by Kayle Wolf
For the first time in eighteen years, Arthur York stopped thinking about his breathing.
The fur came first. It spread across his body like wildfire, consuming the flesh beneath it, tearing apart his jeans and shirt, leaving shreds of fabric scattered behind him. Some hiker would come across that and wonder, probably. No concern of his. His limbs were changing too, pounds and pounds of muscle adding bulk to his arms and legs until he was forced to drop forward onto all fours. It hurt. He’d forgotten how it hurt. But it hurt like ripping off a band-aid—the kind of blistering, savage pain that would be over before you knew it, leaving fresh, clean skin behind.
And the physical sensation was nothing compared to what was happening in his mind. Something ancient was waking up. Something profound. Something that, in the center of the whirlwind of rage, fear, and grief that had finally awoken it, stood in perfect peace before him.
Hello again.
The bear knew everything. To assume the bear was a dumb beast was the greatest mistake other shifters made. The bear’s mind was a clear, crystalline pool of sweet water. The bear’s mind was a warm embrace. The bear’s mind was deeper than any valley, broader than any mountain, colder and clearer and sharper than any claw. The bear knew every bit of his grief, every bit of his fear, every bit of his anger. It took the eighteen years of his life that had passed since he’d woken it up into its jaws, and it swallowed them whole. And just as his conscious mind was about to dive straight into the oblivion he’d feared since he was a child, the state that had almost claimed him until Noah had pulled him out like a lifesaver pulling him from a turbulent sea, the bear stopped.
Stopped on a pair of glowing golden eyes.
Oh. There she is.
Art was running, his paws thumping rhythmically against the forest floor, breaking through undergrowth and bushes as he beat a steady path towards the settlement. The settlement, where the dragons were, where Helena would be. He knew where they were. He knew where he was going, and why. He cast his mind about, tentative, ready for oblivion to roar to the surface and claim him. But there the bear lay, just beneath his conscious mind, like the engine idling under the hood of a truck. He focused on his paws, on his great lungs, on the power in his body. He was still here, he realized with some shock. Of course. As a child, when he’d transformed, the bear had seized control completely. He’d had no discipline, no way to resist, no way to understand let alone control what was happening to him. Now, though, he had eighteen years of training with Noah to draw on. He hadn’t lost himself to the bear—not yet.
Good. Then he could run faster.
As he ran, the sun climbed in the sky—then began to descend. Bears weren’t endurance animals, and occasionally he broke into a shambling walk to regain his energy. But it was never for long. A flash of Helena’s eyes, of how she’d looked that day with her hands bound behind her on the stage, of the face of the man who’d bought her—just the thought of all that was enough to spur him on. He ran hard and fast, pushing himself, punishing himself on some level for letting her go, for letting them capture her, for leaving her alone for even a second once he’d found her. It was his fault, his fault they had come, his fault they had taken her. But he was going to put it all right. He was going to kill everyone at that festival. She would be home, safe and sound, and the murderer of his family would be dead. That was all he needed. His own life was forfeit in the face of that task.
Night fell, and he was breaking into walks more often, trying to regain some of his energy for the fight ahead. A promising sign, that he could still exercise foresight like this. The bear, he knew, would claim his mind eventually. Nobody could stay Wild for long without snapping, without losing their consciousness completely. That was why nobody shifted unless it was a dire emergency. It was simply too risky. There were rumors, of course, that the older bears—Noah, Nell, and Levi—were able to take the Wild shape whenever they felt like it. Art had always wanted to ask Noah if there was any truth to that rumor, but he’d never been brave enough. And now it was too late.
Thoughts like that plagued him from time to time. And it was at times like that that his hold on himself felt most tenuous, that he felt the oblivion of the bear’s mind calling him. But for the most part, to his surprise, he thought nothing at all. His mind was as clear as a forest stream, his full awareness centered in his paws, in his breath, in the simple movement of his body. No thoughts, no feelings, no fear—just a single point of awareness, moving through the forest. It was everything he’d trained for. How strange, to find that fleeting quality in such abundance here, in the very state that his training was designed to protect him from ever reaching.
God, he wished he could talk to Noah, just one more time.
By the time he reached the outskirts of the settlement, his frame was beginning to overheat, only the freezing night air keeping his temperature in check. He shambled to a stop, breathing hard. The sky was beginning to lighten, ever so slightly, shifting from a starry black to a steadily lightening shade of gray. Nearly dawn. Would Helena still be down there somewhere, or would they have brought her ‘owner’ to claim her? Two birds, one stone, he thought grimly, shaking his great head to resettle the fur there. It was possible they knew he was here already. A twelve-foot bear didn’t exactly move quietly, and if they had any kind of scout presence in the woods, he’d have been detected by the trail of debris he’d have left behind him. Better to strike now, or soon, than risk being caught in the woods by a scout.
Turn back? He could walk down in human form, see if he could leverage the threat of his transformation to get close to Helena. But no—they’d be ready for that, waiting for him. He couldn’t risk them flying off with Helena again. He wouldn’t be able to cope with losing her like that. So after he caught his breath, he gathered himself… and started running again, this time towards the center of Mossley.
One way or another, this would all be over soon.
Chapter 13
Helena felt no urge to sleep. She sat upright, serene, focused. There was an ache in her shoulders that was getting worse the longer her hands were bound behind her, and the feeling of the cloth in her mouth was revolting—she tried for a while to force it out of her mouth with her tongue, but the duct tape that had been slapped roughly across her lips was doing its work at keeping the cloth in its place. Those bonds were just as inescapable as the collar, which was still warm against her skin, resisting her urge to shift. Would there even be space down here, she wondered, frowning? Then she returned herself, as well as she could, to the place of no thinking. The aware place. She investigated every sensation in her body with curiosity, as though she’d never encountered it before. She followed her breath as though she was studying it. And gradually, she found the most fascinating sense of peace beginning to suffuse her entire body, even in the depths of this hideous place.
She lost track of time completely. But when there were footsteps on the stairs, she simply stood up, ready to meet her captors. Ready for whatever they were going to try to do to her. If they took out her gag, she’d spit at them. If they unbound her hands, she’d claw at them. What the night had brought her was clarity, and what her clarity said was that she wasn’t going to waste time trying to reason with these evil creatures. She was just going to hurt them, as much as she could, as often as she could. They could keep tying her up as long as they wanted to. Eventually, her family would come for her. That was, if they didn’t make a mistake first, and let her loose on them.
It was Jack who came for her. His face was bruised from the blows she’d delivered to him, and she let him see her giving them a good look. She hoped he could see the smirk in her eyes, and assumed from the way that his jaw tightened that he could. He grabbed her roughly by the elbow, jarring her overstressed shoulders, and started marching her up the stairs. He was babbling away at her, something about meeting her master, but she wasn’t interested in that. She was interested in how many guards were going to be in the cabin. Because if they unbound her hands,
she was more than ready to fight.
At the top of the stairs stood Danny, his nose a swollen purple-and-blue mess and both of his eyes sunken and dark with bruising. Beside him, Harry, the driver of the van. She hadn’t done quite as much damage to him, she noticed with some regret. But behind them was the man she was most interested in. A wiry frame, short, wild blonde hair and a pair of cruel white eyes that were fixed on her. King Val.
She locked eyes with him. He jerked his head to Jack, who reached up to tear the duct tape from her lips. Without taking her eyes from his, she sketched a slow, pointed little bow—then, gathering all her energy, spat the wad of cloth from her mouth onto the ground at his feet. He recoiled from it, revolted by the wet sound it made on the floor, and she grinned, letting the saliva run down her lips and chin. He wanted a sex slave? He could get ready for the ugliest sex slave he’d ever dreamed of.
“She’ll be fun to break,” was all the king said, his eyes flicking to Jack.
“Sure I’m not too much dragon for a little guy like you?” she asked. Quick as lightning, he struck her hard across the face, a stinging slap that left her ears ringing. She grinned at him. His eyes were full of anger, and he opened his mouth to speak—but before he could, his men had turned as one to look towards the windows. There were shouts of alarm coming from outside. Dawn, she realized, seeing the gray sky. She’d been trapped underground all night. It was dawn.
The body of a wolf flew towards the cabin windows and shattered them, the creature rolling pathetically across the floor and crawling on its belly towards the back wall. The dragons shouted in alarm, Val falling back as Jack and Danny moved towards the window to see what was happening. Then Jack was gone. One minute, he’d been standing there, the next, there was a body-sized hole in what remained of the wall, and he was gone. And in his place…
Helena whooped, wishing her hands were free. In his place was a bear, far larger than any she’d seen. Not a grizzly, or a black bear from around these parts—this creature was something else entirely. Short brown fur, a great round head with rounded ears, and a jaw full of teeth that were currently exposed in a roar that shook the very foundations of the cabin. One huge paw swiped through the air, impossibly fast, knocking Danny off his feet. The bear roared again, and she could see the source of its frustration—it was too large to enter the cabin.
Well, she could go to him. She darted around Val before he could seize her, ran towards where the door to the cabin used to be and down onto the street. Out here, Art—because who else could it be?—was even larger than she’d anticipated. She took a few steps back to take in the majesty of him, expecting him to turn to her—but he was still clawing at the cabin. Realization dawned on her. He was trying to get at Val—trying to get to the king. But why? What grudge did he bear him? Was it taking Helena prisoner that had gotten him so angry? She tried to think back to what he’d said about the shift—it was different for bears than for other shifters, it was more emotional, somehow, there was less control in it. And each shift carried the strong chance of never coming back from the transformation. Fear gripped her heart. How much of this furious creature was the man she’d spent a passionate night with the day before?
How much of Art was left?
The bear roared again, this time in rage, and Helena gasped, staggering back out of the way as the bear was thrown back by the force of a white dragon, its talons digging deep into his shoulders as it forced him back. Val had shifted, she realized with dawning horror—and his men, knocked down but not out, were doing the same. The dragons may have been little, but they outnumbered Art, and Helena in human shape was next to useless as an ally. And it was worse than that. Behind the bear and the dragon, who were now circling each other in the street, Helena could see other shifters gathering. Some of them had already taken their animal forms—she counted a dozen wolves already, and more moving to join them, silver eyes glinting in the dawn light.
Helena knew how dangerous wolves could be. They had a telepathic link that allowed them to hear each other’s thoughts and see through each other’s eyes, fighting as one unit, one collective consciousness that could attack and defend as a single entity. Against an enraged enemy like this bear (she didn’t know if she could think of the bear as Art) they’d be deadly. Helena tugged furiously at the bonds keeping her hands behind her back, cursing her stupidity and her pride. She could have sweet-talked her way into getting her hands untied, but she’d been too angry. Now Art was all alone in this fight.
The white dragon was in the air, diving and swooping at the bear, who roared his fury as he lashed out at the dragon with his powerful paws. But he was faster than Val seemed to have expected—one blow knocked the dragon off-balance, and another was enough to knock him out of the air completely. The bear lunged, impossibly swift, and Helena gasped, certain he was going to rip Val’s head off. But one of his underlings darted in, knocking the bear away from the king at the last moment. The wolves from up the path were closing in on one side, and more white dragons were moving to stand behind their king, whose left wing was bleeding where the bear had struck it. With a jerk of his head, the dragon retreated behind the ranks of his followers.
“Coward!” Helena screamed at him, taking a few steps forward. One of the mob of dragons hissed at her, extending its sinuous neck, its sickly white eyes gleaming. Jack, she knew, somehow. That was Jack. With no other weapon at her disposal, she spat in his eye. She and the bear were surrounded, the great creature’s growls keeping the army of shifters at bay… for now. But the situation was looking dire. She knew how strong the bear was, how much the others feared him. But could he really take on this many shifters and win? Especially when she wasn’t sure if he knew who she was. He hadn’t attacked her yet, that was true—but his eyes were glued on Val, hiding behind his ranks of soldiers.
Something glinted in the sky, uncomfortably bright in her vision. She squinted, irritated—but another glint struck her eyes, and another, as though there was some kind of flashing light above them. Despite her reluctance to take her eyes from her foes, she looked up—and her jaw dropped open in shock and delight. Was she hallucinating? No. The other shifters were looking up now, sounds of alarm coming up from the crowds. There, above them, framed against the lightening sky as though the dawn itself had brought them, were three enormous, iridescent dragons. Bigger than the wolves, bigger than the white dragons, bigger still than even Art, whose focus had not been drawn from Val.
“Alexander! Samuel!” she yelled, her eyes filling with tears. “About damn time!”
And behind them—who was that? She almost didn’t recognize the largest dragon, who hovered above her brothers with effortless strokes of his great wings. But her grin split her face when she realized who it was.
“Dad!”
He roared, a frightening sound, and for a moment Helena remembered how old her father was, how many battlefields like this he must have sailed over. And then, as if on cue, a dozen of the white dragons on the ground launched themselves straight up, wings beating furiously. They were dwarfed by her brothers, she saw, shifting from foot to foot—but Samuel and Alexander dodged away rather than engaging with the white dragons. As they turned, she saw dark shapes on their necks—and whooped, hardly believing her eyes. Jessica and Angela were clinging to her brothers’ necks, their silver eyes shining. As she watched, they both leaped from the dragons, but by the time they’d hit the ground, it was on four legs, not two. Two great wolves stood before her, eyes gleaming silver—and they turned to face the pack of Mossley shifters with pure menace. One of them glanced back towards Helena, and she could read the look of confusion in her eyes.
“I can’t shift with this on,” she said quickly, yanking at the collar. The wolf’s eyes widened, and she growled, low and ferocious in her throat. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
Samuel and Alexander were tearing through the dragons in the sky, their talons flashing and their jaws snapping as they dealt with their enemies. Poor discipline, Helena obser
ved as the white dragons ducked and darted away from the talons of their larger foes. They outnumbered them—they ought to be pressing that advantage, not loitering around, afraid to attack. Stephen beat his great wings a few times and soared over the battleground, as if conducting reconnaissance—then, in a terrifyingly swift movement, he dove into the pack of wolves and seized two in his great talons, winging his way back into the sky with them and tossing them, yelping, towards the river. Furious, the rest of the pack broke rank and darted every which way, their focus destroyed. Angela and Jessica shot into the fray, sleek bodies moving in perfect harmony. They’d been training together, Helena remembered, staring. Their work had paid off.
The bear roared, and she spun around to see him surrounded by wolves. He dashed wolf after wolf aside with his huge paws, hardly seeming to see their broken bodies falling away as he made his way towards Val. Dragons scurried to protect their king, too, but they fell like wheat before the might of the bear. Helena’s jaw tightened as she looked at him. For all his strength, there was blood running freely from half a dozen wounds on his shoulders and back. How long could he keep doing this?
She couldn’t wait. She couldn’t stay in this form, not when her family and her lover were in the midst of a battleground. But what could she do? She pried desperately at the collar, scanning the area for something, anything to help her remove it. More wolves were pouring out of the cabins along the river, and she saw with a shock of adrenalin that women in silver collars like hers were following them, tentatively emerging to see the battle that was going on. As she’d suspected—they hadn’t been taken away. They were here, traumatized, but intact. She could still help them. If she could only get the collar off…