Dog Eat Dog World: Limited Edition Bundle (Black Dog)

by Hailey Edwards

  I inhaled deeply and pulled the scent of fur and rabbit urine into my lungs. “Púcas?”

  “Yes.” He spread his fingers, and his hand vanished into an air pocket from the wrist down.

  Summoning a rabbit skin, no doubt. “Those boogers get around, don’t they?”

  He hummed, distracted, and I used my magical sight to locate my own pocket. Once I got my hand inside, I thought about Rook dropping the poor, dead bunny at my feet and telling me to skin it, and its silky weight hit my palm. I withdrew it carefully, exhaling with relief that it was undamaged. The pelt was a faded baby pink shade like no natural bunny I had ever seen. I found it morbidly beautiful.

  Mac examined the black pelt in his hand. “Do you know how to speak while wearing a skin?”

  “Yes.” I exhaled my jitters. “The púcas taught me.”

  His eyebrows climbed. “That’s good. They’re experts at it.”

  “Well, I’m not.” I shrugged. “I managed it before, but I’m out of practice.”

  “Practice makes perfect.” He placed the skin on top of his head, snugging it down until his eyes lined up with the dried slits where the rabbit’s eyes once were. Black as the fur was, his might have been an actual púca pelt. My bunny skin was native Faerie stock, but not a sentient fae like a púca.

  “Mac?” Aware I might never get another chance as good as this one to ask him, I rushed before the magic transformed him into a sleek rabbit. “Does it bother you wearing the skin of another fae?”

  When I wore Raven’s pelt, though he had been a hound when I killed him, I sensed him, like an echo in the back of my mind. It was damn creepy sharing that connection with him. I much preferred the bunny’s residual thoughts on the flavor profile of dandelions versus ryegrass to Raven’s seething hatred of his brother—and of me—but final thoughts seemed burned the deepest into any skin.

  Seconds passed before he answered. “Skins are tools. You don’t hate a knife for slicing open a throat. You don’t refuse to use magic even when it might cost a life. Skins are like that too. You see them as the remains of the previous owner, but they aren’t. They’re nothing but flesh and fur, nothing but a means of doing our jobs. The memories… Those serve a purpose too. They never let us forget the cost of taking a life. Wearing them is meant to be uncomfortable so you remember who you are and never forget to remove it when the job is done, to put that tool away when you’re finished.”

  Another sliver of guilt fell to the side. “I never thought of it like that—like any of that.”

  Placing the slinky skin on my head, I shoved out the thoughts bogging me down and narrowed my focus to a single goal. Be the bunny. All I needed was my concentration to lapse inside the tunnel. I would explode to Thierry-size while crawling through a tube six inches wide underground.

  That would pretty much suck, and would be hell for Mac to explain to my mother.

  Our daughter exploded in a tunnel in Faerie, but here’s her spleen…

  Forget him ever hearing the L word from her. She would be hurling F and U instead.

  The heavy scent of damp earth seeped into me and sparked a tiny flame of panic. An hour ago, I had asked Mac if we were there yet. His tail hadn’t even twitched. Hop-crawling through utter darkness, I bumped into him as he stopped to gnaw a root that had grown through the tunnel since its last use.

  “My nose is cramping,” I whined.

  The reflexive wiggling reflected my state of agitation—like wearing a mood ring on my face.

  “I see light ahead.” Mac panted through a narrowing of the walls. “We’re almost there.”

  Paws flying, I hustled through the tight spot and gasped when brilliant sunlight blasted me in the face. I shuffled forward, and the ground vanished beneath me. Tumbling tail over teakettle, I landed on a soft spot with a sharp oomph. Blinded, I tested it with my paw. Oops. The grunt hadn’t been mine after all. “Sorry.”

  Mac slid out from under me while I blinked away the last of the darkness.

  “Are you all right?” He sounded winded.

  My furry cheeks heated. I wasn’t that heavy.

  “Fine,” I grumbled. “Where are we?”

  “Near the kitchen.” Mac hopped several feet toward an arched doorway. “Stay close.”

  I fumbled my first hop-step. “We’re not shifting back?”

  “We’re less likely to be noticed this way.” I heard a smile in his voice. He reached the threshold and peered around the corner, scanning the hall left to right. “We also retain the element of surprise.”

  Flattening my ears against my head, I sank deeper into the pelt, hoping its muscle memory would let me keep up with Mac, who moved as if born to his skin.

  Unlike the crystalline rooms surrounded by flowing water and filled with sunlight I remembered from my first visit to the Halls, this area had solid white walls with blue-and-white-checkered floors. The ceiling was translucent. Sunlight glinted off the polished surface, making me squint as I slipped on soft paws.

  Ahead of me, Mac tensed as low voices echoed down the hall.

  “Prince Tiberius should be made aware of the situation,” a feminine voice cautioned.

  “Aves are the Morrigan’s creatures, Unseelie,” a man scoffed. “They are no threat to us.”

  The click-clack of heels and steady cadence of soft-soled boots brought the pair closer.

  Nose wiggling a hundred miles per hour, I shuffled close to Mac, ready to spring where he led.

  The woman sighed. “You don’t find it odd how they’re skulking in the grove?”

  He snorted. “Not when the Morrigan is rallying to become the next ruler of Faerie.”

  “She killed her own son for the throne,” the woman mused.

  “Rook was a half-blood,” the man countered. “No better than the half-blood pup the consuls had chosen as queen.” He managed to make my once-future title sound like pond scum. “There has never been a Faerie queen, and the old gods willing, there never will be. Let alone that feral Unseelie cur.”

  “Prince Tiberius would be wise to take the Morrigan in hand sooner rather than later,” she responded.

  “Aye, there is that.” He blew out a long breath. “The longer he waits, the harder it will be.”

  Their shared concerns faded, along with the sound of their shoes, and I slumped against Mac.

  “That was close,” I whispered.

  But he wasn’t listening. His eyes were narrowed in the direction they had gone, and a quiet fury had taken root in his expression. I bumped my hip against his once—then again when he ignored me.

  “They have no right to speak of you that way.” The words slipped out, hard and cold.

  “Faerie is one big competition. You’re either Seelie or Unseelie, and that’s that.” I thought about it. “The only overlap is the half-bloods. Both sides seem to revile them equally. Instead of increasing the mixed population, you’d think fae would learn to keep their bits tucked into their britches, huh?”

  Mac faced me, ears upright and round eyes serious. “You are my daughter, not a half-blood or a cur.” His fuzzy rabbit lip twitched. “My child.” He retracted his nails and lowered his head. “My father was right. War will come to our land and our folk. It is the fruit of hatred, and they have eaten of it.”

  “Mac…”

  “I grow tired, Thierry. I can no longer prevent this. It is done. Faerie must bleed to be cleansed.” His ears swiveled toward me. “The reign of the Black Dog has ended.” He shook his head. “Saying it out loud… I shouldn’t feel relieved.” His emerald eyes, so like mine, pierced me. “I ought to feel—”

  “You’ve been fighting this a long time. You aren’t giving up. You’re giving Faerie the chance to choose what’s right for herself, even if she bloodies her nose in the process. You can still play a role in shaping the new political landscape, but maybe not by working within the High Court.” I wrinkled my nose. “Don’t take on so much by yourself. If you crave true peace and true freedom, don’t force them.” />
  He butted my shoulder with his head. “Should a child be wiser than their father?”

  “Ask your dad sometime.” I winked. “He’s the one who explained it to me.”

  The Huntsman struck me as wise for a guy covered in mud with sticks in his beard.

  Mac chuckled, scooted forward and let me catch my balance, then began hopping down the hall. He padded to a stop when the floor under our paws turned crystal clear. Water rushed beneath us in a dizzying swirl of colors and sound. Mac skirted the glasslike floor, leaping over a single six-inch tile to land on an opaque square in another bland hallway. Flexing my whiskers, I bunched up and leapt.

  Lucky rabbit’s feet don’t fail me now.

  I made the jump, botched the landing and skidded nose-first into the opposite wall. “Oww.”

  A paw landed on my shoulder. “Thierry?”

  “Nailed it.” Never mind the glittery carrots drifting in and out of my vision.

  Nudging me with his shoulder, he got all four of my feet under me. Once I shook the veggies from my eyes, we set off again. Mac scouted ahead, leaving me to coordinate my legs well enough to keep up with him. With a wiggle of his tail, Mac leapt into a low, arched entryway and glanced back at me.

  Rich and delicious scents rolled over me, and my stomach rumbled. “The kitchen?”

  He nodded and lifted his head, inhaling in fast rabbit-nose twitches, ears swiveling. “This way.”

  We had covered the distance of four tiles when I heard a humming sound and froze.

  My whiskers flexed. “Mac?”

  A slapping noise grew louder then stopped abruptly. “What is that sssmell?”

  Padding quietly, Mac eased under a low shelf built into a butcher block table on heavy casters. I followed, settling against his side so we both faced out and could see the person entering the room.

  The scents of hot sand and scales hit my nose, and it stopped twitching altogether.

  “Sssomeone has been in my kitchen.” The fae hissed, “Thisss isss not to be borne.”

  Low as we were, I saw the cook’s feet first. Veined and flat, they reminded me of scuba fins and smacked like flip-flops against the tile when he walked. The cuff of rolled-up white pants started at his ankles, and peering up at him, I took in the traditional chef-style top and the knobby green arms sticking out of the sleeves. He flicked his forked tongue between his lips, tasting us on the air, and my borrowed fur stood on end.

  Bony knuckles covered in red spots dug into his narrow hips as the cook glared around the room through his round blue eyes. Like a birthday streamer blown too hard, his tongue whipped between his lips.

  Hunched as he walked past, I startled when a drawer slammed over our heads. Dull thumping on metal rang out. Stirring the pots simmering on the stove? He grunted as he hefted a thick log onto the fire. It burned in a four-by-six-foot oval chamber built into the wall five feet above the floor with a tiled backsplash. Flames rose and magic siphoned the heat into the oven and stovetop without raising the temperature in the room. Mac used the same convection spell in his den.

  A loud slurp and then a murmured, “The sssoup will do.”

  No one else was here except us bunnies. Lizard Lips enjoyed hearing himself talk…a lot.

  Feet flapping on tile, he left in a snit, muttering about speaking with someone, which meant we had to speed this up before more company arrived. Giving Lizard Lips time to get out of range, Mac cocked his head, rotating his ears. A thump of his rear leg was all the warning I had before he bolted.

  Clumsy as ever, I followed. He squeezed through a narrow gap left where someone had propped open a door leading outside. Into a garden maybe? Yep. After wriggling through, I popped out into a room with walls of glass overlooking the fields Mac and I had crossed to get here. Sun beamed down onto us through the transparent ceiling. My paws sank into rich, damp soil mounded in neat rows and spiked with growing things. This was every gardener’s dream greenhouse. Even I was jealous of it.

  Though it might have been the lush carrot tops sticking up that made me drool…

  Man, I had to get out of this skin.

  A thump of sound brought my head around in time to see Mac leap over a row of cabbages. Ears pricked, he stopped on the far side of the room, in front of the glass wall. I joined him without any major disasters, and that was when the design in the glass registered. Vines rose from the dirt floor to the ceiling, twining to create an archway. Etched with frosted morning glories, it made my heart beat faster. My gut clenched. This was it? This was Summer’s tether? Integrated into the wall? Oh crap.

  I had yet to sever a tether without the structure attached to it crumbling.

  I loosed a slow whistle. “Is this as bad as I think it is?”

  Furry shoulders lifting, Mac shrugged. “The etching was done prior to my anchoring the tether.”

  “Yeah, but an anchor pre-existing its tether didn’t save the bridge…or the arbor…or the—”

  “We have no choice.”

  “You’re right.” A shiver rippled under the skin. “Let’s do this before Lizard Lips gets back.”

  “Lizard Lips…” Mac shook his head.

  A pulse of magic swept over him, and I backpedaled as Mac—the person—burst from his pelt. I calmed my racing heart and thought Thierry thoughts until the subtle spell transformed me as well. A touch of Mac’s fingers to my forehead made me wince. I reached up and felt the goose egg swelling.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I swatted at his hands. “It will be healed up by the time we get home.”

  Home. The word lumped in my throat. Mac’s den was nice, but it wasn’t where I belonged.

  Runes aglow, Mac extended his left hand. Jaw tight and lips numb, I clasped his with my injured one and stifled the scream rising up my throat when he tore open my wound. A silent tear warmed a damp trail down my cheek. I wiped it dry and set to work with shaking fingers, ready to be finished.

  Leaving me to do the heavy lifting, Mac played gardener, examining each row of plantings until spotting a cluster of greenish-blue leaves. Long stems wreathed in tiny silver-colored flowers shot up from the center of the clump to tower above the plant’s base. Mac knelt by it and started trimming.

  Sure. Why not? These days Rook was cooking for us, and Mac was what—harvesting garnish?

  My second sight hummed in my head when the magic surrounding us revealed itself to me. I let my eyes go unfocused and located the threshold of the tether before dripping a line of blood across it that I bent and smeared to cover every inch. Making a fist to slow the blood flow, I recited the Word unique to this tether, its coordinates, and braced for the fallout. Three rapid heartbeats later, I peeked through eyes I didn’t remember squinching. Glass crackled and veins spiderwebbed up the wall.

  Mac slapped our hands together, flashing new skin over my cut and making my vision blur.

  A tinkling sound brought my attention to the widest crack. “Um, is it supposed to do that?”

  Water pushed through the seams, pooling in the dirt at our feet.

  “We’re underground.” His eyes tightened. “I didn’t realize the river extended this far.”

  A millennia ago, when he anchored the tether, it might not have. Wait. We were underground?

  Pause and hit rewind.

  “This is all glamour?” I stammered. Some of it sure, I figured that, but all of it? Whoa. I grabbed him by the elbow. “We should go.”

  He fell back a step before yanking his púca skin from his air pocket. I still had mine clutched in my uninjured hand. Plopping the pelt onto my head, I tugged it in place one-handed to avoid staining the fur with my blood. A twist of magic caught me, swirling me down, down, down until chill water covered the tops of my paws and soaked my fur. Like a chocolate wrapper crinkling, glass crackled and water ran in rivulets through the garden. Backing away, I tripped over a fuzzy muskmelon vine.

  “What isss that sssound?”

  Belly exposed, I wriggled onto all fours as Lizard Lips charg
ed into the fracturing greenhouse.

  Mac leapt the cabbage, darted between the cook’s legs, and shouted, “Run.”

  Lizard Lips stumbled over the muskmelons, arms pinwheeling, and his gaze shot from me up to the ruined wall. Round eyes bulging, he hissed at Mac, “Nasssty little púca, what have you done?”

  LL vanished into the kitchen. I was hot on his flippers, and Mac was already ahead of me.

  Damp paws sliding, I scrabbled across the floor. I yelped as an icy draft swept up my back and glanced over my shoulder. A cleaver spun on a chipped tile, and I was smearing a bloody trail.

  What the…? My tail is gone. He cut off my freaking tail. Snarling low in my throat, I pivoted, putting myself right in his path. Fur lifted down my spine. Head angled low, a growl rumbled out of me. A body part was missing. Gone. Freaking monkeys. Who knew what I might have lost once I shifted?

  The cook drew back his arm, and metal glinted. Mac’s shoulder hit mine and sent us skittering.

  “You’re prey, Thierry,” he snapped. “Act like it.”

  “Thierry,” LL echoed. “That isss familiar.”

  Cursing under his breath, Mac headbutted me to get me moving.

  Turned out all I needed to figure out how to coordinate my bunny limbs was a crazed lizard man wielding cleavers flip-flopping after me. He belted out a keening cry that brought more fae running.

  “Kill the púcasss,” he lisped. “They dessstroyed the tether.”

  Voices rose, and shouts rang out. Feet hammered the floor, rumbling tile under my paw pads.

  I ran for all I was worth, retracing our steps, wishing I hadn’t left blood behind that they could use as a focusing object for any nasty spells they wanted to design just for me. But at least my tail stub had stopped bleeding. The floor behind me was clean. It meant when Mac cut a sharp corner, I left no evidence behind. After my run-in with the never blade, I’ll admit I was a tad nervous it might affect other areas of my healing abilities. This reprieve wouldn’t buy much time—not with a lizard’s sense of taste/smell—but it gave us the precious seconds needed to locate the púca tunnel we had used to breach the Halls.

  Clambering inside the opening, I slumped against the moist earth and peered into the welcoming darkness.