivalia’s. You saw what I am. And there’s no separating it from me. It is all difficult for me, to never see my clan, to never see you again. But we made an agreement—”
“Couldn’t someone go with you? Someone to help you in your fight?”
“No. That is my own vendetta, not yours. A promise is a promise.”
He was right, but she couldn’t stand it anymore. She had to tell him, to really tell him, not in the throes of a life or death situation, but with the clear-eyed vision of everyday life. Though it would seem pathetic, though she was the last woman on earth to be a soft-hearted weakling, she had to tell him. “Zak, I don’t want you to wander off into the world alone. I lo—”
CRASH! In a blink their car was spinning, metal crunching, glass shattering. They had been struck by something heavy, something fast. They were tossed like ragdolls in the car. Once the violence had stopped for just a split moment, Morgan could see that it had been a car that had rammed into them. A black SUV. She could see one of its windows roll down. Pointing at them was an automatic machine gun.
“Zak! Drive!” she yelled. He was already gunning the engine. Just as the muscle car’s tires screeched to lift them off the dirt and back onto asphalt, the machine gun began firing. BRRRR—the bullets pierced the car like it was an aluminum can.
In reflex Morgan ducked as bullets flickered through the car in violent hissing. Suddenly glass shattered—there was a whizzing noise and Morgan jumped in her seat as her cheek burned then went numb—she had just been grazed by a bullet.
She was in too much shock to even cry out.
Kicking up a cloud of dust, Zak managed to drive back onto the road, and slammed the gas, taking off like he was in a drag race.
Morgan trembled as she felt her cheek. Skin had been peeled off, dabs of blood smeared her fingers.
“You alright?” Zak yelled as he drove like a madman.
She shook herself out of the shock, began rifling through her bag, looking for the gun Ivalia had given her. “Gestaffos,” Zak said, explaining the situation with a single word. It didn’t take much of Morgan’s deductive skills to know he was right. She found it. She made sure it was loaded, worked the safety. Her eyes flickered to the rearview. They were behind them. Catching up. Her hands trembling. She opened her window to get a good shot. But she had to duck back as fire kept coming at them from behind.
A man in a green bomber jacket was leaning out of the SUV’s window and firing off with the machine gun. Morgan recognized him; he was one of Gestaffos’ men, the one with the lightning chain and the bandana on his face. The driver was the Snow Leopard, though he was in his human form, his tattooed arms clenching the wheel. Zak swerved as best he could to avoid the gunfire, but it was a two lane winding rode with a sheer cliff drop on one side and a mountainside on the other. He revved his muscle car’s engine to try to outrun them, but again the road kept him from driving at full speed.
Morgan craned her neck back, spotting how to take her shot. She had always kept her nerve in danger, but now, with her Shifter side being released, she felt practically fearless. Even more than that—she grit her teeth—she was pissed.
Her hair flailed wildly as she stuck out the window. Her shoulder tensed—she could feel how much stronger she was, the gun weighing practically nothing in her hand. Blam! Blam! She managed to get some shots off, had good aim, but hell if she could hit from a swerving car to another, on a winding road going at 50 miles an hour.
Suddenly a car drove by on the opposite side of the road. It was a mini van, everyone inside agape at the sight of the two warring cars—especially a little blonde kid with his face plastered to the window, his lips mouthing: “holy shiiii—” before blurring by.
“Damn it!” Morgan slunk back inside. “We’re going to get people killed if we keep like this.” Zak kept doing his best to dodge the oncoming fire, until they had a more steady stretch of road. His eyes roamed as he considered something.
“Take the wheel,” he said to Morgan.
“What?”
“I’m going to jump out of the car. I’m going to stop them.”
“Are you crazy?!”
“Listen, you have instincts, reflexes like mine. You can do this. Trust me. When I go, you slip into the driver’s seat. It’ll be a split second.”
“It’s not that, it’s—”
“And whatever you do, don’t stop driving! You take the 5 North all the way until you get to Washington! You go to a place called the Okanoga forest!”
“No! I won’t!” Morgan said, realizing what he was planning.
“You shift when you’re there. You howl like crazy. Even if it takes all night. Someone from my clan will come to you. They’ll take you to Grey Home. Explain what happened. Tell them… tell them I fought until the end.”
“I’m not driving off without you!” Air swirled inside through the shattered windows.
“Morgan, I’m going to turn into... I’m going to give into the Red Rage. Completely. What you saw at Ivalia’s, not was only a partial shift, the Rage’s full form is truly a monster. It’s the only chance I have against those three. This fight is too dangerous. Even if I win somehow, you can’t be around me when I’m in that state. I’ll kill everything around me. I don’t know if it’ll be enough to kill the three of them before they kill me, but I promise I’m taking some of them with me. Goodbye, Morgan.”
“No! Zak, you can’t!”
“You know,” he said, steeling himself, “you made me want to live in peace again, to love again, to be a man again.”
“Zak…” tears beaded in her eyes once more.
“But I’m not.” His eyes were beginning to shine red, his fangs were beginning to gleam white, his voice turning deep and guttural. “In the end, I’m not a man at all. I am what I am… a beast.”
“No! Zak!”
In a burst of potency, he flung the door open with one arm, flipped himself onto the muscle car’s roof and landed with a thud. In that same instant Morgan grabbed the wheel and flung herself over to the driver’s seat, doing so out of a sheer panic, an instinct that felt like liquid flowing through her body. Bullets kept raining down. She gripped the wheel for dear life.
15
His hair kicked wild in the rush of wind.
One last hunt. One last battle. It was fitting for a werewolf of his clan, of his lineage, to die fighting, to die with glory. He was Zak Skarsgard, son of Gustav the Red, Hammer of the 13 Moons. And now, he would get to join his ancestors.
Zak dug his claws into the roof of the muscle car as asphalt streamed beneath and burning bullets screamed past him. He steadied himself. His eyes tracked the swerving black mass of the SUV behind them, just like a wolf choosing the precise moment to pounce. He could feel the fur beginning to sprout on his jawline, on his forearms. It frightened him, just a touch, that a smile curled his lips ever so slightly, in anticipation of a fight to the death.
Without hesitation he flung himself off.
He soared, arms and legs spread, and landed on the hood of the SUV. He punched through the wind
shield, glass shattering everywhere. He heard the roar of gunfire rattling from the front seat, but he snatched the machine gun like it was a squirming hose spitting fire. The gun’s muzzle burned hot in his hand, and it went on screaming as it fired. The man with the bandana on his face resisted, trying to regain control of the gun, firing off a hail of bullets as he tried to point it at Zak. But Zak held on and pushed. He dug his claws into the hood of the SUV with his other hand, and tried to wrench the gun free. He could hear the stream of bullets getting closer and closer to his face. The man firing had the use of both hands, and he was overpowering Zak’s grip. Zak could see his murderous gaze delighting in inching closer and closer to blasting him in the face. Zak shut his eyes waiting for the searing pain.
Click.
It stopped firing.
The clip was empty.
Zak took his opportunity. He let go of the gun, and smashed the rest of the windshield.
Leaning in, he grabbed hold of the wheel. The driver tried to peel his hand off but it was too late. Zak swung the wheel and the huge vehicle tilted and then flipped over. Sparks flew as its metal raked the asphalt of the road. Zak was hurled off, smacking on the asphalt and rolling to a stop.
He glanced up the road. His muscle car was nowhere in sight. It was hard to believe but in the midst of all this chaos, he could still feel relieved. In the end, Morgan had understood—he always knew she had the strength to do the right thing. She would be safe, and all that mattered now was the fight ahead of him.
He shot up to his feet. Took in the situation. The SUV was on its side, mangled. Perched on top of it, feet together, arms crossed, trench coat swaying gently in the wind, was Gestaffos. He gazed at Zak as if he were beholding a rambunctious child. A menacing smile curled the end of his lip.
Zak clenched his fists, and readied himself.
Clang! One of the SUV’s doors was unhinged and it was flung away by a giant gray furred hand. The snow leopard leapt out of his metal cage, and landed gracefully, as cats always do, on his feet. His tail flailing, his serrated blade glinting in his hand.
Shamil. That was his name. Zak realized who he was now. A black man with tattoos all along his arms and translucent blue eyes. He had been a famed assassin, one of the few snow leopard Shifters left alive in the entire world. He had been a part of the Night Strider Clan before the Black Hand consumed him into its ranks.
Leaping out after Shamil was the man in the green jacket. His combat boots smacked against the asphalt and in a flash his chain was spinning in his hand and crackling with electricity.
Now that Zak saw him in the daylight, something about him seemed familiar.
“I’m glad the gun didn’t get you,” the man said. “Now we can tear you apart the way Shifters should settle things. Tooth and nail…” His last words were distorted as black fur began sprouting all over his body. His jacket was torn apart as he grew into a gigantic muscled beast. He was a Shifter, a werewolf like Zak.
Even through the fur, Zak could see something on his chest. A symbol that had been etched into his flesh. A brand. One that he instantly recognized. It was the symbol of the 13 moons. Yuri. That was his name. He earned that symbol on his chest during the trials of Einherblot. In fact, Yuri had defeated Zak in the trials that year. Zak had known him distantly growing up, admiring him as an older but still young and gregarious warrior. So this had been his fate, as many suspected. How he had changed from the young werewolf he knew.
“Yuri?” Zak said, unnerved for a moment.
With a wet snarl the gigantic black werewolf charged at him. Zak blurred away. His sheer speed made him a flickering ghost. He leapt off the road down into the canyon. Leapt from boulder to boulder. He was not yet in his Krinos form. He had more speed this way, though staying in this form also meant he was weaker than Gestaffos’ two minions. Still, running to fight elsewhere gave him two advantages: it meant they would be away from any humans driving on the road, and fighting on different terrain would help with being outnumbered.
Dust kicked up as he planted his feet into a sudden stop. He turned. His breath was ragged from sprinting so fast. Here they came. His ultrasensitive smell and hearing told him that two massive Shifters, both in Krinos form, were about to pounce on him. He was down in a small canyon, dotted with sharp boulders and trees. He could see not far away was a building of some kind.
He could actually hear the raking of their claws as they leapt down the stones toward him.
It was time now. His teeth were bared as he concentrated. Veins rippled along his arms. He panted as the strain on his body grew. A rattling howl unfurled out from him as a mane of fur covered his neck, then spread to the rest of his body. Bones cracked as they rearranged themselves. Muscle became engorged with Shifter magic. His face turned to that of a silver-gray wolf. He was in his Krinos form now, a 9 foot tall man-wolf built for battle.
Shamil came barreling down, leaping boulders. Even as he was charging to murder him, Zak couldn’t help but think that it was a beautiful sight to see a werecat charging at him like a cheetah on the savanna. The glint of Shamil’s blade quickly brought him to his senses. Just as Shamil was ready to strike, Zak snatched up a clump of sand then leapt as high as he could. Shamil leapt up after him. As Zak was soaring through the air he opened his hand and the dust streamed out of it. It caught in Shamil’s eyes, forcing him to blink. It was a distraction that would last only for a fraction of a second, but that was all Zak needed. When they touched the ground again, Zak dashed in. His claws sliced through the air and drove into Shamil’s ribs. Hot blood splattered out and the werecat recoiled with a screech. His blade swung in instinct but Zak was just far enough that it didn’t cleave his head open.
A split moment later, Zak heard the crackle of Yuri’s lightning chain. Before he could turn—Snap! He felt the sting of it on his arm. It burned like hell, but he leapt away and kept running.
The two were on his trail. The way they chased was so fast, to the human eye it would look like three gusts of wind, three dark blurs, chasing after one another through the sandstone.
Zak’s arm was twitching from the lightning chain. But having been struck by it was a price worth paying if he had injured Shamil. A fresh Shamil would’ve been too fast for him to deal with. Now he had a chance. A small one, at least.
Slash! Shamil’s blade barely missed him. As Zak leapt up a pine tree he glanced the building—it was not too far away now. He leaped down and bolted straight for it. He could feel the agitation beginning to turn his vision red. The Red Rage was building. He wanted to use his strategic mind as long as he had it. For soon he would be a raging monster with no fighting strategy but to tear everything apart until nothing was moving.
The blurred vision stopped as he arrived at the building and halted his sprint. It was an electrical station of some kind. Two electric towers with crisscrossing metal beams stood out. There was a concrete building between them. Some kind of monitoring station, though it seemed unmanned.
Zak turned. They had caught up to him. Yuri swung his massive black arm but Zak dove under its arc. The black werewolf flailed his other hand and his chain came whipping down like a snake. It struck Zak on the shoulder, sparking like a short-circuit.
Zak wailed and bolted away, but now Shamil was also dashing for him. Shamil pierced the air with his blade twice, barely missing each time. He kept swinging, backing Zak up until his back was against a utility truck parked outside the building. Zak clutched the truck’s door with his claws, ripped it off with a snarl, and sent it hurtling toward Shamil like a Tomahawk. The improvised weapon caught Shamil off guard. It cracked him on the knee just as he was leaping away. The sheer force that Zak had thrown it with made Shamil shriek and his knee snap.
Good. He was slowing him down. One swing of Shamil’s blade in the right place and it was all over. Suddenly he heard a crackle in the air and the lightning chain was swinging. It smacked his arm, forcing him to yelp in pain.
Zak could see now, as Yuri swung his
chain that his eyes were glowing a strange yellow light. He realized—Yuri was under mind control. It made sense. Gestaffos was a Kamazot, a werebat, and they had natural mind control abilities just like Albhanz had. Gestaffos being a magic wielder, his would have been even more amplified.
Whoosh! Fzzzt! The lightning chain kept swinging through the air. Zak braced himself. He knew what he had to do. He raised his massive forearm and let the chain wrap itself around it. He let out a crazed roar of pain, but didn’t let go of the chain’s crackling metal. Slobbering in excruciating torture, he gathered every ounce of his strength, gripped the chain with both hands and swung Yuri like a tether. He swung him right into the electrical tower. With an explosion of lights Yuri was shocked again and again, thousands of volts pouring into him. Zak had realized Yuri had magically turned his body into a conduit for electricity in order to not be hurt by the lightning chain he wielded. So when he struck the tower it was like a livewire striking. Except this time, those towers had far more electrical capacity than his chain, and it was too much even for his trained body to handle. Finally, he was hurled several car lengths away and landed in a smoking heap of fur.
Zak hoped it had not been enough to kill him. He didn’t have time to be more considerate than that, as Shamil was pouncing on him once more.