by Aja James
“What are you doing out so late, little ones?” he asked in a deceptively coaxing tone.
“We were just heading back to the orphanage,” Ninsa said before I could speak.
I wanted to shake her. Mentioning that we were orphans only made this situation more untenable. She essentially broadcasted to this group of thugs that we were unprotected and alone, and that no one would miss us if we got into any trouble.
Instantly, a scheming light came into the toad’s eyes, just as I feared.
“Don’t be in such a hurry. Stay and...” he slanted his eyes meaningfully at the other men, “…play with us a while. We’ll buy you treats afterward.”
“No, thank you,” I interjected before Ninsa could speak again, stepping forward and pushing her slightly behind me.
I might only be eleven summers, but I was still taller than Ninsa; she was tiny. And I was far stronger, perhaps as strong as a man. But definitely not as strong as five men together.
Bollocks. This was very, very bad.
The toad cocked his head to the side, narrowing his glittering, black, bulging eyes at me.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you before at the orphanage. Rather pretty for a boy, aren’t you?”
“Pretty…” one of the other thugs grunted behind the toad.
I tried to think of a way out of this impending mess. There was nothing for miles. Nowhere to run to, no one to hear us shout for help. Nowhere to hide. Just endless acres of harvested barley fields. Even if we ran, Ninsa wouldn’t last long. Not against five grown men with much longer legs and strength. And I had the feeling that making them give chase would seal our doom when, not if, they caught us.
But we were already doomed. I’d seen enough of the toad’s nastiness with Mila to know. That he brought a rabid pack with him only made things exponentially worse.
“I’ll…I’ll do whatever you want,” I said, taking the least ugly and violent recourse—appeasement. “Just leave her alone. She’s nothing to look at anyway. She’s no fun.”
“An-Nisi!” Ninsa objected behind me, “What—”
“I’m fun,” I spoke louder over her, “I can be anything you want.”
To show them what I meant, I let my Gift come over me, making the edges of my body shimmer a moment before I transformed myself into a beautiful young woman, an exotic foreigner I saw that one night at the village fair.
Ninsa gasped, while the men looked both taken aback and avaricious, practically salivating at my current form.
I only discovered my Gift last summer. I never told Ninsa about it, and I certainly never showed her. I didn’t want her to think of me as more of a freak than I already was. Shapeshifters were considered evil in our lore—cunning, vile, treacherous. I didn’t think I was any of those things. But I’d learned by now that you were who others perceived and judged you to be, even when you wanted to be something, someone, entirely different.
The toad considered my proposition, raking his dirty eyes all over my body from head to toe. I steeled myself against a shudder of revulsion.
I only had one shot at this. I estimated that he was the type to be less violent if I played to his desires and ego, but if I fought him, he’d relish making me pay. I had to act as if I might actually enjoy…what was about to happen. But I also had to maintain a certain level of shyness and innocence.
I didn’t know how I knew all these things. I just did.
Watching these men’s faces, their changing expressions, was like playing a game. Like simple arithmetic. And as I concentrated harder, trying to gage their intentions and moods, I could hear whispers of their thoughts in my mind. For the first time in my life, I was truly afraid. Not about what they would do to me (though that scared me shitless too), but what they might do to Ninsa.
So I took a gamble and cautiously closed the distance between me and the toad. In my young woman form, I raised a slender hand to his meaty chest and laid my fingers lightly on his tunic.
“Let me please you, Master. I will be everything you need.”
Something shifted in his eyes as he looked down into my face. Along with greed and lust, a possessive glint replaced the simmering violence in those murky pools.
Oh goody. I might actually survive this night.
And I did. Survive it, that was.
It took the five men hours to finish with me.
At first they were polite and took turns. And then they didn’t. I changed my form several times. A few different women, a man, a girl, and a boy. Thankfully, they hadn’t requested my real form. At least I managed to keep that bit of myself to myself. I could pretend that it was other people who got violated in every hole of their body, even holes they didn’t normally have. Ripped apart from the inside out and filled to overflowing with disgusting fluids of every variety.
Hahaha! Poor bastards!
But… Even though the last few hours happened to those other people I turned myself into, I was the only one who lay mangled and bloody in the dirt.
It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. Everything just…
Hurt.
But I didn’t cry. Crying would have made things worse. It would have fed their temporarily suppressed violence like the smell of blood in a pool of sharks. I’d almost bitten my tongue off, but I didn’t cry. Not one single tear.
A slight sound drew my fractured attention to a spot nearby, out of view.
Ninsa.
She’d watched the whole thing. They’d made her. When I tried to negotiate for them to at least let her turn away, I was knocked almost unconscious for my efforts. I wished they’d let me stay unconscious, but they wanted an active plaything. They wanted to see the reactions and hear the sounds of what they did to me.
At least they hadn’t touched Ninsa. They’d had their hands full with me instead. Just as I intended.
“Ninsa…” I croaked out through split and swollen lips, struggling to sit up.
I needed to protect her still. I had to be strong. The night wasn’t over yet.
I managed to get to my knees and extended a hand to her, hoping she’d help me the rest of the way up.
She shuffled her feet. But instead of coming closer, she backed farther away.
“Help me...” I beseeched in a rough, distorted voice. “We have to—”
She shook her head slowly.
“There is no we,” she said slowly in a tone I’d never heard her use before. “I don’t know you. You’re…you’re…”
“I’m An-Nisi,” I whispered, my heart freezing with fear and apprehension in my battered chest.
“You’re a monster.”
“No…” I choked out, “no…”
“You’re a shapeshifting demon,” she hissed, her voice growing louder, her eyes round with shock and abhorrence.
“No…please…” I begged, though I didn’t know any more what I was begging for.
“I saw what you did. I see who—what—you are. You liked it. They used you like a whore and you liked it.”
“No…”
But I no longer had a voice, my throat clogged with tears. Tears I’d held back all this time.
“I hate you.”
Those were the last words Ninsa ever said to me, because that was the last time I saw her. I’d gotten what I wanted, at least. I’d protected the one person in the world who’d been my friend.
But, you know, with my luck, even when I won, I lost.
Chapter Five: The Boy and His Cat
*THE CREATURE*
There once was a special, princely boy who had a loving mama and papa, and lived in a great big castle made of gems. He had everything a boy could possibly want:
Toy soldiers so life-like, they seemed to march in neat, long lines along the windowsills of the gigantic playroom that was for the boy’s pleasure alone. A rocking pony—no—a unicorn and a Pegasus, stuffed animals galore, kept him company on his spirited, imaginary adventures. Murals of fantastic landscape
s, seascapes and soaring skies filled with fearsome, fire-breathing dragons (the good kind) covered the chamber walls and stories-high domed ceiling.
But what the boy loved most amongst all of his possessions was something he didn’t really possess at all.
A pet.
A furry friend, to be precise. One who cuddled him when he was sad (which he rarely ever was). Who romped with him when he was happy. Who was always on his side, no matter what.
And who never, ever betrayed him…
Recall that I am writing fiction in my head.
None of it is real, of course. None of that balderdash could ever be real. But… These are fairytales, after all. For a precocious, sunny boy.
Who is again whispering loudly just outside my chamber (*cough* prison) door.
“But he’s not going to hurt me, Val,” my darling little mini-me, or rather, mini-Olivia in terms of coloring anyway, argues stubbornly.
“He’s my friend. And I won’t be alone.”
His friend, eh? The boy needs to learn to be less trusting and naïve. That way leads to ruin. I learned it the hard way.
More hushed arguments ensue beyond the door, this time too muffled for me to hear.
My strength is back in full. I can feel the power of the Pure blood flowing through my veins. Whatever my “hosts” gave me must be very pure Pure blood indeed. I’ve never felt this…whole before. I even have an appetite. For the first time in as long as I can recall, I’m hungry for food.
I wonder who provided the means to prolonging my miserable existence. I’m not sure whether I should thank them or curse them.
Finally, the heavy double doors are pulled apart, and Benjamin enters at a breathless jog, the way he enters every room. He can’t seem to control his frenetic, boyish energy, his soft buttery curls bouncing all over his face.
He’s tall for a boy his age, but his face looks years younger. Perhaps it’s the angelic, innocent and open quality to his countenance. The sparkling hope in his translucent, clear blue eyes. He’s like a brand new penny that one loathes to ever scratch or get dirty. That one might hoard away in a safe, secure place to treasure with miserly awe. (An image of the Gollum from The Lord of the Rings comes to mind. My Precious…)
What? I’m up to date on my Hollywood movies. I also read all of the books. Countless times. I even enter into rousing discussions in many of the Reddit sites dedicated to this topic. Monsters can have hobbies too, you know.
“Hi! Uh…” Benjamin greets enthusiastically, then trails off and tilts his head to the side, looking at me funny.
“Who are you supposed to be today? I mean, you’re always you, but I don’t recognize the shell you’re wearing this time.”
“How do you know this is a shell?” I ask silkily, giving up on pretending to sleep.
If it were anyone else, I probably would have kept on pretending. But this is Benjamin. I don’t want to miss a moment with my lovely boy.
He gives me an eloquent look that says, “duh.”
“I can see you, remember? But your camouflage looks kinda funny today. Are you supposed to be a boy or a girl?”
“Neither,” I mutter, still unused to being seen so clearly. “And I’m not a boy or a girl. I’m the best of both a man and a woman.”
“Can’t you make up your mind which one you want to be? Isn’t it confusing to be both?”
The things he says. So unintentionally insightful.
“It’s who others want me to be that matters,” I blurt out what I really think without meaning to. “This way, they have their pick of either and both.”
“But I want you to just be you,” Benjamin states staunchly.
The things he says!
“I…”
“Can’t you lose the disguise today? It’s just me and my kitty. You don’t have to pretend with us.”
Meow.
And that’s when I notice the rather enormous white “kitty” with pretty black spots making delightful patterns in its thick, lush fur, its long, curling tail undulating back and forth like a hypnotizing pendulum, a worn but still bright blue-green ribbon tied in a bow around its neck.
Oh.
It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen!
And what the fuck just went through my head? Adorable?!
“We brought you food.”
Benjamin gestures to a red, plastic wagon laden with covered dishes behind him.
“I don’t know what you like to eat, since you never seem to eat anything, so I brought a little of everything,” he explains, while my attention is wholly captivated by the violet-eyed kitten.
It is indeed a baby animal of some sort. The fluffy tufts of fur declare it to be harmlessly adolescent. But I’m relatively certain it’s not an average house cat. It’s at least twice the size of a grown Maine Coon. And its paws are enormous, thickly padded with fur.
(Yes, I know my cat breeds. I’m a cat person, so sue me).
“Rain made dim sum,” Benjamin chatters on. “Ayelet smoked ham. Tristan grilled some baby-back ribs and veggies. You don’t have to eat the veggies if you don’t want to. But they’re good for you, or so mom and my uncle Tal remind me. And…ah…”
Strangely, Benjamin darts a glance at his pet, but I don’t dwell on it. Still too mesmerized by the darling, bright-eyed kitten who starts purring. Is there anything more delightful than an adorable kitten purring?
“And Mama Bear made chocolate éclairs for dessert,” Benjamin finishes.
My favorite! Well, anything Mama Bear, the owner of an all things and bakery shop called Dark Dreams, makes is my favorite.
“You ordered a special delivery?” I recall enough wits to ask.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Inanna, Gabriel and Benjamin frequent Dark Dreams same as I like to, though of course I always went in my “Binu” disguise.
Mama Bear is actually Ishtar Anshar, the Dark Princess who Mated her Pure Blood slave, Tal-Telal. Come to think of it, Ishtar can transform into a giant snow leopard. I’ve witnessed it with my own eyes. The fearsome beast beat my evil Mistress into smithereens. Though unfortunately not quite dead.
What a show!
This kitten then…could it be?
But I am distracted by a renewed bout of loud, abandoned purring.
The kitten has gotten close enough (the silent sneak!) to butt its head under my chin, rubbing its soft, furry face all over my jaw and neck, then followed that up with a full-bodied rub along my chest, ending with a swipe of its thick, curling tail across my nose, making me sneeze.
I melt. I literally melt into a stupid, enchanted puddle.
“You can’t possibly be that ferocious beast,” I whisper to no one in particular as the kitten makes itself at home in my lap as I sit on the floor.
It circles twice before finding the position it likes best and settles down. It curls into a warm, fluffy ball of fur on my legs and closes its eyes. Then, it drapes the tip of its tail over those thickly-lashed eyes like an eye mask, its entire body vibrating with that rotor-like purr.
“She likes you,” Benjamin announces with a winning grin. “She’s very particular about who she likes.”
I shift my arms until my sentient bindings allow me to work my hands to the front from behind my back. I suspend my fingers hesitantly above the oh-so-alluring spotted white fur. But it’s no use. I have to pet it!
Her. The kitten is a female, apparently.
The moment my bound hands sink gently into the thick baby-soft fur, the kitten’s purring grows downright sonorous, a rumbling sound between a growl, a purr and a snore. She opens her jaws in a stretching yawn and peers up at me through eyes slitted with pleasure.
“Hi,” I mumble inanely.
Lick. She licks me with her raspy tongue directly across my mouth!
Eeww.
My nonplussed, slightly disgusted expression must show on my face, because Benjamin lets out a loud belly laugh.
“You’ll get used to it,” he placates between bubbling mirth, “and she doesn’t have bad breath. Except right after she eats tuna.”
Benjamin drags the wagon of food over beside me with a plastic cord. It’s actually convenient for access from my position on the ground.
My mouth waters involuntarily at the delicious smells. I hardly know where to start—with the appetizer, main course or dessert. Knowing my luck, there’s a chance I won’t get to dessert before the food is taken away from me, so I start with that.
Benjamin sits down very close to me, so that he could easily pet the kitten too. Such unfounded, annoying trust, I think to myself as I shove an entire éclair in my mouth, surreptitiously giving him the side eye.
He’s so close I could do all kinds of damage—lock him in a choke hold, stab him with a fork (no knives provided) in the eye, knock him out with one of the heavy platters. Why would he put himself at risk like that with a veritable stranger? After all, he doesn’t know that I’d as soon cut off my own nose than harm a hair on his head.
Hell, I don’t even know that for certain.
Some sperm donors (also known as fathers, papas and daddies) are rather attached to their spawn, protective and nurturing. But others, like many in the animal kingdom, have no compunction at all to maim or even kill their offspring. It’s the elimination of competition, especially among males.
How does Benjamin know which sort I am? (Not that he knows what I am in relation to him). Moreover, how does he know I’m not a psychotic killer with a penchant for pretty little boys? They’re out there. So many of them. My Mistress is one such sterling example. Even though I was no longer a boy when she found me.
I shove another éclair in my mouth to distract myself from unhappy thoughts.
“Do the bindings bother you?” Benjamin suddenly asks, looking at my silken bonds.
In truth, they really don’t inhibit me that much, especially if I’m being “good.” They showed me who’s boss in the beginning when I tried to fight them, and rebel against the circumstance of my detainment. But when I relax, when I rest and my body is free of tension, I can barely feel them. They loosen to allow me all kinds of freedom, as if they know when I’m just trying to push my trousers down to relieve myself versus staging a hostile getaway.