Thrall

by Jennifer Blackstream

  I didn’t hear the rest of what Liam said. Peasblossom landed on my shoulder, her wings still buzzing furiously in the aftermath of the fight. Her tiny needle-sword was still in her hand, stained with the telekinetic’s blood. She said something, but I missed it. I couldn’t hear anything over the blood roaring in my ears.

  The fight couldn’t be over. Not now. Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. The pleasure was already receding. The colors of the world dimming. I was losing it.

  “Is that it?” My voice didn’t sound like me. I sounded drugged. Belligerent and breathless, and a growl echoed in my words. A threat. I was ready for a fight, but the sorcerer wasn’t giving me one.

  “I surrender.” Nikolaos spoke to Liam, but he was looking at me. Still with that curious glint in his eyes. “Let my people go, I’m the one you want.”

  “I expected more,” Peasblossom murmured.

  So had I. Frustration pulled my nerves tight. I rubbed a hand over my face. I didn’t feel well. Not like I had a moment ago. It couldn’t be over yet. I was going to be sick.

  Asher leaned in, put his mouth so close to my ear his breath sent goosebumps down my spine.

  “Come with me,” he whispered. “I’ll help you get it back.”

  He took my hand in his as he spoke, and I sucked in a sharp breath as he dug his claws into my wrist, deep enough to draw blood. A fresh flood of adrenaline reinvigorated me. I felt myself grinning.

  “I should break the bond between you two now,” Iman said. She took a careful step forward, her hands out in a calming gesture.

  Liam’s gaze locked onto her, his sensitive hearing picking up her words even though he stood at least ten yards away. “What bond?”

  Before Iman could answer, Asher lashed out, striking her hard enough to send her flying back. The psychic’s head struck the ground and bounced. Her eyes rolled back, then fluttered closed.

  Chaos erupted around me as everyone reacted at once. Asher pulled on my hand, and I was running with him. Liam shouted from behind me, but couldn’t give chase, not if he wanted to keep Nikolaos from escaping. Peasblossom left my shoulder, probably to use the healing spell I’d given her on Iman. I heard a sound behind me, and I knew Scath was giving chase. She’d probably catch me. I was nowhere near as fast as her.

  But how would she stop me? Tackle me? Bring me down with tooth and claw?

  I laughed and kept running.

  “Head for the shadows!” Asher shouted, pointing ahead.

  The sun was beginning to set, and one of the buildings ahead cast thick shadows over an alleyway. Asher gestured for me to go first, and I saw him open his mouth. His tongue shot out, six feet if it was an inch. I heard a feline growl, then Asher gagged.

  Cat got his tongue.

  If I’d been in my right mind, I would never have run headfirst into shadows. Certainly not at a goblin’s urging. But I did. The rush was leaving my body, all that delicious pain retreating, threatening to take the color out of my world and leave me numb. I went into the shadows not only unconcerned about the possibility of a fight—

  But excited for it.

  “Well, now, who is this?” An older woman’s voice spoke in surprised tones.

  I had a second to realize I’d just appeared beneath a table, right beside her. The smell of beer and peanuts swirled around my nose, and I sneezed. A bar.

  Asher fell on top of me, driving my elbows hard into the floor. Pain shot through my bones and the rough floor grated off my skin, driving a rush of pleasure that took my voice away. I looked up at the woman who’d spoken, a goofy grin on my face as I forced myself to stand.

  “Shade Renard,” I said, inclining my head. “Mother Renard.”

  The woman went very, very still. Dark black hair and darker black eyes met my gaze as I watched her, my grin slipping a little as I realized there was something not quite human about her lack of movement. Something older. More predatory. My heart skipped a beat, and I had the wild hope that she was as dangerous as the hairs standing up on the back of my neck suggested she was.

  “Shade Renard,” she whispered. “Are you really?”

  I pulled myself out from under the table, elbowing Asher sharply in the stomach for falling on top of me. Whether as a rebuke or a thank you I wasn’t sure. Probably both. I looked the woman up and down, noting the expensive business suit with its charcoal jacket and matching pencil skirt over a silver silk blouse. She wore high heels that made my ankles ache in sympathy, and for some reason I was absolutely certain that the glasses on her nose had nothing to do with poor eyesight and everything to do with the effect it had on people when a stern woman looked over her glasses at them.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  The woman wasn’t looking at me now, she was looking under the table. As if waiting for someone else to follow me out. “I am Ms. Dorcha.”

  Asher rolled out from under the table, his tongue still farther out of his mouth than it should have been. The tip was bleeding as if the end had been cut off. Or bitten off. He looked at Ms. Dorcha and his red eyes gleamed brighter.

  “We’re of the same mind,” he said, staring into the woman’s eyes. “Head mojo from the sorceress’ wife.”

  “Is that so?” Ms. Dorcha smiled. “Play darts, Mother Renard. Quickly, before anyone else comes out from under that table.”

  I was heading for the dartboard before I’d made the decision to do so. The sticky floor made a tearing sound in spots when I lifted my feet, but it didn’t bother me. Not like it should have. The barman handed me a set of projectiles as I walked past, and I took them without stopping to speak. My head throbbed, and with every pulse of my heart, the world got a little more color. The dartboard on the wall called to me, black, red, and white teasing me, begging for the sharp bite of metal needles.

  I hurled the darts. All at once, holding them by their feathered ends. There was a shout from somewhere to my left, where tables full of patrons were arranged in a large group. I followed the angry sound to a short man with a red beard that looked like a furry butcher’s knife hanging from his face. He shoved his chair back and whirled to glare at me, blunt features scrunched with fury.

  “A cluricaune.” The words came out of my mouth of their own accord, and it should have disturbed me that I sounded like a little girl shrieking “Pony!” Cluricaunes were relatives of the leprechaun, but they drank more and tended toward laziness and bad tempers instead of their cousin’s industriousness.

  The one headed for me pointed to a spot of red on the sleeve of his T-shirt. “You hit me with a dart!”

  “Yes.” I started to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come out. I didn’t want him to calm down.

  The cluricaune’s response to my rudeness was swift. His fist drove into my stomach hard enough that I thought my kidneys would pop out my sides. All the breath left my body, and I doubled over, still grinning. That had felt good.

  The cluricaune choked, and I looked up to see Asher’s tongue wrapped around his neck. I pointed behind him where another cluricaune was running after the first, ready to jump into the fray to help his friend. He raised something, and I giggled when I realized what it was.

  “A shillelagh!”

  The second cluricaune ignored me and brought the thick piece of wood down hard on Asher’s head. The force made the goblin bite his tongue, and more blood poured between his teeth. The goblin’s body shuddered in pleasure.

  “Time to join the fun,” I said to myself. “Medium lupus!”

  My magic responded like a battering ram, striking my body hard. My arms and legs grew longer, my face protruded in a long snout. Fur rolled over me, and suddenly my mouth had too many teeth. I opened my mouth to make more room and roared, relishing the feeling of power that came from this new form, these clawed hands, this maw of sharp teeth. I watched Asher swipe at the second cluricaune, leaving bloody furrows in his wake.

  I wanted to do that.

  I took a step forward, but someone rushed out of the crowd, headed for As
her. He was swinging a sock over his head, and he’d obviously stuffed it with something heavy. I leapt forward, catching the blunt end of the sock in my palm before it could make contact with the goblin. With one smooth motion, I pulled it out of the third cluricaune’s grip and hurled it across the room. I used my other clawed hand to rake his face. He screamed and clapped his hand over the wound, blood seeping between his fingers.

  Asher released the first cluricaune, pulling his tongue back into his mouth and letting the unconscious fey hit the floor. Without missing a beat, he slashed at the second cluricaune, his arm swinging under the cane, catching the other man across the stomach. He hissed in pain and staggered back, and Asher picked him up and hurled him across the room.

  The cluricaune I’d slashed turned and ran, and I let out a cry of disappointment, taking a few steps after him as if I could make him stay and fight. My senses buzzed with renewed pleasure, and my world was bright and vivid once again. But I knew it wouldn’t last. I needed more.

  “Look out!” Asher shouted.

  I whirled around. A hulking man loomed right behind me. Well, sort of a man. He had one eye—in the center of his bare chest. And he had only one leg. He should have looked ridiculous, but I wasn’t laughing. Not when he was swinging a club at me, the entire piece of wood lined with bulging metal orbs. I had the wild thought that the orbs were shaped like apples and I wanted a taste, and then Asher shoved me out of the way. The fachan’s club landed hard on his head, and the goblin hit the floor, unconscious.

  I slashed at the fachan’s chest, scoring the eye that was glaring at me. The fachan roared in pain and lurched backward, but before I could follow it, there was a sound behind me.

  A howl pierced the noise of the bar. The sound parted the haze in my brain, froze the waves of pleasure and left me stiff and unable to move. The adrenaline that had felt so fantastic a second ago cooled, turned to something altogether different. Fear.

  I was paralyzed with fear. In my peripheral vision, I saw a man coming toward me. He had shaggy brown hair, and several days’ worth of untrimmed growth on his jaw. When he saw that I’d noticed him, he lifted his head. Another long, mournful howl trickled out of his throat.

  A striker. Kin to the banshee, a dog shifter who foretold death.

  When he wasn’t having an evening at the bar. Apparently.

  He came closer to me, close enough that I could feel his breath on my face. Still, I couldn’t move.

  “Is this how you imagined it would end?” he whispered. “Is—”

  The rest of his sentence was lost on another howl, but this time it was a sound of pain. The spell holding me broke, and I shuttered back a few steps, in time to see the weight of Scath’s body carry the striker to the ground. She dug her claws into the back of his shoulder blades, a silent warning not to get up.

  “Come to join the fun?” I asked, pleased to see her. My voice was garbled by the extra teeth, as I wasn’t used to speaking with a mouth this shape. I looked around the bar, noted that more than one opponent seemed to be ready to try me on. “I say we fight that one next.” I pointed to a large man with eyes that suggested at least one of his ancestors had a dalliance with a dragon.

  “I think you’ve had enough,” Liam muttered.

  I wasn’t fast enough. Liam’s arms banded around me, pinning my arms to my sides. I struggled against him, but it was no use. I had the shape of a shifter, but I wasn’t one. I didn’t have their strength, or their instinct. I tried to cast a spell, but my thoughts were in chaos, remnants of the striker’s fear and the pleasure of my wounds turning my brain to soup. Liam was holding me tight enough to press every bruise, every cut. It felt incredible, and I squirmed, chasing every last twinge.

  Iman’s hand touched my cheek, turning me to face her. Blood matted her dark hair in patches, and she had a cut high on her cheek that had partially healed. Asher had done that to her. Pushed her, left her to fall in that gods forsaken parking lot. But she didn’t look mad. She looked…

  I stiffened as I realized what she was about to do. “No!”

  “I’m sorry, Shade,” she whispered. “This was a mistake. I’m so sorry.”

  The pleasure stopped. Not just stopped. It drained away, and as it did, it left a gaping space for the pain to fill. Pain that swelled until I was certain I’d burst at the seams. My head throbbed, and my stomach ached with a force I was sure would wring out my last meal. I’d lost more blood than I’d realized, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The world lost some of its color, but I didn’t know if that was the separation from Asher’s mind or the haze clouding my vision.

  “Shade!” Peasblossom screamed. “Shade, where is your pouch?”

  “Can you heal her?” Liam’s voice was calm, but there was a tension in it that betrayed his concern. He poked at my head, trying to find the injury that was causing the blood loss.

  “No!” Peasblossom wailed. “I used it on Iman!”

  “She’s going into shock,” Iman said. “Call an ambulance.”

  “I’m going to find the pouch. She has healing potions.”

  All the voices turned into a dull roar, one voice indistinguishable from another. I drifted in a dark place between consciousness and unconsciousness, alone with my pain, the inability to make my body do what I wanted it to do.

  Suddenly, something cool and smooth pressed against my lips. Someone lifted my head enough so that when the object—a bottle—tilted, the liquid inside slid down my throat.

  The pain receded. Not enough—not nearly enough—but my vision began to clear. I could barely make out Ms. Dorcha leaning over me, and for a second—just a second—I saw a bird. A raven, with large black eyes empty of any discernible emotion. She tilted her head and smiled.

  “The healing potion comes with no strings attached. It is a…reward, for a fantastic show.”

  She stood. Liam helped me sit up, and I stared after her as she walked toward the door. Scath, still in cat form, watched her go, and Ms. Dorcha paused, just long enough to glance at the cat shifter. Something passed between them, something my poor brain was in no state to parse out.

  “Who was that?” I gasped.

  “That,” Peasblossom said under her breath, “was trouble.”

  Chapter 21

  I woke up in Suite Dreams. I knew it was Suite Dreams because all I could smell was lavender. My hair was damp, and I was wearing the spare outfit I kept in my pouch, red and black leggings with a long black turtleneck. I hoped the dye of my new black shirt wouldn’t end up all over the white sheets.

  “Shade?”

  Peasblossom’s voice was unusually subdued. She was right by my head, standing on the pillow, but even then, she usually spoke much louder. It worried me.

  “Peasblossom?” I croaked. I winced. “Blood and bone, I sound awful.”

  “You should. You had a concussion from where you hit your head on the ground at Acme. And two of your ribs were broken.”

  I shivered. The broken ribs were from the cluricaune. Hearing about it brought back the memory—and it was a good memory.

  That thought sobered me up. I pushed myself into a sitting position, grunting as my sore body protested. “What time is it? How long have I been out? Where’s Nikolaos?”

  “It’s a little after eight. They just put you to bed ten minutes ago, after cleaning you up.”

  I glanced down at my fresh clothes, one hand rising to feel my wet hair. “Who cleaned me up?”

  “Iman. I watched, just in case.”

  Peasblossom curled up on the pillow with her knees pulled against her chest, and her arms wrapped around them. She watched me with her pink-multifaceted eyes, and there was something about that look that turned my stomach. She was too serious.

  “Where’s Nikolaos?” I asked, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

  “Downstairs. Arianne was making…arrangements. Safety precautions.”

  “Arianne?” I sputtered. “She’s back.”

  “Oh,
she’s back. And in a great mood now that she has another suspect to question. Another one who is not her wife.”

  “Where’s Asher?” I asked.

  A shadow fell over the pixie’s face, highlighting the sudden glint in her eyes. “Gone. He regained consciousness while we were carrying you out and bolted. Probably afraid Liam was going to kill him.” She paused. “Or heal him,” she added. “Hard to say which one would upset the goblin more.” She shifted uneasily. “How do you feel?”

  “Better.” Now it was my turn to dodge the conversation. I didn’t want to talk about what it had felt like to be bonded to the goblin. “Where’s Scath?”

  Peasblossom flew to the door, hovering in front of the handle. “She didn’t come back with us.”

  I froze in the middle of sliding off the bed, my feet dangling just above the carpet. “What? Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine. You know how she is, she likes to disappear now and then.”

  Peasblossom wasn’t looking at me. “She likes to disappear at night while I’m sleeping, not in the middle of a case. Not since we talked. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “No.”

  I shut my mouth on another question, and forced myself to take a deep breath. I knew from experience that if Peasblossom didn’t want to tell me something, she wouldn’t. Nothing could make her talk before she was ready. I’d have to try again later.

  “Do you know where Liam is?”

  Peasblossom nodded, and I noticed her shoulders slump slightly as if relieved I’d let the subject of Scath go. “He’s downstairs with Arianne and Nikolaos.”

  “I found your waist pouch.” Peasblossom pointed across the room at the desk chair.

  “Thank you.” I shoved myself off the bed, cursing when the floor seemed to buck under me, and I had to put out a hand to keep from falling over. Peasblossom shot into the air, hovering around me even though if I did fall, there wouldn’t be a thing she could do about it. Except maybe go for help.