Frayed

by Blakely Chorpenning

  "Call me Fray."

  My brother tried to salvage a bit of formality when he responded, "This is Haden Nash." I ignored the tense look that followed.

  "Too bad you told me. ‘Undead Ass-Rat’ had a nice ring to it."

  The vampire said coolly, "I prefer Nash."

  Darien’s breath hissed between his teeth. My free will had taken years off his life, or so he constantly reminded me. I guess this meeting was just one more year against his longevity.

  "Sister," Darien straightened his posture, "Children are missing. Children that we have watched grow up, that we share a lepe with. They are approaching the cusp of adulthood, and with that the change. If we don’t work together now, they will shift in an unpredictable place in an unpredictable manner. What’s more important, their safety or your inability to work with a dead ass-mat?"

  Nash waved his left hand in the air to call Darien’s attention. "Ass-Rat." My brother looked confused and partially offended, so the vampire rectified, "You called me a 'dead ass-mat.' I believe you meant to repeat Fray’s sentiment, ‘Undead Ass-Rat.'"

  He inhaled deeply before scolding Nash. "If you appeal to her humor, we’ll be here all night." Not that I was laughing.

  Nash nodded his head in one velvet motion. "I apologize."

  "Thank you." My brother meant it, but his relief told me he didn’t catch the one-sided grin Nash flashed for the span of a heartbeat.

  "I’m sorry, too, Darien. I’ll do my best to work with the vampire." You might as well have replaced the word "vampire" with "curse" or "flatulent plague".

  "And I will do my best to work around the leopard’s arrogance."

  I ignored the cocky wink that followed.

  Chapter Three

  It was hard to finish my burger with Nash staring like I was in a cage at the zoo. It intensified my silent wish that the sun was still up. With a mouthful, I said, "What? Dead too long to enjoy real food?"

  We sat in a burgundy booth under the fluorescent bulbs of one of my favorite fast food joints. The overall feel was fifties diner gets invaded by alien-technology. Futuristic-shaped televisions "hovered" on the walls and each booth came equipped with electronic docking ports. The attraction for me: It was close to the gym and they had great two-for-one deals every Friday.

  Nash leaned against the table. "What is that?"

  "A double-stack cheeseburger with everything. Clearly, you’re not a vegetarian, so what’s your deal?"

  "I’ve never seen someone eat four of those so fast." There was a note of awe. "Is this an example of your daily diet or just your appetite after a fight?"

  "I always eat a lot. My brother says it quells my beast."

  "Your leopard?"

  "My temper." I took another huge bite with a grin.

  "How can you eat that much and stay so thin? Is it the lycanthropy?"

  I choked on the last bite. "Don’t ever use that word around me. If you call me that again, I’ll roundhouse kick you in the face." And I wasn’t joking.

  "What did I call you?" He leaned back, ignorant of his faux pas.

  "A filthy wolf."

  Nash said, "But you are a shapeshifter."

  "Not a lycanthrope!" We looked around to make sure no one heard me. The place was practically empty. "We’re all therianthropes, but I’m an ailuranthrope, specifically. Lycans are lupines. Ailurans are felines. Certain folklore refers to the ailurans as cat people." I made an "ahem" noise and pointed to myself. "Leopard. Cat person."

  He straightened his posture. "I apologize for the lack of distinction. It’s been decades since I have shared the company of any shapeshifter."

  "I’m guessing you don’t know the lore behind my lepe, then?" He shook his head and waited for the slurping to stop, indicating my vanilla-chocolate shake was gone. "It’s said that, back in the day, gods and goddesses in the guise of leopards mated with humans. The offspring, a radical merging of the mortal and immortal realms, were shapeshifters. Ailurans.

  "What origin?"

  "Predominately African."

  "You're African?"

  I raised an eyebrow. "Some of my father’s lineage is. My mother just calls her side "gypsy" since it can be traced to every corner of the earth. Some of those corners offer answers, some don't, but we know enough. Do you even know yours?"

  Matter-of-factly he nodded and said, "Ass-Rat," as the shapely auburn waitress walked by. She didn’t approve of the crude language.

  A little embarrassed, I concluded, "You’re going to make me wish I never said that, aren’t you?"

  "That would be an acceptable outcome."

  "Fair enough."

  Paying, we left in my black nineteen sixty-eight Mustang Coupe, the sweetest ride I’ve ever owned. The grumble of the motor reminded me of a cantankerous cat. Always makes my day.

  "Where are we going?" Nash sat awkwardly rigid in the swayback seat.

  "A quick stop." I accelerated, enjoying the hum of the vibration rush over my body. Nash was staring out the passenger window. How weird it must be for him to watch the world change so drastically so many times. It was unnatural. I wasn’t sure how I felt about immortal creatures like gods living without end, let alone dead bodies walking around in the mix of things.

  Sadly, the drive was less than five minutes. I loved driving my car. The farther the better. As I unbuckled the seatbelt, Nash read the name on the brick building and asked for my brother’s list. Reading through it, he lifted his head.

  "This club is not on our list."

  "Is it not?" I reached over and, with a pen from my console, scribbled the name ‘Mirth’ just below the typed font. "There it is, right there. Better cross it off." I dropped the pen on his lap and hopped out of the car.

  Mirth was a prominent club among the therianthrope communities, especially the ailurans. Clubs accounted for the only places shifters of different species mingled, though we rarely talked to one another. While we carried out human existences, for the most part, an ancient force from within made shifters of any type more appealing to be around than other beings. Of course, to the public, Mirth came across as a snooty, members-only club with high standards.

  I strutted to the entry, flashed a grin at the doorman, who saw me at least three times a week, and slipped inside, trying to keep a healthy distance between Nash and myself. There were men present that I had dated in the past, and men to potentially date in the future. I didn’t need them thinking I associated with carrion. Besides, a quick glance told me Nash had found a comfortable spot at the bar. He didn’t blend in, of course, but Mirth did have the occasional vampire patrons, so no one thought much of him.

  The walls were black, invisible to the erratic, multi-colored lights that swiveled, flashed, blinked, and anything else electronically possible. The bar stretched the length of the stubby building, covering the left wall. There was a small stage to the right for the occasional band. Truthfully, we were happy with a DJ and a turntable as long as they kept it going. And in between the bar and the DJ were a whole lot of hot-blooded shifters having a good time.

  The scene was inviting, a home away from home you forgot to miss until you were standing there smelling it, seeing it, hearing it, becoming a part of it. It was infinity for a limited time offer.

  Music whirled through the air like a feral creature, titillating each heartbeat. The bass pulsed and pounded until it built a frenzy. In response, my body gyrated, shaking to the floor and back up until a dew of sweat laced my skin. The light played in my hair, fluttered across my chest like a kiss, and skipped down to my toes. The combination of movement and light was like a beacon. I was surrounded by men, two of them lepe. I grinned and put my arms around Brice’s neck. He was an outstanding dancer, which he proved every chance he got.

  Brice and Conrad were around my age. Brice was a year younger: twenty-seven. Conrad recently turned thirty. He was a hard thirty, though, like every skeptical thought had etched a line close to his incisive cinnamon eyes. And the only shred of personal identity
he shared with the world was a silver cat’s claw pendant on a chain around his neck. I didn’t care for Conrad’s company most of the time—he spent too much effort fearing the fall rather than anticipating the leap—but part of sharing a lepe means our loyalties extend to one another, even if that tie proves to be a slipknot.

  My hips swayed to the rhythm with Brice’s, our chests writhing in unison. His shoulders are the type of broad that people refer to as husky, no matter the slender dimensions of his waistline. And those hazel eyes and fair, shaggy, boy-next-door hairdo make people want to trust him like a beloved kid brother. Only an inch taller than me, we fit together perfectly on as well as off the dance floor. From experience, he was no kid, nor brother. Neither of us was interested in dating exclusively. Our liaisons were simple, shameless, spontaneous moments of ecstasy.

  Covered in Brice’s sweat, I flung my head to the left, following Nash’s line of vision to Gary, the eighty-five-year-old human sitting a few seats down from him at the bar. I tapped Brice’s shoulder to let him know I had to stop our fun to take care of some business. He gave me sad puppy eyes, winked, and kept dancing as I walked away.

  Gary owned a local market that specialized in everything organic, ranging from fresh produce to the latest charms. He always sold his wife’s potions in the bars to the cynical, underachieving, undersexed masses looking for that extra spark of magic to turn their lives around. Or to at least get them laid before Monday.

  And he was on our list.

  I sauntered up to the bar and leaned into the old man whose comb-over did little in his favor. "Hey, Gare. I have a few questions."

  The pleasant smile carried on. "Wha-do-ya wish to learn, my dear?"

  "Have any of the other shifters or ‘weres’ mentioned missing people lately, particularly adolescents?"

  "Missing?" Gary sat thoughtfully, rubbing at the gray stubble around his jawline. "Jared Tomas called on my wife a few nights ago. He needed healing herbs for a young girl who accumulated a rash of wounds while fighting off assailants outside her home ‘bout half an hour from here. She musta been a hell of a fighter. Said there were three or four of ‘em. Wasn’t enough, though. They took her friend. Some boy."

  A chill swept over me. "Had he already shifted? For the first time, I mean."

  "Can’t say for sure. He’s fifteen. Hell, the girl’s thirteen and already changed. Don’t you people normally change by sixteen?"

  "Depends on the person. Some shift as late as nineteen."

  "Learn something new every day." He pointed to his temple. "I’ll toss that in the vault."

  "Did Jared Tomas say anything else? Any other fights, kidnappings, things out of the ordinary?"

  Gary shook his head. "Naw, just the one incident. He was really pissed about it, too, like he took it as a personal jab at his ruling over the pride."

  "Thank you, Gary." I slapped a twenty on the bar and turned as his wrinkled hand snatched it up.

  Before meeting Nash outside the club, I brushed past Brice and whispered dirty nothings in his ear. It brightened his face and gave me something to look forward to later.

  The noise of the club was muted as the door shut behind me on the sidewalk. That moment always jarred me; how much volume could fit into such a tiny world, and how much I yearned for more.

  The undead ass-rat appeared by the passenger door of the Mustang. "Were there not enough young men to sate your desires? You had to prey on the eldest one there?"

  "If that were true, you would have been the luckiest man in the room." I unlocked the doors. "Gary was on my brother’s list. I knew he would be here."

  "An elderly human in a shifter bar does call attention, even to me. And what of the man you were dancing with?"

  "He’s on my personal list, the one sealed with this." I stretched my arm over the roof of the car and gave him the middle finger.

  Nash fought a smile. "I’m sure that saves on ink."

  We got into the car and drove. Other than a quick reference that I was sticking to my brother’s list, it wasn’t until we were in Tomas’ territory to the north that I spoke up.

  "This may be a rocky greeting so stay alert."

  "Shocking."

  Yes, sarcasm from a vampire. Just what I needed.

  The car coasted at a steady twenty-five down a dead end lane. Not one house on the secluded road had so much as a porch light on. Also disturbing: Every telephone pole and streetlight was knocked clean out of the ground. Scattered toothpicks. If there had been anything else as disturbed, I would have sworn it was hurricane damage.

  I knew better.

  "I’m being serious. His sister, Linay, and I fought in a shifter forum a few months ago and I won."

  "And she was the sore loser?"

  Before I could finish saying, "You might say that," the entire car jolted. The door buckled inward by an impact so powerful it pushed my left shoulder toward the steering wheel, leaving my torso facing the vampire. Scraping metal tore through the night. Glass window shards filled the air, sparkling like sun-kissed bubbles. For a millisecond, I couldn’t figure out if the light was coming from an earthly object or a divine plane.

  Two ungodly enormous lions rammed my Mustang onto the sidewalk. Their musky manes filled the night air, sweeping the back of my neck through the open space where the window had just been. It would have tickled if death hadn’t been such a looming possibility.

  Everything caught in a time warp: the deadly bubbles, Nash’s astonishment, my cursing… That is, until the seatbelt snatched my body out of motion, inches from Nash, driving a long shard of windowpane through my back. The tip promptly "dove" from my clavicle—completely ruining my favorite T-shirt—and threw enough blood on Nash’s face to be considered sacrificial.

  The moment it touched his lips, I saw fangs and eyes consumed by silver discs.

  Chapter Four

  In a whisper convoluted by pooling blood in my lungs, I struggled to say, "Pull it out." Immediately, he reached his arm around as if preparing to bear hug me. Instead, he extracted the glass, leaving wicked lacerations across his right palm, our commingling blood thick on his fingers.

  "What a bloody mess." He was trying to lighten the moment, but I was too pissed to bite…him.

  As soon as the car stopped, I turned and leapt right through the empty window, leaving my broken vehicle as a broken human, and landed on the pavement on all fours.

  If shifters are injured in human form, we can heal as long as we’re able to shift to our second nature soon after. Luckily, the change is always quick. It starts as a prickle of electricity leading to the sound of bones remolding and organs sliding, and fur riding over the skin until it eats up the last bit of exposed human. Others might explain it as bursting out of their skin or being ripped apart. For me, it’s always been like jumping into a tailored hide. Like putting on my favorite pair of jeans, or throwing on a warm pair of boots after walking so long barefoot in the cold.

  There was no counting minutes or stitches or heartbeats. The second I shifted, I was ready to kick ass.

  A growl in my throat cut through the roars traveling under the blanket of night. A sharp spotlight, the one that must have been illuminating the glass shards, momentarily blinded me. And it was that quick that three lions pounced. I was a mouse in a house full of kitties. Fucking huge kitties.

  If I had been in human form, I would have laughed. As I was, it came out as a yip of glee.

  Linay stood behind the wall of fur. Once you meet someone’s animal form, it’s fairly easy to recognize them again, at least for shifters. She had a pronounced golden stripe through her tan coat.

  The three in front of me were hovering strangers. These lions were easily five feet tall, not including their manes that took up a circumference of four feet. Even as a fellow shifter, I was impressed. Not enough to surrender, of course.

  Resembling a cartoon brawl, we bit and snarled and tore into flesh so fast it was a blur to the bystanders. All of them pride. We fought like wild dogs
in the heat of a wasteland over a bowl of water. And every time I exacted a successful blow, there was a lion ready to snatch it out from under me.

  As teeth grazed my left hind leg, I turned and dug claws into the side of a massive, beastly face. When he retreated, another took his place. Rushing for her pulsing neck before she could think fast enough, I chomped down without recourse. It wasn’t until a large force landed across my back that I let go.

  Twisting under the stranger’s weight, I pushed with my hind legs and used both front paws to attack his face. I told myself he would be blind before I would be dead. It worked. Realizing my actions were no bluff, the lion jumped off. Using the nearest tree to spring myself over yet another two, I whipped my tail, readying for more. It took me by surprise when I counted eight pride crouched in wait, four in killing stances.

  Nash was involved in his own unlife-and-death struggle with five lions to be of any immediate help. When my chance came to end the chaos, I scooped it up between my teeth.

  Lusting after a rematch, Linay cut in line. Before she had a chance to swing meet-slicing claws, however, I clamped my teeth right into the nape of her neck and refused to let go until she was in a submissive posture. Her blood—hot against my tongue—tasted of defeat. The others backed away, not wishing further harm on their would-be queen.

  Linay didn’t deserve to be queen one day. She was sloppy, overdramatic, and just too damn dense for the honor. If her own people didn’t assassinate her first, her leadership would eventually force them to succumb to a stronger pride. Her brother had been temporarily running things for three years—the latter half of his thirties—since their mother passed. The entire pride was waiting for Linay to mature, meaning they knew she wasn’t queen material. If her brother stopped protecting her she would, no doubt, meet a gruesome end.

  "Stop!" Jared Tomas stood at five-six with wavy, golden blonde hair and eyes the color of wheat. "No harm will befall you if you let her go." A slinky little rumble told him I was not in the mood for lies. To the others, he yelled, "Back!"