Emergence

by Jaliza A. Burwell

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  He didn’t say anything as he tried to burn a hole into the cement floor.

  “Slade.”

  He shook his head and released his breath. “I want that bastard dead. They attacked us on our own territory and then attacked the witches we’ve sworn to protect. They’re making us out as fools who don’t know the difference between our dicks and our asses.

  I stared at him for a moment and nodded. “Then I suggest you enjoy the show because if Landus doesn’t make him hurt, I will.”

  Slade didn’t say anything, his jaw stiff as a shifter walked in with a bucket.

  After a moment, Slade pushed up off the wall and stalked towards the shifter who froze, probably thinking he was about to become dinner. Slade snatched the bucket from him and strolled over to the prisoner. He walked right up to the prisoner and threw the water on him without hesitation. It splashed against the prisoner’s face and the wall behind him, dripping down to the floor and finding its way to the drain.

  The man sputtered awake, forced out of La-La Land. I wondered if he at least had nice dreams because he was about to live in hell.

  Slade threw the bucket at the prisoner, purposely missing his head by only inches. He glared at the man again before stalking back over to me and leaning up against the wall, crossing his massive arms over his broad chest.

  “Feel better?” I asked.

  He responded with a snarl.

  “Relax, Darling,” I murmured.

  Another shifter walked in with a huge black duffle bag and placed it on the floor carefully, but I could still hear the clinking noise of glass. He bent over and opened it, taking a few moments to rummage through it until he nodded, satisfied with the contents.

  Landus walked over to the prisoner, his eyes turning into a brewing storm.

  “Are you capable of having a civilized conversation or are we going to have to make this hurt?”

  The man smirked. “I like pain. I say we go that route.”

  Landus nodded, as if expecting the answer. He walked over to the duffle bag and lifted it up, bringing it over to a small bench built into the wall. He carefully laid everything out for the prisoner to see.

  Impressed with all the items, I raised an eyebrow. Needles, knifes, tubes, a funnel, rope, a wrench, pliers, nails, a drill, and a small glass jar. He lifted up a knife, raising it to the light, and turning it slowly.

  The man kept a curious eye on the tools, but there was no sign of any fear.

  Landus turned back to the man.

  “Did you know you don’t need your spleen?” he asked, his tone conversational. “Or that you only need a portion of your liver to function properly?

  The man blinked at him, his mouth pressed firmly shut. He didn’t plan on talking, ever.

  Landus moved until he stood in front of the idiot, knife at his side.

  “Last chance,” he said in a low voice.

  When the man only shook his head, Landus shifted the knife.

  I couldn’t see what he did because he faced away from me, his body blocking the view, but I sure heard the results of it. The prisoner screamed and bucked, his face turning a weird shade of pale green as his eyes clenched shut. Sweat worked its way down his body, yet still, he didn’t cave.

  The torture continued, Landus stopping long enough to ask a question, and when the man refused to speak, he continued on, switching to other tools. The floor was covered in blood, the air thick with the metallic smell, enhanced with the frustrated and angry energy swirling around.

  A couple of times, we thought the man was going to break but he was determined to keep his mouth shut, despite the pain in his body.

  Landus stopped and talked with the other shifters, discussing other possibilities.

  I blew out a breath and approached the small group, only a little irritated. None of the shifters made a move to stop me, though they looked like they wanted to drag me out of the room by my hair and toss me on my ass. The only reason they didn’t was because they knew that if they tried, they wouldn’t make it within five feet of my personal space before I killed them.

  I glanced at the prisoner one last time before focusing on the small group, knowing the problem.

  I had no doubt they were well versed in getting answers, but this man feared Baron a lot more than he feared us, and he was stubbornly waiting for us to get frustrated and just kill him.

  We had to do something worse than what Baron would do.

  I thought about the meager information I knew about Baron. He was a fake gentleman, to me at least. He was a ball of disdain against the shifters, witches, and apparently vampires, but he did well to contain it until it suited him. He was toeing an invisible line, and he just needed the right incentive to cross it. And when he did, I was sure all his carefully laid out plans wouldn’t matter, and he would just release all that anger onto those around him. That was his weakness. Someone who displeased him was sure to push him over the line, and he would hurt them, torture them, put them through hell. But he would go too far. Maybe in a matter of days. He would kill them by accident.

  I looked the man over. Definitely. I could see that very fear in his eyes. He didn’t want to be put through the pain Baron would dish out despite the relief of death afterward. We needed to give him that same pain, but with no promise of death or at least a death that would come far later than what Baron would dish out.

  “If you want him to talk, I know an easier way,” I finally spoke up, still staring at the prisoner. He was still jerking through the poison Landus had given him, his skinny body covered in sweat and blood, his face pinched in pain.

  “I thought you don’t do torture.”

  I smiled. “I don’t,” I said. “But I know a few tricks.”

  I walked over to the collection on the metal table, taking in all the tools. My eyes paused on a glass jar and I leaned forward to get a better look. My eyes widened in surprise as I lifted it.

  A bug was chilling out inside the jar, and the recognition hit hard as I took in the little creature: a sand beetle. It was a metallic blue, the light reflecting off its hard shell. The thing had six legs, four near the front and two long back legs. To most, it didn’t look impressive, but I knew better. They were nasty little buggers, full of poison and loved very warm places, like a body.

  They also only lived in the Woodlands and were extremely rare. How the hell did Landus get his hands on one of these? Did he keep it like a damn pet?

  I lifted it up to Landus. “Why would you have one of these?”

  He looked at the jar. “Some people can’t handle the thought of being immobile while in pain. But we can’t use that on him. He won’t be able to talk.”

  I nodded in understanding. Sand beetles bit hard as hell and secreted venom that attacked the muscles of their victims. Simple really. The more often one was bitten in a short span of time, over and over again, the faster the venom attacked the organs. The body would slowly shut down and the victim would feel every second of it.

  Someone who was big and tough, like Landus, would need seven bites, but for someone as small as the man before us, only a couple of bites would do the trick. His small frame and with all the blood loss, he wouldn’t last beyond four bites. And it would take him hours to die.

  “This little creature can do more,” I said.

  Landus looked at me with interest, turning to give me his full attention now. “What do you mean?”

  I smirked at him. “I know sand beetles.” I turned to the half-dead man.

  Time for a lesson for everyone. I looked down at the beetle and held back a shiver, remembering exactly what this little creature could do. Not even Baron would hold up against a beetle like this little guy.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I remember pain. Pain so deeply rooted that I wished I were dead. I remember looking at the beast standing over me, his furry muzzle skewed into a smile as he licked his lips. He wanted to turn me into his dinner. I snarled.


  —Nyssa’s Journal

  I walked up to the man slowly, taking him in. Everyone’s eyes were on me, wondering what I was going to do. Landus was right. I didn’t do torture. But for Cecil, I was prepared to destroy Terra Firma. This man had answers, and I wanted them, damn whatever that meant for me as a being.

  I reached deep within and found a little of the deadness I kept hidden. I tugged up just enough to numb my feelings. It wouldn’t do to wimp out. The prisoner needed to believe everything I said and know that I didn’t give two fucks about him. I couldn’t give him any power.

  “Want to play a game of Did You Know?” I asked, the deadness seeping out.

  The man didn’t respond, too focused on himself and breathing.

  I grabbed his face, making sure to grip hard enough to leave a bruise, my nails digging in, and forced him to look at me. He blinked, finally meeting my eyes.

  “Ready to play Did You Know?” I asked again and confusion filled his expression. He had no fucking idea. I smirked.

  “Did you know that sand beetles love heat,” I began, my voice a coo. “Their favorite range of temperature is between ninety-five and a hundred degrees. A human’s normal temperature is right smack dab in the middle, a perfect temperature for these things. Now, do you know why they are called sand beetles?”

  Again the man didn’t answer, but I knew I had his attention. I was changing the game on him and he knew it. He was trying to figure out what the new rules were.

  I chuckled.

  “They love burrowing deep into the ground. They find hotspots within the earth and go right on in. Especially the females so they can lay their eggs. What do you think will happen when I give this female beetle access your insides?” I lifted up the jar so he could see the beetle inside.

  I let the silence stretch for a moment. Understanding filled his beady eyes, and he whimpered. I smirked. “She’ll dig right inside of you and find a comfortable place. She’ll then feed on you until she’s full and fat enough to lay her babies. With your temperature perfect, the babies will hatch in about two days. Then they will eat you from the inside out. You’ll get to feel them inside of you. You’ll get to feel them nibbling at your insides. Eating you alive. Every. Little. Nip.”

  “Fuck,” a shifter swore behind me. I ignored him and focused on the bastard before me. I had his full attention now and continued.

  “This little beast knows not to poison you, knows your liveliness will keep her babies warm and fed. And the babies don’t grow poisonous until they’re mature. They won’t kill you either.”

  I giggled and grabbed a knife.

  “This makes me giddy. I love experiments.”

  I slashed across his upper chest. The cut was deep enough to cut through the skin but not so deep that he would bleed out on me, especially with what little bit of blood he had left. “I know you fear Baron because you thought we would kill you quicker. Well, how slowly do you want to die? I estimate after these babies are born, you have two weeks, tops. Two whole weeks of feeling them under your skin, nibbling away at your body.” I sighed as if it sounded so romantic. “At least with Baron, you would die after, what? A week? A shorter death sentence. And definitely less painful. He’ll get fed up with you and just end you after a while. And I think he’s too busy to drag out your death punishment for too long.”

  Ah, it clicked. The man’s eyes grew massive enough that I thought they were going to pop out. “Please don’t.”

  I turned my head so my ear was towards him. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear over my excitement.”

  He licked his lips. “Don’t let that thing inside of me.”

  “Oh? Is that a request?”

  “Don’t.”

  “If you don’t want her inside you, we need some answers.”

  He shook his head. “He’ll kill me.”

  “Peanut, the moment you attacked the witches, you were already dead. Maybe you should come to terms with that.” I opened the jar and carefully picked up the beetle, giving the man a good look at the creature. I brought the beetle to the entrance site. Even the beetle was excited, trying to slip from my grip, the scent of blood riling her up.

  “Stop, please stop.”

  “I’m waiting for the right words.” I almost lost grip of the beetle. “Jeez, this little bugger is excited. She really wants to get inside you.”

  “Baron wants you all dead,” he admitted though it wasn’t a surprise. We knew that already. “Please get it away from me.”

  I sighed, faking disappointment in his meager information. “We already know Baron wants us dead.” I brought the bug close enough so he could feel its tiny legs against his skin.

  “He wants revenge.”

  “Already know.”

  “He created us to get that revenge.”

  I smirked and pulled back. “Now we are getting somewhere. Created, you say? Please continue.”

  “We were humans once, but he recruited us. Most of us were street trash but he found us, gave us strength and gifts. Made us feel useful.”

  “You mean he created his own cult.”

  The man nodded. “Something like that. A couple of weeks ago he finally told us why.”

  “And why is that?”

  “You guys created him.”

  Landus came forward. “Who did?”

  “You all. The shifters, witches, mages, ’pires. You guys created him. And he’s pissed.”

  I glanced at Landus, hoping to see if there was any truth in the man’s words, but he was too busy looking like a statue. I counted in my head slowly. At seven, he finally blinked and glared at the prisoner.

  “Impossible. We would never work together. We hate the ’pires and vice-versa. The witches are always antagonizing the mages. It has been like that for a very long time. I doubt a group of us would get together long enough to create something else,” Landus said, the belief in that knowledge solid.

  The man shook his head. “All I know is what he’s told us. About seventy years ago, a small group of different beings were experimenting, and he was the product. Afterward, they feared what he could be and tried to kill him. He escaped and went into hiding. That’s all I know.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I said.

  I moved slightly forward again, and the man’s eye didn’t leave the beetle as it inched closer. “It’s the truth! I don’t have a reason to lie about this.”

  “What does he plan to do?”

  “We aren’t in on all his plans. All I know is he’s creating a distraction using the gates. He’s hired people to make gates like crazy so he can hide his gates within the chaos of the others. He plans to kill you all.”

  “Throwing a needle into a haystack.” I nodded.

  “I think you mean hiding a needle in a haystack,” Landus corrected.

  I frowned, turning to him. “Why would someone hide the needle? Throwing it is faster and just as effective.”

  Landus just shook his head. I shrugged and turned back to the man.

  “Guerilla warfare won’t give him victory. We’ve already destroyed three of his gates,” I said.

  “Those are just more distractions from his real goal. Keep you busy with those gates and us, leaving him alone to do what he really wants to do.”

  “And what is his real goal?” Landus asked, his eyes darkening as his energy snapped around him.

  “He has other gates around the city. That’s all I know. Our job was to just attack you guys to keep you distracted while he used the other gates to do his other plan. I don’t know all of it.”

  “You’re not lying, are you?” I asked.

  “He’s telling the truth,” Landus’s voice came out bitter.

  “How are you so sure?”

  “Because I’m a shifter and no one has been able to lie to me without me knowing it.” There was a warning in there for me, and like most warnings, I chose to ignore it. I hadn’t lied to him. I just hadn’t told him the full story. I didn’t see the need to lie. If I didn’t like som
ething, people knew about it.

  “Is there anything else you want to tell us?” Landus asked.

  The man shook his head.

  “I have one more question. Who used poison on their weapons during the attack on the witches?”

  The man blinked a couple of times; he looked exhausted. I guess knowing he wasn’t going to die a long and miserable death relaxed him enough to show his weakness. He was giving up. He knew what was going to happen when we finished. But like he said, at least it would be fast.

  “Chris. He was the only one who liked to use those. You already killed him.”

  I swore. I was glad he was dead, but now I couldn’t beat the information I needed out of him. Maybe there was something to this torture thing.

  “Do you know what kind of poison?” I asked, trying to hold onto hope.

  He shook his head. “All I know is that he bragged about getting it from the Woodlands.”

  I had to work at hiding my frustrations and fear. The Woodlands held millions of poisons that many didn’t know about. Hell, even I didn’t know all of them, though the years in the forest helped me build immunity to some. I’d made a couple of stupid mistakes that resulted in days of suffering while I worked through the poison. Surprisingly, none of them killed me. But finding the right poison could take months and I didn’t have months. I barely had two weeks.

  I stormed out of the room, needing fresh air, away from the smell of all the blood and the feel of all the energy in that room. That place was beginning to suffocate me.

  When I made it outside, I took in deep breaths, cleansing my lungs of all the pain and violence down below. Other shifters came up too, needing a break. A sound caught my attention, and I watched as a tired looking woman walked out of the surrounding woods, her eyes flickering over everyone. She held a boy-child in her arms, cradled to her chest. He shifted to cuddle closer into her, but his eyes remained closed, his face a little flushed.

  “Deana, is everything okay?” a man asked, walking by me and approaching her with worry on his face.

  She whispered something to him, and his expression grew worried as he took the boy-child out of her arms. She looked relieved to have the burden gone. He bent over, and kissed her cheek, saying something that drew a smile from her.