by H. D. Gordon
Benedict was a short, bulky man with a face tanned from constant exposure to the sun. He wore his usual wide-brimmed hat, his boots with spurs on the backs of them, an old cotton shirt tucked in at his large silver belt buckle. He looked more like a farmer than a Pack Master, but everyone knew him to be as deadly a Wolf as any of the others. Beneath the brim of his hat, Benedict stared out over the crowd gathered in his square, a lazy smile revealing too-white teeth, and deep rivets spreading from the corners of his sharp green eyes.
On the opposite side of the platform stood Reagan Ramsey, visiting Pack Master of the Western Coast (and Master to a certain Head Hound I’d met earlier). In tailored slacks and a finely woven white collared shirt, he was the opposite to Bo Benedict’s farmer’s appearance. His shoes were black and gleaming, matching the thin belt that hugged his muscled waist. His skin was darkened from the sun, but not in the over-cooked way that Benedict’s was. Ramsey’s tan was golden, as if cultivated with carefully timed exposures on a sandy beach somewhere along that Western seaboard. Though his position as a Master made him an inevitable bastard in my mind, even I had to admit Reagan Ramsey was handsome, his face and appearance styled like that of a wealthy gentleman.
A veritable Wolf in sheep’s clothing.
At least with Benedict, what one saw was what one got. I was not too proud to admit that Reagan Ramsey scared the shit out of me.
Around the platform where the Masters awaited, the crowd of gathered spectators practically pulsed with animalistic excitement. The Vampires could be spotted among the Wolves from the unnaturally unmoving manner in which they stood—as still as pale stone statues. The Wolves, on the other hand, paced and prowled, some in human form, others having shifted and now stalked through the crowd with glowing golden eyes and perked, swiveling ears.
The pounding of the drums grew louder, the vibrations moving up from the soles of my bare feet to the tips of my fingers and top of my head.
I’d been dressed in the short brown skirt and tank top (made from old sacks that had once held potatoes), every muscle and scar on my arms and legs bare for display. My skin was tinted brown from the summer sun, my body still aching from the beating I’d taken the night before, though no one would know it.
Wolves heal fast, but the invisible internal damages always outlasted the visible external damages, and the internal were the ones that could kill you.
Goldie had braided my thick brown hair all the way down my back, as was our personal ritual on the days of a fight. She’d placed a small kiss on my forehead afterward, pleading with her eyes that I survive tonight. I’d given her the slightest of nods, promising without words that I would sure as hell try.
The line in which I stood began to trudge forward, and before I knew it, I had reached the end of the platform with the ramp leading up to where my Master, Bo Benedict, stood waiting in his wide-brimmed hat. At the other end of the structure, the Bear also waited to make her ascent and stand before her Master, Reagan Ramsey.
Overhead, the moon and stars watched on indifferently, ever the spectators to the earthly show.
Behind the platform, standing as still as the Vampires among us, were Benedict’s and Ramsey’s Head Hounds.
I refused to look over and acknowledge Ryker or Lazar. Ryker was likely playing games with me by letting Amara and I live, and Lazar—Benedict’s Head Hound—was just an asshole. I had the scars on my back to prove it.
Soon enough, it was my turn to step forward. The announcer—a fat Wolf with a tucked in white tank top and striped suspenders hitching his pants—bellowed the usual introduction.
“Now… this next Dog is a real survivor,” the announcer said. “She was the runt of the litter, slated as Bait since she was born, bought for the smallest of prices.”
As always, my fists clenched a fraction at the sound of my story, but I watched the gathered crowd with cold, unfeeling eyes.
“After killing the Dog she’d been Baited for,” the announcer continued, “she faced her first opponent in The Ring and caused a serious upset. She survived, however, though her face was nearly ripped off on the right side.” He gestured toward me with a hand that was holding a piece of parchment with stats and averages, and added, “As you can see by the scar running down the side of her pretty face.”
Countless sets of golden eyes glowed back at me, the Wolves and Vampires all but licking their chops. I let a bit of my teeth show in a silent snarl, and someone in the crowd howled up at the moon, causing a ripple of laughter.
“Standing at just under five feet and five inches and weighing in at one hundred and thirty-five pounds, ever the underdog and underestimated fighter, ladies and lupines, feast your eyes upon… Roooook the Rabid!”
The hoots and hollers and leers and crude comments ensued as if on cue. I’d heard it all before, and it no longer affected me—not like it had the first few times I’d stepped onto this stage. When I’d been a child, they’d thrown heads of cabbage and tomatoes at me after I’d killed a prize Dog. Once I’d begun to step into womanhood, the comments and taunting had taken on a different nature.
And it was this part I hated most of all.
It was not enough just to force us to fight to the death. No, we had to be demeaned in the process. And the females had it worse than the males, of course. At every station in life, the females always had it worse than the males.
I was shoved from behind, having gotten lost in my own thoughts, and I stumbled up the platform toward the center of the structure. The eyes of the two Pack Masters traveled over me uninterestedly, clearly not impressed with what they saw.
The announcer moved his attention to my opponent. “And facing Rook the Rabid in The Ring tonight is a Dog with a reputation as large as she is, a soul as dark as the color of her skin… Standing at six feet and three inches and weighing in at two hundred and twenty-two pounds, your West Coast Champion… The Bear!”
The wooden planks of the platform shuddered under my feet as the Bear made her way over to stand beside me—tower beside me.
I’d known she was big, but hearing the stats and standing in the shadow cast by her wide shoulders, I realized how ridiculous my odds were, and that Ryker the Hound had probably been right.
Why do the dirty work when he could let the Bear do it for him and allow his Master to earn money on the fight? Money paid for with my blood.
From the humored faces of the crowd, I knew no one on this blasted plantation expected me to win.
Instead of cowing me, this only made me think of how spectacular a victory on my part would be. How the loss of their money would be sure to knock the amused smiles right off all their leering faces.
Bet against me, you bastards, I thought. Bet against me… and lose.
12
There was exactly an hour between the ritual of the viewing platform and the actual fights, giving people time to mull over and place their bets.
And me just enough time to disappear into the stalks of high grass and execute the plan Goldie had hatched to get Amara out of Dogshead and toward someplace that would hopefully be better. Despite the fact that I had a hard time imagining such a place existed—(when one has only known misery, one only knows misery)—it had to be better than staying here. There was no reversing what had been done. Too much time had passed since she’d escaped. The child would be whipped and hanged upon capture, no questions asked, no trials held. They would leave her battered body in the square until the crows came to pick at it. And only then would Murphy the Gravedigger carry her away.
I shoved these thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. I moved as silently and swiftly as I dared, careful to appear nonchalant and unhurried. Many Dogs had personal routines and rituals they took part in before a fight, including myself, so my absence shouldn’t be seen as too odd.
Still, my heart was pounding like a drum in my chest, my senses perked for any obstacle that might impede me. Hours seemed to pass in the handful of minutes it took me to make my way back to Goldi
e’s cabin from the town square. Another small eternity passed between the time it took me to make it from Goldie’s cabin to the rendezvous point we’d determined earlier.
At last, I entered a line of trees thick with mossy growth and dangerous deadfalls. I debated shifting into my Wolf, but decided against it since I would have no way to carry my clothes. I pushed onward, and as the inky shadows of night were truly beginning to permeate the Midlands, I made it to the clearing where Goldie and Amara should be waiting for me.
I paused at the threshold, like a visitor to an unknown house. My sensitive ears and night-adjusted eyes scanned the area for life or movement, my body going as still as a bloodsucker.
Something gripped my shoulder, causing me to react in the only way I knew how. I pitched forward, gripping the arm attached to the hand that had grabbed me, and tossed the assailant over my shoulder.
A familiar scent flooded my nose at the same time Goldie let out a small squeak.
There was no stopping the arch of my throw, but I caught my friend around her back with both arms, grinning down at her as though I hadn’t just flipped her over my shoulder.
“How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me?” I asked.
Goldie gave me a small shove before I set her to rights again. With a sigh of relief, I whirled and found Amara standing behind me, her eyes wide at my display of strength.
“You brute,” Goldie snapped, keeping her voice low. Silently, she added, “You know what to do. Don’t waste any time. Don’t stop for anything. You’ve have to move fast if you’re going to get back in time for the fight.”
I gave my friend a small smile, teeth flashing in the budding darkness. “Then stop wasting my time with sappy goodbyes—you’re looking at me like you’ll never see me again.”
To this, Goldie said nothing.
I gripped my friend’s hands, knowing time was short, that the child and I needed to go. “I will see you again, Golds. I’ll see you tonight, on the other side of that ring. I’ll expect you to have a drink waiting for me afterward.”
In response, Goldie took my face into her hands and kissed me gently on the lips. There was nothing sexual about it, only the love of the only friend I’d ever had.
“You make sure of it, Rukiya,” she replied, and jerked her chin for me to go.
Neither of us cried, because that was not something women like us were afforded the luxury of, but sometimes a soul can cry out without shedding tears, sometimes pain can cut deep without even scarring.
Because despite my words, it felt very much like a goodbye.
I’d removed my clothes and shifted into my Wolf. Shiny, dark chocolate fur—the same color as my long hair—now provided a nice coat over my muscled and deadly body. The child remained in her human form, her tiny body clinging to my back, her fingers digging into the fur of my neck.
We moved much faster in this way, and time was certainly of the essence. If I didn’t return in time for the fight, I’d have some serious explaining to do.
I knew that Goldie had given herself the task of distracting Bo Benedict’s main Overseer, and though I hated to let her use her body again in this task I’d thrust upon the both of us, I trusted that she could get the job done.
Still, I hesitated as I reached the edge of Bo Benedict’s land. There were no fences marking the territory, but there was a definite boundary, nonetheless. I felt the ripple of magic as I neared it, felt the instincts that had been beaten into me since childhood rear their ugly heads.
Everything in my mind and body urged me to turn and go back the other way. Just coming this close to the edge was punishable by death.
Then again, pretty much everything in the life of a Dog was.
Where would you rather die, in The Ring, or in the attempt to commit a kindness?
I let Goldie’s words steel me as I held my breath, my head held low between my haunches. We’d long passed out of the moss-covered trees and emerged in rolling fields of lavender wheat, the stalks high enough to conceal my predator’s body. Shadows clung to every crevice and corner, the silver glow of the full moon not nearly enough to banish them. In the daytime, this land was quite a wonder to behold, with its rolling hills of violet punctuated with trees of emerald green.
But, at night, this place was whispered of in nightmares.
The creatures beyond Benedict’s invisible border were legend, and across the realms they were rumored about for their vicious nature. With the plantation’s magic in place, and the fact that so many Wolves and Vampires roamed through, most of the nasty creatures steered away.
But out there… Beyond…
Atop my back, small hands digging a bit deeper into my fur, Amara let out a little whimper.
“Be strong, girl,” I told her. “Do not let them see you tremble.”
The child fell still and silent once more.
Carefully, I crossed over the invisible magic boundary and into another world.
The air shimmered. A small zap of energy shot through my veins and seeped into my bones, and then I was on the other side.
I glanced around, my head still held low and my body coiled to strike or flee should either be necessary.
Never in my eighteen years of life had I stepped beyond the confines of Bo Benedict’s lands, and I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but… nothing really happened.
Or even seemed different. I felt Amara’s head lift from my shoulders, could sense rather than see her scanning our surroundings same as me.
The child spoke in my head for the first time since I met her. “Is this… the human world?”
“It is part of their territory, yes.”
Again, her little voice surprised me. It was small, but strong. “This is where you’re taking me?”
“Would you rather I take you back to Dogshead?”
To this, she said nothing, only sighed and rested her head between my shoulders.
I began moving again, heading quickly in the direction Goldie had given me. The fields on this side of the veil were golden rather than lavender, and the trees had lost some of the vibrant luster they’d possessed as well. It was an effort to keep focus, to not slow and drink in the novelty around me. It was ridiculous, but I felt as though I could sense them here—the humans. I had never met one, had only heard tales. Despite myself, I wondered what their world was like, what lay beyond the vastness of these fields.
When I looked back at where I knew Bo Benedict’s land to be, there was only more of the same surrounding me, nothing to see out of the ordinary. The illusion was so strong, and the feel of that repulsive magic so insistent, that I bet humans and creatures alike passed through here all the time and were none the wiser about what lay just on the other side.
In fact, if I wasn’t careful, I could easily get lost here. Goldie had said Bernard had warned her about this possibility.
I passed a large boulder that was a marker Goldie had mentioned and didn’t allow myself a moment to sigh in relief. Using my strong nose, I lifted my muzzle to the wind, and sure enough, just as my friend had said, I picked up the scent of running water nearby.
Even the scent of water was different here. Duller, somehow.
Again, I wondered what lay beyond.
Again, I reminded myself of the task and pushed onward.
Soon, I reached the edge of a wide river cutting through a range of big hills that were not quite large enough to call mountains. I stopped when I reached the bank of the rushing water, lapping at it with greedy thirst. The journey here from Dogshead had only taken me twenty-five minutes or so, but I had spent every second of that time in a full-out run, and I was winded.
After I’d drunk my fill, setting Amara down to cup some water into her own hands, I scanned the quiet lands around us. Where was the damn escort? They should’ve been here by now.
A minute passed. Then another. And another. If I’d been in human form, I would have started to sweat.
What if they didn’t show? I couldn’t take A
mara back to Dogshead, and I couldn’t just leave her here, either… Could I?
Amara’s hazel eyes met mine under the moonlight, as if she were reading my mind. I wished to the gods that the child would stop looking at me like that. That capturing gaze was what had gotten us into this mess in the first place.
Just as I was getting ready to make a very difficult decision, a dark figure swooped in from above, making me yelp and snap blindly with my jaws at the air. Amara tucked herself behind me, and I shielded her little body with my own.
A moment later, a large figure landed in front of us, its impact making the ground shudder beneath my paws. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and a low growl ripped up my throat as I bared my sharp teeth.
The dark figure that had landed before us was a male—larger than any male I’d ever seen, with the sides of his head shaved and a long brown braid hanging in a thick cord down his back. His attire was that of an assassin or soldier, all black with metal armor guarding the most vulnerable spots of his enormous body.
I stared up at him, even though I was no small beast in my Wolf form, my head lowered between my haunches and teeth still bared.
The male grinned, and I noticed that his teeth were fanged and the tips of his ears pointed. Not that it mattered one bit, but he was also as handsome as a devil, with deep brown eyes and porcelain smooth skin.
The warrior held up his large hands in a signal that said he meant no harm. In a deep voice, he said, “Easy, girl.”
A rumbling snarl was my only answer.
The warrior put a large hand over his wide chest, where the metal of his armor gleamed in the moonlight. “I’m Yarin,” he said. “I’m here to transport the child.”
Though I could hear time ticking away with every second, I made no move to yield Amara.
The warrior sighed and waved a hand at me. “Why don’t you shift so we can talk about it?”
Shifting would require precious energy, but he was right. I just couldn’t hand over the girl without questioning this stranger first.
