Aquarius

by Kim Faulks

  “Going to war with you. That’s how I see this. This whole fucking thing isn’t a warning…it’s a threat.”

  The corners of her mouth twitched. I dropped my gaze to the single line of scribble.

  They breathe fire? How dangerous?

  That was it—after everything, that was all she cared about? I rose to my feet. My shoulders sagged. “You know, you were my one chance. What a waste.”

  She said nothing as I made for the door. One word was all I needed. One fucking word that this wasn’t all for nothing.

  A bitter wind nipped my lips. I punched the front door and stepped out into the thunderous downpour. Marcus would be waiting—they’d all be waiting.

  What would I say to them now?

  The puddles outside had grown. Icy water bled through my boots and into my socks. I lifted my head to where I parked the Jeep, and glanced at another four-wheel drive hunkering in the shadows. A tiny spark of a cigarette flared inside. I was caught by an outline as the glow brightened, oblivious to the crunch of gravel behind me.

  “Hey, got a light?”

  The man’s voice battled the drum of the rain. I shook my head and turned. Sorry lingered on my lips. A fist tore free from the dark. A blow caught me on the chin. The crunch of teeth ripped through my head. Footsteps echoed, thundering too fast for one.

  “Hurt him.” Lilian Davis growled, stepping out of the shadows. “Buck, get that camera on him now.”

  I raised my hand, searching for her in the dark. “Stop. This isn’t…”

  Excitement burned in her words. “Show me your fire, dragon boy. Come on, let’s end this demure, beaten down shit and give me something I can use on prime time.”

  Boots scuffed gravel behind me. Shadows moved in. It was far too late. Brass glinted from thick knuckles as one man swung.

  A blow sank deep, driving soft flesh into bone. I jerked backwards. My hand went for the small of my back as another human neared, and somewhere in the distance a car door slammed.

  I never glimpsed his face. White runners were all I saw. He jumped high and whipped his foot through the air. His foot connected, mashing my cheek against my teeth, knocking me sideways. A choked sound tore free as my mouth filled with the taste of blood.

  Something burst in my side. There was nowhere but down.

  I hit the dirt. The gavel cradled me in a cold embrace. Muddy water soaked through my jeans to kiss my skin.

  “Come on, there’s gotta be more than that. Where’s your dragon? Where’s the fucking fire?”

  “It’s not like that.” My choked whisper went no farther than my own ears.

  Footsteps neared. I counted three…four sets in the dark. I shoved against the ground as my dragon growled. My skin itched. I could already feel the shell of my dragon. I could feel my arms thicken and harden—pointed pincers were perfect weapons. I’d hurt them…I’d kill them, just to survive.

  No… No matter what they do…promise me. Promise me.

  Black leather boots glistened in the dark as they neared.

  Promise me, dragon.

  A voice echoed from the darkness—a slither of a sound—I promise.

  I lifted my head to stare into my attacker’s eyes. He was no one, just a faceless thug with a body built for fighting, and a woman whispering in his ear.

  “Go on,” Lilian urged. “Earn your money. Do it.”

  3

  Gunny

  The Jeep’s hood was still warm under my ass. I ratcheted my good leg a little higher, and planted my sole against the wheel arch. Fat drops fell from the clouds above as I dragged nicotine into my lungs. The sweet rush was instant. Warmth seeped into my fingers, soothing the bitter embrace of this damn torrential rain.

  Four gutless thugs surrounded the dark blur at the edge of the parking lot. One gave a jab with his boot, hard enough to grunt with exertion. Through the thunder of the rain, I caught the words, blood, broken, deal. Their prey scurried on hands and feet. His deep male groan echoed through the night. He never fought back, didn’t even protect himself. What kind of man does that? A man who was either a coward, or brave. So, which one was he?

  Get up. Lift your hands—fight back.

  The skinny guy swayed when he stood. I could almost smell the alcohol from here. He dragged his arm over his head and lunged. His aim was off. But it didn’t matter—his target never moved. The onslaught made my stomach clench, strike after strike until the shifter dropped to the ground and stayed there.

  Why the fuck aren’t you fighting?

  My muscles twitched. I squeezed the butt of my cigarette between my fingers. In my head, I fought for him. I tripped the bum, and headed for the biggest of these cheap thugs. I lifted my head and searched the others knowing they were nothing—one thin spoke on this wheel of horror.

  I wanted the ringleader. The blonde bitch with the fat wad of cash and the need for a headline.

  To pick on one was easy—pick on the weak, pick on the lonely, pick on the different.

  People like her didn’t know fear—not real fear—not the kind that grips a person with claws and fangs and never lets go.

  An ache spread through my chest with the sickening thud of a blow and the crunch of bones. I lifted my gaze from the shifter. I’d give her a headline all of her own. I’d find her somewhere in this backwards hole of a town. I’d give her a taste of something real—and there’d be no escaping me.

  She skirted the others and then dropped to her knees. “I said hurt him. This isn’t a fucking game. I want blood. I want broken bones. I want a six pm headline on a Friday night.”

  That dark need rose—driven by anger and courted by panic, I resisted the urge to fight. I’d been in enough brawls to know how this should go down. But I’d never seen a dragon shifter up close—until now.

  “Fight Evander,” the woman urged. “Come on. I know you can.”

  Orange flamed flickered through the sodden strands of his hair as he raised his head. “No.”

  My spine stiffened at the sight. I lowered the cigarette from my lips as a guttural sound slipped through the night. A warning sound—a careful sound—and then it was gone.

  His broken words echoed. “I’m trying to help you, can’t you see that? They’re coming, whether you like it or not. Wolves…soldiers. They’re coming.”

  An icy finger trailed my spine and lingered under my skin. An ache flared along my right leg, tensing the muscles in my calf. I leaned forward and splayed my hand against the hood.

  Not now dammit. Not fucking now.

  Wolves…soldiers. They’re coming.

  The cramp sank its fangs through the muscle to the bone. Except there were no bones and there was no leg. I dug my fingers into my thigh and along the thick scars. Muscles parted, tendons slipped. I sucked in a breath. One layer of agony replaced the other, until the grinding tips of my fingers were the only thing left.

  The attacker moved in. White sneakers shone like a damn neon sign. He wrenched his foot through the air and took aim. Electricity crackled and the faint salty scent of the sea filled me as the callous kick found its mark.

  The momentum snapped the shifter’s head backwards, lifting him from the ground. The guy rolled—water splashed. His panting breaths were nothing more than a gurgle. Would they try to drown him next?

  The punk wasn’t finished, hyped on adrenaline and some kind of sick need. He bounced on the balls of his feet, before yanking his foot back once more. The shifter whimpered until that tortured sound morphed to a growl. He dragged his hands along the ground and pushed up on all fours. His movement was quick, scurrying sideways as the junkie neared. Something happened—too fast for me to see, but I heard the blow all the same.

  A gut-wrenching crunch filled the air. The punk dropped where he stood. His piercing scream resurrected horrors I’d put to bed a long time ago, and the familiar stench of old pennies stained the air.

  The damn cigarette trembled in my grip. I pressed the butt against my lips and drained the rest. As I flicked
the butt, orange glowed, just like the shifter’s eyes. End over end the remnant tumbled until the ember was swallowed by the black grasp of the night.

  My boots squealed as I slipped from the hood. The dull thuds of knuckles on bruised flesh echoed as they moved in. Fists and feet were a blur. This was no retribution—this was no surprise attack. The word was out there were more than wolves in these woods. Dragons were the new animal to fear.

  My boots hit the ground with a hollow thud. I knew the terror my kind harbored. The same smothering panic cloaked me. Hope paved the only path forward. And the first brick was right under my feet. I had to make the first step, summon it into being, bring it into existence. If I died of fear, that was better than dying of hatred.

  I cut through the parking lot, pinned my lip with my teeth and bit. Pain and blood seduced the darkness seething in me closer to the surface. The big brute snickered as he jabbed the helpless shifter with his boot and growled. “Hey, you alive?”

  I reigned in my revulsion and took a step. “Hey, asshole.”

  The thug lifted his head and snarled.

  I smiled and gave him a wink. “Yeah you. Come a little closer, let’s see if you have any balls.”

  He turned and swayed. A tumbling boulder had more fucking finesse. My right leg was a little slower, scraping the side of my boot. I countered the weight with my left. My stomach trembled as the rain hit my cheek.

  Drip…drip…drip.

  Doubt pressed into the softest part of me—somewhere way down where the old me lingered. I hated this waiting. I wanted the action—the pain. I wanted the anger and rush…come on motherfucker.

  He lowered his head. My skin crawled where his gaze roamed. Adrenaline seared my veins. I could almost smell the ozone. His stance was uneven, and lazy. But the spark of hate said it all. He liked to hurt—and he’d done it often.

  “Oh, I made you mad? You don’t like it when girls tell you what to do? You a wife beater, meathead?” I nodded and moved closer. “Yeah, I bet you are.”

  The bitch’s heels scraped as she stalked around the beat down. “This doesn’t concern you. Leave before you get yourself hurt.”

  I lowered my gaze to the ground. The shifter’s face was a mess. Dark hair plastered his bloodied face. Gone was the vibrant orange in his eyes. A dull yellow lingered, one flicker of a dying flame. He shoved his hand against the ground and flinched. Broken fingers gouged the earth as he reached for me.

  “Don’t… Save yourself.”

  My right leg ached. The throb pulled me into the hard rain—and their fear. This was no monster—and he sure as hell was no fighter.

  He’s still dangerous.

  He’s still a shifter, and that makes him one of them.

  Us. Them. Where did this end?

  There was no way I could leave him—not here and not like this.

  “Turn around, get into your car, and leave.” The blonde wielded the camera like a weapon.

  Her heels came into view. I lifted my gaze. Her tight jeans and thick parka weren’t out of place in a bar like this—in spite of her clothing she seemed out of place, and it bugged the hell out of me. I raised my hand, finger extended. “You need to shut your fucking mouth, before I shut it for you.”

  She took a step and spat. “I said leave before you get yourself hurt…bitch.”

  I shook my head. Water ran into my eyes. Her slur was fucking insulting. “Not gonna happen. So you and your three little pigs here better leave before the cops show. Or, you can check yourself out of the hospital…maybe in a month, or two.” I moved my gaze to the man-mountain. The tendons tightened in his neck. I raised my finger and jabbed the air. “And you are the ugliest no-necked, motherfucking lesbian I have ever seen in my life.”

  Meathead turned toward the woman, face full of fire. I could almost see flames in his nose. She gave a curt nod and sneered. I exhaled as the pissant dropped his shoulder and charged, heaving his massive frame through ankle deep puddles. He was a locomotive, driven with single-minded fury across the parking lot, and he swung far too fucking soon.

  My hand closed around his wrist on the downward arc and I stepped to the side, using his weight against him. Momentum was not the mountain’s friend. It was either stumble or fall. He dropped his head and powered forward, hitting me like a linebacker at full speed.

  I took the brunt in the center of my chest. Cold air filled my ears with a rush. I curled as I hit the ground and rolled, dragging my right leg under before standing. The sweet taste of blood bloomed in my mouth. I swiped my mouth with the back of my hand, running a crimson line along my skin before focusing on the cockroach. “That’s what I thought, all brawn and not much up top.” Yellowed teeth shone, turning my gut. “Didn’t your momma ever teach you to brush your teeth, or was she too busy turning tricks on the corner?”

  Meathead swung and missed. I moved close until I could smell the stale sweat in his skin and drove my palm into his nose. He stumbled backwards, blood gushed to run down his lips and chin. I closed in, capturing his arm under mine—exposing his ribs.

  My knuckles were tough, used to the hard boxing bag—and used to bone. I drove my blows into his ribs, once, twice…three times for the fucking hell of it, and stepped to the side.

  My thighs tensed, senses fired, sending signals to the hard stump at my knee. I balanced on my right leg, desperate to feel my boot against the ground and cocked my left foot before unleashing.

  The impact hit the joint, bone snapped with a sickening crunch, and with a whimper, the mountain fell to his knees.

  I sucked in the smell of sweet rain and hot piss and lowered my foot. The meathead grasped his leg, howling with pain. Tortured screams echoed inside my head, images of broken bones lingered as well. Rivulets of water ran down the side of my nose as I moved to stand in front of him. He raised his head. Gone was the fear, gone was the hate—there was only pain left now—pain and truth—this was my world.

  I pivoted and whipped my fist across my body. The backhanded blow hit the edge of his jaw. Blood splattered my hand as his head snapped to the left and the brute slumped to the ground. I glanced at his chest, checking the rise and fall. A knockout punch, as good as any heavyweight fighter, and by someone half his damn size. The others backed away. I narrowed in on the blonde and lifted a bloodied hand. “Back the fuck off, now.”

  She kept my gaze, shuffling back a step as I neared. The scrape of gravel dragged my gaze lower. The shifter dragged himself forward on one mangled, shuddering hand. I dropped to my knees as he collapsed, clutching him under the arms. “Easy now. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

  The junkie took a step. I straightened, and met his gaze. “Take one more and I will fuck you up six ways to Sunday.”

  His gaze dropped to the unconscious meathead and he muttered, “Aint no fucking way. I’m done.”

  I kept him in my sights and heaved the shifter to his feet. He weighed more than he looked, dragging down my right side even more. My muscles strained, coming alive with the burn as I crouched, and jerked him higher across my shoulders.

  The door to the bar opened. Laughter spilled out. Footsteps echoed in the distance. I kept my focus on the skank and edged toward the Jeep. She watched me like a lion watches another steal its kill. My fingers twitched. I ached for my gun and rose, carrying the shifter across my back.

  He moaned and his breath blew hot across my neck. I grasped the handle of the rear door and jerked, spilling him across the seat with one swift move. He hit the other side with a crack. I had no time to be gentle—I had no time to care.

  The car door closed with a thud. I moved, climbing into the driver’s seat. The engine started with a growl. Headlights lit the stage, finding specks of blood on the reporter’s shirt. I shoved the Jeep into gear and backed slowly, never once taking my eyes from the cold-hearted bitch.

  A moan slipped from the rear seat and the words were instant. “You’re fine now, buddy. You’re gonna be just fine.”

  I slowed to a st
op, shoving the car into first, and ploughed across the grass to asphalt. This wasn’t what I expected—I glanced into the rearview mirror—and neither was he.

  Rain beat down. The hard patter and swish of the wipers became the background noise to my thoughts. Lights sparkled in the distance of this one-horse hick town.

  Wolves…soldiers. They’re coming.

  The shifter’s words echoed inside my head. My right leg ached. The pain flaring from my own damn mind. It wasn’t real—this was just a memory—just a thought. Those I could control. I gripped the steering wheel and headed for the only place I knew.

  I could pull over right now—just leave him on the side of the road. He couldn’t die…he’d survive and find his way back to wherever he came from. But that wasn’t why I was here. That wasn’t why I drove all this way.

  He had answers. Answers I needed. Answers that’d finally put my nightmares to rest once and for all. I glanced up from the rain-soaked street and slowed the car. Red neon lights of the motel stuttered and died. Three junkers filled the lot, one backed out of the space outside room five, and another took its place.

  This was the kind of motel people booked by the hour. The kind of place where others never looked you in the eye. Here I could carry an unconscious shifter into my room and no one would care, as long as I paid my bill and no one died—and I wasn’t planning on dying.

  I waited for the car to pass and hit the driveway with a jolt. The office was in darkness. Dim lights outside each door were all that remained. I nosed the Jeep toward the boundary fence and then backed to my room. The shifter was silent. His harsh gurgle sounded like broken ribs, maybe more. I’d patch him up and wait until he healed.

  Patch him up? What the fuck am I doing?

  I killed the lights and the engine. My fingers trembled and it wasn’t from the cold.

  He’s a dragon for Christ’s sake.