“You fool! Now the world knows who I am! They will never stop hunting me. Worse, when they find me, they will lock me up again, just as you did!”
He blanched at her verbal assault. Clearly, he hadn’t realized the ramifications of what he had done. By bringing the police here, he had brought an end to her ever being free.
“I didn’t . . . I mean . . . I . . .,” he stammered, as if trying to find some way to excuse his actions. There wasn’t any.
The sound of pained breathing reached Shae’s ears as Kestrel stumbled out of the doorway. Without hesitation, and not without a bit of satisfaction, Shae reached back with both arms and stabbed them downward into Daniel’s chest.
He grunted as they snapped ribs and sliced organs. She leaned down close to whisper in his ear. When she replied, she poured in all her will, so there would be no mistaking her intent. No loopholes.
“You will stop following me. LEAVE. ME. ALONE.”
Righting herself, she turned toward Kestrel who finished surveying the dead cops and returned her gaze to Shae. There was a look of measured regard and new appreciation directed her way.
“Let’s go,” Shae told her, swinging her leg up and over Daniel’s bleeding body. He had the good sense to lie still and pretend being dead. If he hadn’t, he would have ended up that way for real. Despite how angry she was at Daniel now; she did not want him tangled up in this mess. He was better off forgetting all about her and trying to live some semblance of a life. Away from her.
Kestrel hobbled her way, the hip still hurting her. She offered Shae a soft smile.
“Thank you, Shae. I know this is not what you wished to be doing.” She motioned around at the fallen cops. “But I am glad that you are here for me. I don’t know what would have happened if I couldn’t have counted on you.”
Shae was thankful for her brown fur so Kestrel couldn’t see her blush. She had never been relied upon before. No one had trusted her before like Kestrel trusted her. She had helped Kestrel stay alive and the woman was grateful to her. Of course, in truth, it had been Daniel who had killed those police, not her, but Kestrel didn’t know that, and Shae certainly wasn’t going to correct her.
Shae’s lips pulled back in an attempt at a smile. Kestrel seemed to understand the expression though as her smile broadened.
“You are right. We should go.”
Together, they fled the scene. Shae didn’t need to look back to know Daniel’s eyes followed them as they went.
Sim ran toward the smaller of the two Wereboars as the beast waded into the crowd of onlookers. Men and women ran in all directions. Some headed in his direction first before noticing him. Then they fled in a different direction screaming. Sim couldn’t blame them. Even though he was there to save them, he must have looked scary as a huge bear-man bearing down on them. Ha! Bearing down on them. He shook his head at his own joke.
The closer he got to the Boar, the more he realized it wasn’t truly attacking any of the people. Oh sure, he swiped his immense claws toward them, but, at least to Sim, he was missing on purpose. It’s like he has no desire to kill anyone. Before the implications of this could register, Sim was on him.
Thrusting out with both hands, he pushed the Boar hard, sending him sliding backward several feet before he managed to slow himself down by grabbing a light post. Sim followed right after, punching him hard in the jaw, snapping his head backward, and the Boar reeled. Sim did not relent and moved in to swing again. The Boar ducked under his swing, and up thrusted into his chest. Tusks pierced him, their sharp points burying into his skin and muscles or sliding between his ribs.
Pain lanced into him as the Boar continued his thrust upward, lifting Sim up. Up off the ground he went, but he felt his ribs tear away from his sternum and the tusks ripped back out of his chest, dropping him back down.
Landing hard, he stumbled back from the Boar and righted himself. He could feel his ribs reconnecting to his sternum and the puncture wounds begin to close.
A low growl reverberated through his chest and he opened his maw wide in open challenge to the Boar. A forceful huff escaped the Boar’s nostrils in answer to his challenge, causing them to flare briefly before contracting.
Facing off against each other, they circled around. Sim searched for some kind of advantage, and he assumed the Boar did too. Circling around, neither he nor the Boar made any moves to attack. It hit Sim then. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be doing this. His True controlled him and he had no choice
Sim relaxed his stance, a release of tension in his muscles and he lowered his arms down. A puzzled look overcame the Boar.
“This isn’t who you are, is it?” Sim asked him, his voice deep and rumbling, like a rockslide.
The Boar glanced to the side and Sim looked the way he had glanced to see his father locked in combat with the other Boar. The True.
“I don’t have a choice, Bear. He will destroy me if I don’t do what he wants.”
Sim nodded. It was what he had surmised.
“But you don’t want to do these things, do you?”
A cautious shake of the head.
Sim felt conflicted. This Boar. This man was not a bad man. He was a victim, like Sarah. Trapped by circumstance and by a magic he could not control, nor escape. Sadly, though, it didn’t change the fact Sim could not let him hurt anyone.
“I have to stop you, you know?” Sim asked him.
There was a slight downturn of the Boar’s lips, somewhat comical in appearance. The Boar nodded and lowered himself down in a charging stance.
Sim sighed. He would do what he could to stop this Boar, as he must, but he would understand in his heart he’d hurt an innocent, a pawn, and it would weigh on him. He realized now it wouldn’t end with this Boar. There would be others in the war. Others he would be forced to fight and possibly kill. He considered the alternative though. He would do what he needed to do, he decided.
He started forward and the Boar charged him as before, only this time, Sim halted and waited. As the Boar reached him, Sim sidestepped and brought his fist down hard against the side of the Boar’s head. He felt his fist meet with some resistance and felt that resistance give way as the Boar’s skull collapsed from the impact.
Leaning forward, as the Boar had been for his charge, he didn’t have far to go for his face to slam into the pavement. His forward momentum causing him to slide some distance before coming to a rest away from Sim. He wasn’t moving. The damage Sim had caused the Boar’s brain must have been enough to render him helpless, for the moment.
Sim was about to search out his father when a roar which deafened all other sounds came from behind him. A searing heat washed over him, and he threw himself forward as light and pain flowed past him. Rolling, he tucked himself into a ball and came out of it sprawled across the pavement, his eyes wide as he took in the monstrous fire wave, a cascading inferno baring down on Sylvanis and Ben.
Sylvanis, miraculously seemed to be weathering the onslaught, though her clothes smoked, and her skin reddened. Sim saw her say something and motion as a mottled wall of paper-thin ice sprung up between her and the wave. The tide of fire struck the ice wall, melting it instantly, but in doing so, caused it to be buried in a shower of water.
White steam blossomed from the confrontation, everything awash in scorching hot moisture. As the cloud rolled over them, the wave’s momentum slowed slightly, and Sim could make out screams of agony from police officers who were in defensive positions behind vehicles, as if modern metal could protect them from this ancient sorcery.
The opaque cloud left Sim uncertain to Sylvanis’ fate, or that of Officer Ben Charles. They were, however, not his concern at the moment. Spinning around, he sought out his father and the confrontation he was having with the Wereboar.
The white-hot rage overcame Hank at seeing that monster crush the head of the little boy, like some over-sized grape. It threatened to burn him from the inside. It was as if someone had set fire to his senses. His
skin burned. His vision narrowed to the point only the Wereboar occupied it. Only one thing drove Hank at this moment, the destruction of this creature before him, waiting with avid patience to engage him.
And engage him he would.
How he had traversed the distance from where he had been and where he was now, right on top of the Wereboar, Hank could not remember.
Hank was a brawler. Always had been. He had never been opposed to getting his point across by throwing a fist, or two. His size and strength had most people agreeing with his point by the end. In this Wereboar, however, he’d met his match. The man who had become this hellish looking boar had clearly been a brawler as well because he met Hank blow for blow.
Each swing he made with his meaty paw was answered by one from the Boar. Before long, Hank lashed out wildly, the moments between each punch, a pain-filled blur as the Boar would strike him in the head, the face, or the stomach.
Bones broke, organs were crushed or punctured. His head rang with each subsequent blow and the only thought which managed to gain traction in his pummeled brain was the hope he gave better than he got.
It seemed he did, because he pressed the Boar backward, moving forward, bit by bit. The Boar retreated before his attacks and that inspired a renewed ferociousness to Hank as he pushed his foe back.
It was this mindless attacking and his renewed assault that was his undoing. He, like so many others, had seen the Boar as an animal; Incapable of proper thought, let alone strategy. And because of this, he had allowed the Boar to lead him into a trap.
As Hank landed fist after fist, he knew where the Boar stood because he continued to hit something solid.
Until he didn’t.
Swinging hard, his fist flying toward what should had been the Boar’s snout, it met nothing but air.
Not meeting any resistance, Hank’s swing carried him around, spinning him so his back was toward where the Boar had been. The Boar came right back in and planted a hoofed foot into Hank’s lower back.
There was a noisy snap as his vertebrae broke under the impact. Hank felt himself flying, pitched forward. He slammed into the side of a car. Smashing into the door, his upper body slammed through the window, crushing the door panel to the point where his body became wedged halfway in the car and halfway out.
Desperately, he tried to extradite himself so he could face what would undoubtably be another attack from the Boar, but the lower half of his body would not respond. He could feel his body enacting repairs on his broken back, but he feared it wouldn’t be soon enough. He couldn’t have been more right as an immense weight landed on top of him. The screech of metal on metal and the angry sound of it being twisted and bent, filled his ears until he blacked out.
Sim watched as his dad went toe to toe with the Wereboar. The impacts of each punch they delivered made sickening crunches. Sim couldn’t help but wince every time the Boar’s fist slammed into his father. These two titans were battling with such ferociousness you could hear bones snap.
His father looked unhinged. His fists flying, it seemed, of their own accord. Some blows struck upper arms and hips but achieved little to no damage. The Boar, however, retreated. Slowly, but surely, his father pushed the beast back.
But why? If anything, the Boar scored better hits upon his father. Knocking him senseless, it would seem. As the Boar gave ground, they moved between two vehicles and suddenly everything made sense to Sim. His father lashed out wildly at the Boar making a desperate swing at the Boar’s head, but the Boar took a step back, moving himself out of harm’s way.
Not striking his intended target, his father’s swing spun him around, his back to the Boar. Sim watched in horror as the Boar raised his leg up and punched out with his hoof, striking his father in the middle of the lower back.
Unbalanced and unprepared for this attack, his father flew forward into one of the vehicles, his body ripping through the glass of the window and wedging between the metal frame.
Sim watched on, urging his father to free himself. For some reason, his father seemed unable to move. What happened next Sim could hardly believe. Turning around, the Boar faced the other vehicle, a small coupe. Its surface had been streaked with cuts and scratches from the explosion of concrete earlier.
Bending at the knees, the Boar gripped the undercarriage of the car and strained. A load guttural growl rumbled from him as he righted himself, impossibly lifting the small car before pivoting and letting it drop back down upon the car holding his father.
“NOOOO!!!!” Sim screamed and charged. The car landed with a crunch, its chassis caving in the roof of the other vehicle. His father’s body was obscured by the car as it rocked slightly upon the other vehicle before coming to rest. Nothing moved.
A few feet away and Sim leapt at the Boar. Body outstretched, his claws reaching, he flew toward his father’s attacker, only to be met with an upper hook. The Boar’s mammoth fist connected with underside of his jaw. He felt some of his teeth snap as they were slammed together from the impact.
The Boar had the forethought to understand he wouldn’t be capable of stopping his momentum, even with his powerful punch, so sidestepped as he punched, allowing Sim to be carried past to end up crashing upon the ground several feet away to land near the mouth of an alleyway.
Shaking his head to clear it of the fog after the pummeling it had taken, he leveraged himself up onto his hands and knees and gazed toward the Boar, who was now making his way over to Sim, a broad sneer on his face. I tried, Dad. Sim stood to meet his doom.
Chapter Sixteen
Kat felt the ligaments and muscles tear along her scapula and chest as the Croc swung her up and over and with a flick of his maw, sending her flying – once again. Unfortunately, the upper half of her shoulder, skin, muscle and fascia stayed inside the Croc’s mouth.
Tilting its head back, it jostled its snout, causing Kat’s torn flesh to tumble into its gullet. “Mmmm . . . you do taste sweet.”
Kat landed hard and tumbled a bit, but pounced back up, gingerly touching her shoulder, her finger resting against the bones of her joint, coming away wet with blood. She rolled her eyes at his comment.
“Look,” she began, willing the wound to close at her shoulder and feeling the skin and muscle begin to regrow. “You might scare some girls down under with that crap. But to me, you just sound like over-the-top B movie dialog . . . and that’s being generous.”
She readied herself for the attack she knew would be coming. This Aussie didn’t take insults well. As she crouched, claws splayed, a strange odor reached her, one she had only smelled once before. The smell of a lycan, but one that smelled strange. She knew that smell. She knew, and she smiled. CLINT!
Sarah had not moved the entire fight. Well, except for earlier when the police had opened fire. She had tried to protect herself, crouching down, covering her face and head. It hadn’t helped much. The pain from the hail of bullets, like acid rain, boring holes into her skin wherever they fell, would stay with her for some time. Though her wounds closed shortly after the pain started, the pain hadn’t gone away. As a doctor, she understood it was trauma that made her feel those wounds hit her body, again and again.
Knowing this, didn’t stop the pain.
She had stayed where she was though, because Blain had not told her to do anything else. Whether on purpose, or an oversight on his part, she did not know but was thankful for it. Though she wasn’t acquainted with the Bears, she had spent some time with Kat, fleeting as it was, and she had no desire to attack any of them.
And so, she wouldn’t. Unless Blain made her, of course.
Sylvanis and the others were not doing well. The giant Bear had gone down, buried beneath a ton of car. Kat was in a terrible battle with Gordon, who had thrown the Tiger, after taking a sizable chunk out of her shoulder.
The only thing going in their favor is that Shae and Kestrel had fled. Of course, it had been the plan from the start. Sarah couldn’t help but wonder where she went and why she took Shae
. It was unlike Kestrel, from what she had seen of the woman so far, to turn her back on a confrontation. The bitch wasn’t stupid though. She clearly had a long play in mind. Sarah simply didn’t grasp what it might be.
The more compelling question here was, where was Clint? When she had seen Kat step out with what had to have been Sylvanis and some other Weres she searched for Clint. But he was not among them. It seemed impossible Clint wouldn’t be there to come and try and rescue her. Yet, he was nowhere to be seen. During this entire fight, he had not shown himself. She began to wonder if something might have happened to him, but from everything Blain had implied, Clint was still out there. They expected him to come for her. And now, here they were, but not Clint. Why? Where was he?
She missed him so much. She needed him. She had barely had a chance to truly love him before that monster, Blain, took her away from him. If he knew what she had been through, what Blain had done to her —made her do.
Tears glistened down her cheeks. She seldom had a moment to cry alone as Blain always kept her close and she would be damned if she would cry in front of that asshole ever again.
It was almost funny that being surrounded by so many people, while a brutal combat swirled around her, she now felt safe to shed tears.
Reaching up, she dragged the back of her hand across her nose and sniffled. Allowing one finger to sweep up and clear the tears from her cheeks, she continued to watch the fight unfold. It became clear to her now this fight would not go in her favor.
A roar tore through the dark night causing everyone’s head to snap around, questing for the source of the roar. It had come from up the street and Sarah stared that way as well. Her heart was in her throat. She thought she recognized the sound.
The Gathering Page 15
