by Mason Sabre
“What’s happening?” His words came out as a slur; his mouth refused to work. He even tried to blink, but the effort of it weighed with something dark and heavy. It pulled inside him, pulled him down until he, himself, melted the same way as the ball. “What … W-what … S-s-somebody …”
Light flooded his eyes, and he let out a groan and batted it away with lazy and heavy arms. "S-stop."
“Nick? Nick, can you hear me?” Helena’s voice surrounded him.
“Helena …” her name came from his lips as a strangled sound. He closed his eyes, opened them again. This time it was Joey and Xander staring at him. “W-what … I can’t …” He couldn’t speak, couldn't move, couldn’t do anything at all. He fell forward.
The ball was too deep into his flesh now for him to be able to get it out again. He'd have to cut away his skin, chop off his hand at the wrist. He slammed his fist down, but his arm buckled at the elbow and he fell to the side and closed his eyes again.
“Nick?” Helena said. “Nick. Open your eyes.”
He did.
Chapter 42
“Nick?”
Stephen blinked at Helena to clear his vision, and the moment he opened his eyes, light speared the back of his head, and he put out a hand. She grabbed for it. "Helena?"
Her hand against his skin sent fire coursing through him in a wave of pain that exploded in such a way, he needed to shred his flesh from his bones. He snatched his hand back and rolled away. "No …" His voice came out in a croak, and he shook his head as his skin gave another protest.
She tried to grab for him again, but he couldn’t have her touch him, couldn’t have anyone touching him. He sat up and twisted, arms flailing, head spinning, his whole body going into a what the fuck spasm.
“Away,” he said. He twisted from her, and pain lanced through his face and pushed his teeth down. Fuck, his mouth cracked, his jaw slipped, and he crashed to the floor from the bed. Wires tugged at him. Hands grabbed for him. Sound erupted in the room and bashed against his brain in waves of hammering darkness. “Stop it.” His voice wasn’t a voice, no, it was a growl, a deep hoarse growl, that scratched itself out of his throat and spilt into the room. “Back away.”
Limbs like Bambi, weak and stiff, his legs folded under him and his arms didn’t catch him, but he rolled and yanked at the wires attached to his skin.
“Nick …”
He shook his head at her again, at Aiden, at Eden … at the eager sets of eyes staring at him. His arms snapped, his body convulsed. He had to get out of there, away from them, before his body did damage he’d never live with.
Helena stepped closer to go to him, but Eden put a hand on her chest. “He’s shifting.”
Stephen staggered to the door. He was wearing just a pair of Norton-issued pants—captivity prison gear, except they were black and not the usual orange. He tore at them with half-shifted hands. Claws protruded out from his fingers, and he slashed his thigh trying to pull the material from his body. His teeth had come down fully; his mouth half-shifted, but his nose had gone to full tiger-shape. His cry at his own body came out in a frustrated sound that was neither man nor tiger, and he fell again. It wasn’t a hand that he used to catch himself on the floor, though. No. It was a full paw this time.
He made it to the front door of the house, half rolled, half fell down the steps and onto the street. His tiger took full possession of him then. Determined, uncaged, freed … his tiger burst from him, tore at his skin and muscles and almost broke bones in the chaos to get from man to beast in such a small time.
When his shift was done, he threw his head back and stretched out his jaw muscles with a loud roar. Eden and Aiden were at the top of the steps, but Helena came down to him and put her hand out. She had to understand he needed to shift. He’d not done it at the full moon. He’d not done it to heal. He puffed out a snort. “I’ll be back.”
Maybe she didn't understand, perhaps she did, but right then, it didn't matter. He had no way of telling her what he needed and no way to shift back until his animal was sated. He could only lift himself to her hand so she could run her fingers through his fur, and with one last swish of his tail against her legs, he launched himself into a run and toward the gate.
The world was different outside than he had seen it before. It was greener, brighter, more inviting. Instead of going to the main road, he ran into the trees and woods. Earthy scents slammed into him, twisted into his nose, and he took in great big lungfuls of it and snorted them right back out. Paw after paw, he smashed down against the earth, crunched broken twigs beneath him, dug into the ground with his claws. Yes … God, yes, he was free. His tiger ran so possessed with the freedom and need to run, to stretch his legs.
He ran like he'd never run before … he moved like an animal who'd been held for too long and had finally freed. He ran like Helena was waiting for him, and she was. God, she was. His roar echoed through the woods, and small animals darted away, hiding from the predator that ran among them, but they held no interest to him. Mingled in all the scents of the earth he caught the whiff of cattle, the rich, sour stench that made people turn their noses up but made him run toward it.
He charged without thought, and god knows how long he had run for. It didn't matter. A squirrel darted under him, tail up, little paws scampering to get to the safety of its tree, but Stephen didn't stop. He ducked his head down, opened his jaws and, in one swift move, he scooped the little animal up in his mouth and chomped down a bite. The animal was dead in seconds, and he swallowed it almost whole. More … he needed more.
The world spun around him, a kaleidoscope of colour bursting to get into his head. A haze of blue and purple, and as he touched the next squirrel with his paw rather than his teeth, its tiny soul spun into the air, freed by his claws … dead before death riddled the actual body, just how Joey did it. The animal didn’t even know it was dead as it scurried off into the leaves.
But he gave himself no time to think of it. Blood touched his lips, dripped on his fur, a woodland appetiser. He needed more. His tiger wanted more, and he found a field … a paddock abandoned save for the bony animals residing in the rotten yard. Tufts of grass lay around, but the ground was mostly mud now. The side of the barn was nothing more than broken planks of wood and the cattle, bones jutting out from dirty fur.
The first cow saw him, and she let out a sound of alarm but didn't get up. She was too weak to bother, too weak to care. Maybe she welcomed him as he stopped in front of her and chuffed out a puff of air. Like the squirrel, he touched her first with his paw and pulled back, making his claws as if he had fingers and could hold her. She came away, slipped from her body like a soft sheet coming from a table. He let go, and she ran from him, her ghostly body full and the shape it should have been. Her actual body slumped, and he bit down.
So good … so goddamn good. Warm blood flooded into his mouth and spilt from the corners of his lips and onto his paws. Hot flesh squelched under his teeth, and he ripped into wasted muscle and tore off a chunk of flesh. It was heaven, intoxicating, delicious … every chomp of torn-off meat slid down his throat in euphoric pieces. He gorged himself on flesh and meat and dug his paws in to tear her body apart even more. His fur slicked with blood. There was no white on his face now, only orange and red. His body calmed with every taste of hunted meat, and he closed his eyes.
This was it … finally …
When he had eaten until he could hardly move, and every vibration inside and outside of his body had stopped, he sat back on his haunches and didn't move. Blood dripped from his fur, his chin, even his whiskers. The fallen cow's two companions mewed out in fear at him, but he was full now. One of them could hardly stand, and when she tried, her festering leg gave way, and she landed in the dirt.
He strode to them, but there was no intention to eat. Their friend had done her job, now he would repay them. Like the squirrel and the first cow, he pressed a paw to the weakest one and brought it back with her soul attached. He freed them both
, threw them into the next world where they were free of everything.
They didn't realise of course, and only when they could stand, did they run away from him. Go. It didn't matter. His body vibrated with life, and he was happy enough with that.
He cleaned himself up, sat and licked his paws and washed his face and behind his ears. He preened himself, licking down his fur, smoothing it back until every inch shone with golds and whites. His body strummed with energy. “Helena …” he let out a growl.
There wasn't the same sense of need when he ran back toward the town. No. That was a lie … there was need and desperation, and each step knotted his stomach in anticipation of seeing her, of touching her, but he could think. Yes. That was the difference. His mind wasn't flooded with the hunger and the need to kill and hunt and eat. He ran just as fast, just as determined, but this time, instead of death in his mind, it was his wife.
She had left a pair of jeans for him on the post to the gate. He stopped next to them, and when he shifted back, it was with the ease of a well worked-out shifter. He’d need to shift tomorrow and the day after probably, but for now, his tiger happily retreated in a ball inside him and let him have the reigns. He picked up the jeans and wasted no time to get them on.
Getting into the town, he climbed like a blind man stumbling over debris as he went through the first gate, then the second. There was nothing that could stop the way his heart strummed in his chest as he padded barefoot into the town.
On a small wall, at the corner of another house was everything he wanted … everything he needed. She raised her head, met his eyes, and like a man on a first date with the woman of his dreams, he stopped, and could only stare.
Helena.
Chapter 43
Standing in the middle of the road with only the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, Stephen stopped. He wanted to go on, but he wanted to look at her too. He wanted to know all of this was real. She was a mirage in front of him, no … a dream, a piece of something that would vanish the moment he reached for her. His body all but shook at the sight of her, and it took every ounce of will to stay where he was and not rush over to snatch her right up.
"You came back." She gripped a shawl around herself, its copious folds useless against the swell of her body, but Stephen was glad for that. The swell of her belly seemed so different now, bigger, rounder, so full of life … their lives, and he could hear them … a faint hum in the air, a crackle against his mind in a deeper connection he could neither explain nor understand.
“I told you I would.”
She pulled the shawl tighter around her, her hand inside it, gripping the edges as if she too wasn't genuinely believing what she could see in front of her.
Stephen took a step … one step, two steps … three long strides and he gave into his body and his need.
"Helena," he murmured when their bodies made contact, and he breathed her in, taking her all inside him and locking her away so they'd never be apart again. She had no time to reply before he slipped his hand around the back of her head to lock her in place. He kissed her. He kissed her long and hard, savouring the taste of her mouth, the feel of her body against his, the swell of her belly pressing into him, but mostly, he held onto the way his head spun with the need in his entire being to wrap himself all around her and never let her go.
She kissed him back equally as hard and wrapped her arms around to his back where her fingers dug into his skin and clung to him. When she broke their kiss, he let out a groan at the loss of contact and tried to snatch it back. He wasn’t done yet, but she buried her face into his shoulder and made him have to bend down, and his mouth was against her neck.
“It’s really you,” she breathed into him. “It’s really, really you.”
He tightened his hold. "It's really me." His voice cracked, and something in him pulled and made him cling Helena to him even more if that were possible. "I never left you."
Hair brushed the side of his face as Helena lifted her head again a few minutes later. She reached for him, but he grabbed her hand before she could touch his face; he kissed her palm, her fingers, and then he brought her hand to his cheek and lay it flat against his skin. Her eyes were so incredibly alive, luminous, glowing … all of her was. For that moment, as he stared down at her, the world evaporated, and there were only the two of them in the middle of the road.
“I’ve been here the whole time, with all of you.” He paused, drew his brows together. “I heard the babies’ heartbeats.”
“You did?”
He nodded and then he closed his eyes and leant his face into her hand and just brushed against it, his tiger taking that moment, that feel of skin on skin, body to body. She smelt like soap and air and Helena, and he took in a greedy lungful of it. “God, I’ve missed you.” He opened his eyes and only let her hand go so he could cup her face and bring her mouth to his again. “Never again.”
“You promise?”
“Double promise.”
She laughed. “I think there’s someone else very excited to see you. I’m surprised he hasn’t burst out of the house already.”
“Eden probably tempted him with ice cream.”
He wasn’t eating ice-cream. He sat on the top step outside the house with Eden, but the moment he saw Helena and Stephen around the corner, he leapt up.
“Nick …” He ran as fast as his little legs could carry him, kicking dirt and tripping over his one unfastened lace as he went, but neither of those two things stopped him or took him down. His eyes were on his one target.
Nick only let go of Helena for this, and even that was hard to do, but he put his arms out, crouched and braced for impact. When it came, he snatched Aiden up into his big arms and hoisted him off the ground.
“You woke up,” Aiden said, delighted. “Eden said you’d do it. Now you did.”
"I did." He put Aiden on his hip and let him straddle his waist. There'd not be many chances to do this. Aiden's body heat sweated Stephen's skin like a suckling pig on a roast, and he'd only held him for half a moment, but it was a good hold, an alive hold … not something filled with death and pain. He wasn't holding Aiden to shield him from the cruelty of Humans, or his last breath. This hold was pure, love-filled relief all rolled into the little arms wrapped around his neck. It almost knocked Stephen off balance. Aiden smelt good, smelt like Helena. “I missed you too,” he said to him.
“I missed you lots.” He pulled back from Stephen, his little face frowning, brows together. “I made you some pictures. They’re in the house. Are you coming inside?”
“Yep. I sure am.”
Aiden's grin lit up his face, and then just as fast as he had arrived, he let his legs swing down, and made himself heavier, so Stephen had to let him go. "Patience"
"I have to find my things," he said as if Stephen might have a clue what he was talking about, but he didn't explain. Just ran off again, back to the house, to whatever mission he'd decided he needed to do.
Eden came down the steps, but she kept herself back enough, giving them space. “Witch,” Stephen said, and he didn’t let her have that space. Two strides and he was in front of her. “Thank you,” he whispered as he bent down to embrace her. “For everything.” There was no gratitude he could really give to her, no amount of thanks he could say. Even if he spent every day of his life showing her how grateful he was for what she had done for him, for them, it would never be enough, but he would damn well try. “Is Xander back?”
“Back?” Helena asked. “You really have been with us the whole time, haven’t you?” She needed that confirmation. Even if she knew it, she needed to understand it, but that was his Helena, factual.
He put a hand to her, and she wrapped her fingers in his. He needed her, all of her. He let his arm slide around her back, and at the same time, he held Eden. "I've been here all along."
“He’s in the kitchen,” Eden said. “But he’s quiet. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He won’t speak to me.”
“He’s hurt.”
“Hurt?” Helena asked.
“Inside. Real bad. He’s got a son, Helena. A little boy and Norton has him.”
“Oh no …” Her eyes widened.
“Yeah. Exactly. We’re going to get him back.”
Chapter 44
Xander stood with his back to the door and faced the kitchen sink. He had a glass of water, and Stephen didn’t need to use his enhanced senses to know he’d thrown up again. The acrid stench of vomit wafted through the air, even as Xander turned on the cold tap and rinsed whatever he had brought up down the drain. He rinsed his glass too and put it upside down on the drainer.
“I saw,” Stephen said. He kept himself at the doorway, partly to give Xander some space, but mostly because the adrenaline had worn off and the drain of his body made him want to sit on the floor, close his eyes and get a good long sleep. Standing kept him awake, leaning against the door jamb kept him upright. “I saw what they’ve done.”
Xander paused, gripped the edge of the sink and nodded. “You saw Joey?”
“I did. I—”
“Xander?” Eden came in beside Stephen and cut Stephen off. She went to go to Xander, but Stephen put his arm across her chest.
“Give him a second.”
“What’s going on?” She stayed back like Stephen had told her, but the energy coming from her was enough to make Stephen want to ask her to just go outside a moment. She wrapped her arms around herself.
“I see him in my head,” Xander said. “Every time I close my eyes … every time I even fucking blink, all I see is him. All I hear is him and his screams. I can’t …” He paused, rocked on his heels. “I want them dead. All of them.”
Stephen took a step into the room and regretted it immediately. The room spun, and a cold wave washed over him and slammed into his head. He staggered, hands caught him.
