by RS McCoy
Three coyotes remained clutched onto his back while another four scrambled about his feet, snapping and biting at him if he didn’t move them fast enough.
But speed had never been his gift. No, bear-Parson had only strength.
Pushing past the pain and the weight of the dogs on his back, bear-Parson bared down on the two coyotes nearest him. His paws dropped harder than hammers, pounding them into the ground until their bones crunched, and they never moved again.
Five more.
Bear-Parson slammed his mammoth frame into the unforgiving trunk of an alder, loosing two coyotes from his back—one of them dead.
Four.
When the next came to snap at his paw, bear-Parson evaded the bite and crushed the coyote a second later. Its skull popped like a melon.
Three.
The two coyotes remaining on his back worked extra hard to tear into his flesh, pulling and twisting to yank out full chunks of fur and skin. He let out a horrific, pain-filled growl, but he wouldn’t stop moving. Concern for the tiger fueled his rage. Bear-Parson raced for the nearest tree, his paws thundering on the ground, before he threw his full weight against the trunk. Both coyotes fell away, one dead, the other so injured it never stood again.
One.
But bear-Parson was spared killing it. Alone and in the face of a hostile brown bear, the coyote thought better of his attack. It whimpered once before racing for the midnight shadows that filled the forest. Parson could have easily followed, relying only on scent, but the tiger needed him.
Transitioning to his human form was exceptionally painful given his wounds, mostly on his back with a good bite on his shoulder, but Parson forced himself into a man. He needed to think, to assess her injuries with thought and care. A bear would never know how to keep her alive.
But Raene remained a tiger. It was impossible to see the extent of her injuries through all the blood. The sight horrified him, and he would have been sure the coyotes had bested her if not for the wide arc of carnage around her. She’d fought hard and killed a dozen before she’d fallen—from blood loss, if he had to guess.
Even if she had been in her lovely human form, Parson could do nothing for her. They were a full day’s ride from the Bear Clan, and Parson had no supplies to stop the bleeding, had no skill for the medical arts—nothing that could save her life. The bow and arrow strapped to his back were useless in the aftermath.
His jaw tightened. He knew Raene was going to die.
And Parson had let this happen. He had encouraged her to hunt, to leave the safety of the clan.
But more than his guilt or shame, was the knowledge that he was about to lose the only person who understood him. He’d forced his way into her life and was rewarded by getting to know her in return. There would be no more shared hunts. No more secrets or kisses or fights.
Parson was going to lose her.
His chest ached as if it caved under the weight of his anguish. He would never get over this. He would never recover from this loss.
Her striped ribs rose and fell so faintly, he could only tell she was still breathing when he placed a hand against them. She didn’t have long.
She would die a tiger.
Death in totem form was never easy. The body didn’t know how to decay properly. The transitional energy complicated what should have been the most natural process of all. It would take weeks for her to start to decompose rather than hours.
Parson knew he couldn’t see her that way.
“Raene,” he shouted in her pointed cat ear, not caring about the cracks in his voice. He had no way of knowing if she could even hear him. But he had to try.
“Come back. Transition back, Raene!” Parson lashed out his hand onto the meat of her shoulder when frustration got the better of him.
But nothing happened. He couldn’t even feel her breaths anymore.
She was gone.
Parson collapsed to the ground beside her, at a loss as to what to do. Hale was going to kill him for this. Da’s trade with the Vice Syndicate would be nullified. The Bear Clan would lose their alliance and their tiger totem, and when Da demanded Blossom’s return, he would know she was missing.
This night would change everything.
But Parson would never be able to tell them how it affected him. It would be disrespectful to Hale to even suggest she might have had other inclinations, whether true or not. It didn’t matter now.
Parson sat frozen in grief and shock. His mind couldn’t process it. When he turned back to stroke her fur—to run his hands through those gorgeous russet stripes—he realized the tiger was gone. Instead, the blood-covered form of the human Raene lay in its place.
Her neck was so tattered, even Parson’s night eyes couldn’t see how much of it had been torn away. Her right arm was obviously broken, the bone jutting out with an angry, pointed edge. The rest of her was covered in bite marks, each missing a sizeable chunk of flesh.
The nearest one, just below her bottom rib, continued to bleed profusely, pumping blood like a river down her stomach.
All at once, Parson realized she was alive. Dead people didn’t bleed. The flow of blood was strong for now, but it would wane soon enough.
Except he was too far from anyone who could help her.
He couldn’t give up on her—wouldn’t give up on her. She was strong. She’d survived this long. Parson would have to get her the rest of the way.
In less than a minute, he abandoned his bow and quiver, and shredded his shirt into long strips to tie around the worst of her wounds. They were all layered so close and on top of one another, he only needed five strips, pulled tight to slow the bleeding. They weren’t clean, and they would produce wounds that festered, but that was hardly a concern at the moment. Parson was all too aware she wouldn’t live long enough for it to matter.
Despite how he rolled and turned her to secure the strips around her torso, Raene remained motionless, lifeless. It killed him. It gutted him clean through.
And it was only going to get worse.
So Parson did the only thing he could. He pulled Raene tight against his chest, pressing as much of his body against hers as he could.
“I’m so sorry, Raene,” he whispered in her blood-caked ear.
And then he transitioned.
Encased in his transitional energy, Raene folded into his totem in the same way as his clothes or quiver. To anyone else he might cross, they’d never know she was there, wouldn’t be able to see her, but to Parson, it was as obvious as anything. She was a natural extension of himself. Her chin pressed against his shoulder, her body molded into his. He felt the energy within her, nothing like her usual strength, but it was there. Deep within his totem self, Parson sensed the life within her. A life that would very likely be over soon.
But he couldn’t think about that.
Parson spared only a moment to find his bearings before he broke into a full sprint.
Kaide stood on the front steps of the stone house and adjusted his cloak. He had never before had any reason to visit.
An ancient woman pulled open the carved-iron door, her head bowed so low that Kaide could see nothing but the crown of her smoke-white hair. She bid him entry and escorted him through the lowest level. It was as dark as a cave inside, the volcanic stone soaking up the light. Only a few wall sconces illuminated their route to the formal sitting room.
It was there Kaide found his host. Pruda lounged on a scarlet sofa across from the fireplace. The summer heat was already overwhelming. The fire was for him, for whatever reason.
Kaide stopped in the doorway and bowed his head formally. “Good evening, Pruda. Thank you for having me.” He said the words he didn’t mean. Kaide was tempted to turn on his heel and head back to the manor, but there was nothing for him to do there. He would only continue to brood in his anger.
An invitation to Pruda’s estate was odd enough; Kaide was at least intrigued to see what she wanted. He knew the Alderai wasn’t her real aim.
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��Oh please, Kaide. Come in. Have a drink with me.” Pruda motioned to the wall of wine bottles behind her.
Had he been at home, he might have drank a full bottle on his own and let sleep consume him, no better than the likes of Naiden Randal. Here, he pulled a silver glass from the rack and poured the strawberry wine. Then, he took the seat across from Pruda.
Her hair was down, as smooth as silk and black as ink. The tattoos on her arm danced in the firelight. Her lips were painted, too-red as always, and her dark eyes spent several minutes watching him drink his wine.
Neither spoke. That was fine with Kaide. He couldn’t think of anything to say.
“You really loved her, didn’t you?” Pruda’s first words were as brutal as a viper’s strike.
Kaide tried not to wince.
Pruda’s lips formed a pained smile. “You don’t have to answer. I can see it. I felt the same about my second husband. Did you ever meet Brill? No, I suppose you didn’t.”
Pruda was well into her third marriage by the time Kaide was selected as Vice Syndicate. He’d known she had previous husbands, but hadn’t bothered to learn their names. They were history.
Kaide shook his head. “I’d rather not discuss it.”
“But that’s precisely why I’ve invited you, and why you’ve accepted.” She stood up and carried her drink to Kaide’s side. When she sat, she pressed the length of her calf against the side of his thigh.
“I accepted because you said you wanted to discuss the Alderai.” Only a half-lie.
“We’ll get to that. I have an offer for you first.” Pruda draped an arm across the back of the sofa and toyed with the edge of Kaide’s collar. He hated to have her so close, touching his cloak that way, but regardless of his disinterest, Pruda was dangerous. He would hardly be the first to die by her hand—or tongue.
When Kaide didn’t answer except to sip his wine, Pruda told a story he doubted many had heard before. “My first husband was Winsor Melston of the Hyena Clan of Mount Alkai. He was a Commissioner of Criminal Investigation back before Sangra. He was hard and foul and cruel as anything. I hated that man. We’d only been married a year when I slipped my fangs into his neck and watched him seize.”
Kaide wasn’t surprised at the words—he’d already suspected she’d done it—but rather, the fact she shared it with him, and in such detail, gave him pause.
“If this is your idea of earning my allegiance, you’re wasting your time.” Kaide tried to hide the threat in his voice, but there was that edge he couldn’t smooth. He had no interest in marrying her, and he wasn’t going to be coerced into it. He didn’t want to kill Pruda, and he wasn’t willing to die.
Pruda’s lips curled into an amused grin. “No, that’s for later.” She even winked at him before she took a long sip of wine and continued. “I married Brill a few months later, sure it would be more of the same. But he was the only son of the Elsor Clan, and I wanted their connections in Hydra. I didn’t expect it to last long.”
To Kaide’s surprise, Pruda’s hand fell away. Her gaze sank to her lap, and he couldn’t be sure, but it appeared that someone had cracked Pruda wide open.
A look he well recognized.
Pruda’s voice barely withheld her grief as she said, “I killed him on accident. He woke me in the night, I still don’t know why. I reacted and bit him. He died in three minutes.”
Kaide put a hand on her knee, the only comfort he could off her. He was in no position to give anything else.
She cleared her throat and returned to her easy smile. “I tried again after that, but he was so dull. He smelled like rotting leaves. I couldn’t take it. It wasn’t the same anymore.”
Kaide could relate to that sentiment more than anything else. It wasn’t the same anymore. But that didn’t bring her motives into focus. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because we can help each other.” Pruda’s hand snaked back to his collar. A second later, she reached forward and wrapped her lips around his neck, only an instant away from sinking her fangs into his flesh and killing him. But instead, she kissed him before Kaide swatted her away.
It had been a mistake to come here.
Kaide pushed to his feet and set down his wine glass. Smoothing over his cloak, he used his formal tone to address her. “Thank you for your hospitality, Vice Syndicate Swain,” he droned as he headed for the door.
Before he’d made it even half a step, her hand was on his arm. “It’s not a trick, Kaide. I don’t want Syndicate. I just want to see the Prentis burn.” Her eyes ignited with that same passion he saw when they discussed Pyro’s underground ring of sex traffickers.
Kaide hovered at a loss. “The Prentis isn’t the only issue. There are dozens of other matters to address. Why is this one so important?”
“My swine of a first husband used me as he saw fit. Let’s just say I have a soft spot for any woman in such a position.” She stepped forward and steadied her gaze on him. “I’ll help you with whatever you want. You have my full support. Just promise me we destroy the Prentis.”
Pruda’s face wasn’t her usual seductive mask. Her mouth wasn’t twisted into a smirk, and her eyes didn’t shimmer with vengeance. She was telling him the truth, though Kaide still wasn’t entirely certain why. He only knew whatever happened in her first marriage, it had been enough to shape her into the ruthless woman he knew now.
“Just sit down. Let’s discuss this reasonably.” She tugged him back to the sofa. No sooner was he seated than her legs were draped over his lap and her fingers continued to toy with his collar, but Pruda spilled everything she knew about the Prentis and their leader, the Milton—how she dispatched a trio of private investigators to stage a kidnapping and follow the Prentis, making it halfway across the Alderwood before they were lost.
Kaide sat in silence, listening, absorbing, working through the information one piece at a time. It was good information—information they desperately needed—but even Kaide wasn’t so callous as to condone sacrificing a young woman for it. There was no telling the horror her life had become within the grasp of the Prentis.
And it wasn’t enough to change anything. Kaide was powerless to bring the Prentis to light.
“I already approached Mora to set up a Syndicate Council meeting. She denied it.” Kaide sighed and told Pruda of his recent failure. “She also denied my request for ascension. She believes me to be unfit.” He knew Pruda would back out of whatever arrangement she’d sought with him. There was no motivation to be aligned with him when he’d already been passed over.
“She’s an old tart. You’ll have it. There’s nothing she can do to prevent it. I don’t want it, and Gould is a bumbling idiot. You’re all she has left. Unless she plans on living forever.” Pruda had the gall to laugh.
Kaide, too, laughed. “So far, she’s doing quite well.” Mora’s health had been on the decline for years, but she showed no signs of slowing. She was a tough old lizard.
And then, as he sat lost in thought, Pruda’s lips landed against his cheek.
“Pruda—”
“Be quiet,” she hissed.
“I’m not—” Her lips found the lobe of his ear.
Brusquely, she told him, “I don’t want anything from you. I don’t have anything to give you, either.”
It was then Kaide saw it. She was just as empty as he was, only she’d been empty longer. She’d gotten good at it.
Maybe she’d figured out something he hadn’t. Killing hadn’t worked. Trying to claim Syndicate hadn’t worked. Maybe this would.
So Kaide put his hands around Pruda’s waist and centered her over his lap. She was tall, so much taller than Blossom, but the memory of the Terra girl he loved only spurred him on. Every time he thought of her, he pulled Pruda closer, desperately hoping the woman in front of him could quiet the one who wouldn’t quit racing across his thoughts.
Blossom was gone, and he had to go on. He had to move on with his life.
This was the best he could do.
> Hale smelled Parson’s bear form well before he should have. The wind carried the familiar scent of his brother from the north, but even so, it was too early. A full day too early.
They shouldn’t be back yet.
Something was wrong.
Hale burst from his tent and into the clearing in time to see his brother’s bear form approach at a full run. His mouth hung open as he panted in exhaustion, and already Hale knew he’d been running for hours. There was no sign of Raene—no scent of her anywhere.
At Hale’s tent, bear-Parson stopped. His nostrils flared as he gasped for breath. He shook his head, and then, all at once, he transitioned. But rather than standing in his human form, Parson remained crouched with one arm tight around Raene as he lowered her to the ground. He wore no shirt, and his back was riddled with bites and wounds, but he didn’t even seem to notice.
His eyes never left her.
“We were ambushed,” he managed through his ragged breaths.
Hale took only a half-second to collect himself. There were so many wrong things happening all at once, he didn’t even know how to begin. And then, he saw the dark red color of Raene’s usually-vibrant shirt, the streak of crimson from her ear, the bone emerging from her arm.
He covered the distance in a few short steps. Parson fell back and let Hale collect her, pulling her into his arms and bringing her into his tent, laying her on the small cot reserved for more critical patients.
Tasia burst into the tent as soon as he had her laid flat. “By the Mother,” she whispered behind him.
Hale didn’t bother to turn. “I need clean water. And whatever clean fabrics you can find,” he added when he saw the state of his bride. Whatever clothes she’d been wearing were destroyed, little more than tattered remnants, and the strips of moss-green fabric were soaked through with blood and grime.
Tasia was gone a moment later.
And Hale was alone with his task. He hated this. He hated the shake of his hands and the way every motion seemed too slow. Just crossing the tent to get his medical kit felt like an eternity away from her.
He didn’t even know if she was alive.