by Dani Harper
Travis was shoved into the elevator and his face pressed against its back wall by the guards. Through the transparent material—acrylic, he thought, not glass—he watched three more floors glide by. The fourth was an architect’s dream, a penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a 360-degree view of old-growth forest and restless ocean. The ceiling had a central skylight the size of a helicopter pad, and he caught a quick glimpse of afternoon thunderheads rising high into the blue expanse.
He was hauled out of the crowded compartment and thrown to his knees on pure-white, deep-pile carpet. Two guards roughly shoved his head down and held it there so he could only see the floor—until finely manicured toes sporting brilliant red polish came just within his line of sight. The guards stepped back, and Travis looked up into the face of a Marilyn Monroe wannabe—platinum-blonde hair, red lipstick, perfect complexion, and round breasts threatening to spill from a slinky white dress. Only the eyes were wrong. They were dark, and harder and colder than the diamonds that dripped from her ears. Nothing like the warm come-hither expression of a Hollywood goddess graced Meredith’s flawless face, even though she smiled radiantly.
Sharks can smile, too. Still, despite his dangerous circumstances—and he did not doubt he was in extreme danger—Travis felt strangely relieved. It came from the fact that he could see nothing of Neva in the face of the monster in front of him. Bone structure, yes, but nothing important, nothing that counted. Neva and Meredith were as different from each other as angels and demons. Only one had a soul. Meredith’s humanity was long gone.
She played with the wavy hair that always fell forward over his right brow, twirling it around her finger and tugging on it playfully. “You look like a fair-haired Elvis.” She laughed. “No wonder my silly little sister was infatuated with you. But you’d look so much better,” she purred in a deeper tone, stroking his hair back and bringing her face close to his, “with me.”
She kissed him then, and swirled her tongue over his mouth before drawing back. Repulsed, his first impulse was to spit at her, but he decided that wouldn’t be smart given the current situation. He settled for a total lack of response. It seemed she wasn’t overly bothered by that…until she Changed and tore the throat out of the guard next to him. Arterial blood spurted onto the snowy-white carpet as the man’s life pumped away. And he didn’t utter a sound or lift a finger, or even change expression. Just died at the feet of a silver wolf.
The creature was big, almost as big as Travis’s wolf. Wagging its plume of a tail, it grinned widely at him with bloody fangs. But it was the overbright eyes that arrested his attention. Travis could see plainly that the animal was as insane as a rabid dog. His grandfather had spoken once, in hushed tones, of Changelings whose inner wolf had gone completely mad. According to the ancient stories, there was only one cause for the dreaded and incurable condition—the continued ingestion of human blood over a long period of time. It was the unspoken subscript to the highest Changeling law. Not just don’t kill, but don’t drink.
Travis’s face must have registered the horror he felt, because Meredith was laughing at him when she resumed her human form. Not a single drop of blood marred her face now—there was only the bright red lipstick, perfectly applied. She waved airily at the body and commanded the remaining guards, “Get this out of here and find somebody to clean up the mess. I like this carpet.” As they hastened to comply, she walked slowly, sensuously over to Travis. At first he feared another kiss—until she grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back with astonishing strength. If he’d been human, the move would have broken his neck.
“Blood is very powerful, you know, but not all blood is created equal,” she crooned. “You, my dear, are something quite special. I could become very, very fond of you.” She kissed him lavishly then.
It might have been smarter to play along with the crazy bitch, but Travis just couldn’t manage it. In fact, if his damn wolf hadn’t gone missing, he’d probably try to bite her. Alone, the best he could do was try not to gag—
And choke her with his wrist shackles.
She was too busy forcing her attentions on him, and far too confident, to see it coming. In an eye blink, Travis had the chain wound around her neck like a garrote and was doing his best to strangle her.
A sudden blast of blue light slammed him against a marble pillar on the other side of the room. The impact rang in his ears and made him see stars. And the very last thing he saw was a silver wolf shaking its head and snarling at him.
SEVENTEEN
It was hard to believe she could run this fast. Neva’s lupine body was stretched full out, belly close to the ground, her hind legs overreaching her front ones like a cheetah. She was glad her wolf was in charge, because she couldn’t imagine thinking on the fly at this speed, swerving and dodging and leaping, making dozens of decisions per second. Under bush, over rock, through thickets, around roots. She had no idea where on earth she was headed, and perhaps her wolf didn’t know, either. Escape was all that mattered, and while her pursuer was still hot on her trail, he’d been unable to close the gap between them. So far. She wished she was more experienced, but at least the bigger werewolf was as new to his animal state as she was—and she’d had the benefit of Travis’s reluctant mentoring. As far as she could tell, Baker was on his own.
Why is he so pissed at me? She wasn’t responsible for what Meredith did. For crying out loud, she’d even attempted suicide to avoid serving her sister, to prevent the harm she would be forced to cause to innocent people, and perhaps to take a weapon out of Meredith’s hands. Didn’t that count for something? What does the goddamn universe want from me?
She yipped in surprise as her wolf made a sudden swerve into what looked like an impenetrable wall of thornbushes. Head lowered, eyes squinted to mere slits to protect them, the creature simply crashed through the unforgiving brush. Ow, dammit! Long spines raked through her thick pelt, cutting her deeply, but Neva’s alter ego didn’t slacken its pace in the slightest. In fact, it seemed to be trying for even more speed. That’s when she felt it gathering itself. What the hell are you—
The ground disappeared below her as the wolf burst through the branches into open air. You’re going to kill us! Neva held her breath as she sailed over a wide ravine she would never, ever have tried to jump in a million years. The wolf hit the edge of the opposite bank hard, scrabbling for purchase with its hind claws until it once again stood on solid ground. Before Neva could even muster a sigh of relief, the creature was racing away at breakneck speed again.
A panicked yelp sounded behind her, followed by a frustrated howl. Her wolf slowed at last and pranced—actually pranced—obviously pleased with itself. It came to a welcome stop by a spring that bubbled up through some twisted tree roots.
Good trick.
The creature sounded downright smug, and Neva was forced to agree. Helluva good trick.
Like wolf now?
Neva was taken aback by the question. In all her attempts to reject the creature she was becoming, even destroy it, she never once considered how it felt. Before she’d made her first Change, she remembered Travis trying to reassure her inner wolf, and telling her not to scare it. She’d thought he was nuts at the time. It didn’t seem so crazy now. Er, good wolf. Very good wolf. Nice going.
A pleased sensation spread through her like good whiskey.
She took her time slaking her thirst at the spring as angry howls continued to echo through the forest. Finally they subsided, and she ambled back toward the ravine, sides still heaving and tongue lolling as she panted to cool herself. Let’s see if Baker’s willing to listen to reason now.
The first thing she noticed was that the ravine wasn’t really a ravine at all. It was a sinkhole about thirty feet across and just as deep, a place where the roof of a cave had collapsed in the distant past. There was no meandering creek at the bottom of it, just a ton of rocky debris and a small, stagnant pool. And Baker. His chin rested on his paws as he lay on a slab of rock
that looked to be the size of a Buick.
Hey, you all right?
He started and stared up at her. What the fuck do you care?
Look, I’m not my sister, okay? I was trying to tell you that when you went all Cujo on me. I don’t work for her, I don’t like her, and I’m trying to get away from her.
You’re a werewolf just like she is!
Duh. So are you, smart guy. I didn’t want to be a werewolf, but she only cares about what she wants. I got forced into it, and I’m betting you did, too.
The gray wolf looked down at his feet and sighed. Yeah. We both did, me and Riley. He didn’t get away. He’s—he’s still there, but I don’t know if…
His voice in her head trailed away, and Neva sighed, too. He didn’t know if his friend was still alive. So maybe we should get you out of that hole.
I can’t jump it, not straight up. I haven’t got the distance to get up enough momentum.
You’ll have to Change so you have hands to climb with.
I don’t know how.
Man, did she ever understand that problem! Only Travis wasn’t here to deliver instructions. Could she remember enough of what he’d said to be able to explain it to Baker? Sure, she could shift her form now, but being able to do something and being able to describe what you’re doing were two very different things. She looked down at the big wolf that had threatened and chased her. He looked small and kind of forlorn now. Yet there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t attack her the moment he was free. Crap. She couldn’t just leave him. She didn’t know where the hell Travis had gone, she didn’t know the phone numbers of any superheroes, and she was the only coach available to help Baker.
Look, I’m not really good at it myself, but I’ll try to help, okay?
Yeah? The gray wolf scrambled to his feet. That was when she saw that he was favoring one of his front legs.
Jesus, you’re hurt.
It’s a sprain. Maybe an ankle, at least I think that’s what it is. A wolf leg doesn’t quite match up with a human one, or even a horse leg—the joints are in the wrong places.
Her wolf’s voice interjected in her mind: All right places!
It sounded indignant, and Neva rolled her eyes, not an easy feat in a lupine body. Hush, she said to her alter ego, then turned her attention back to Baker. Look, if we can get you to shift, your leg’ll probably heal up in the transition. I don’t know how it works, but it does. She was so looking forward to her own punctured hide getting fixed when she Changed. Picture your human self in your mind…
I’m sure getting the frickin’ grand tour here. Travis had drifted in and out of consciousness while being dragged through the luxurious mansion once again, getting glimpses of its elegant rooms and lavish decor as he passed. He couldn’t say that he liked this room much. The first thing he’d noticed, before he’d even opened his eyes, was the cloying stink. The air was thick with blood and death, the same scents that he had detected on his shackles, but amplified to nauseating levels. The windowless room was dark, and he sensed he was deep underground. His natural night vision adjusted to show that the space was enormous, almost ballroom-size, and perfectly round. Cold as a wine cellar, too—or a morgue. He wasn’t usually bothered by the cold, what with his high body temp and all, but he shivered just the same. Of course, it didn’t help that he was currently shirtless and hanging upside down from his shackles against a polished marble wall. Or that his head pounded with every heartbeat.
Hundreds of candles stood ready all around the perimeter of the room, and every one of them flamed to glorious life when Meredith came in hours later. Some people just like to make an entrance.
The white marble floor was vividly illuminated then—and what he saw there made his skin crawl. Signs and symbols were carefully drawn with black and gray powders, as well as strange words in languages no longer spoken. Many were drizzled with blood in complicated patterns. A fresh corpse with its chest torn open lay at the foot of a marble dais, upon which was the only furniture in the entire room: a throne-like chair.
As before, Meredith casually ordered the guards to remove the body as if it was simply trash. Christ, where does she put them all? It hit him like a punch to the heart then—the powder that formed all the creepy drawings on the floor was actually made of ashes, and the ashes weren’t from anything innocent like wood. It accounted for both the god-awful smell and the oily feel of evil that clung to it.
As soon as the guards left, Meredith casually stepped out of her clothes, revealing a lithe figure that was breathtaking in its perfection. Her only ornament was a silvery chain with a black stone pendant on it that swung between her full, round breasts. She faced him, making sure to display herself as fully as possible as she twisted her long blonde hair over her head and bound it with a jeweled clasp. “I like to work sky clad,” she announced with a sly smile.
Travis didn’t give a damn what she liked. He had a throbbing headache, and his body felt like it had been worked over with a baseball bat. That could easily have happened while he was out, but it was more likely the aftereffects of being in close proximity to a powerful werewolf when she shifted form. Werewolf. That’s what she was, a devouring monster beneath an appealing human exterior. He wouldn’t grace the insane bitch with the word Changeling. He had taken lives himself, and he lived with the regret every day, but this woman killed casually, whimsically—and goddamn frequently.
With a word, she doused all the candles but one, a squat black one the size of a coffee can that stood in the midst of the mysterious artwork on the marble floor. The candle had three wicks, and the flames burned at least a foot tall, yet its light was all but lost in the vast, cavern-like expanse. Thick black shadows veiled much of the room even from Travis’s Changeling sight. Meredith appeared unconcerned, and he assumed she had enough night vision for whatever task she planned. She knelt at one side of the room amid a variety of small clay pots and urns and struck a red spark from a pair of stones. Instead of fizzling out, the spark grew larger, rising from the marble floor until it hovered a couple of feet over her head. In its ominous crimson light, Meredith began to add her ghastly powder to the drawings, only pausing to make notes in a leather-bound book. Wholly focused on her work, she ignored Travis completely. Whatever words she uttered now were in a language he didn’t recognize. Sometimes she sang, but the notes were discordant, in a strange minor key that raised the hair on the back of his neck.
He could swear that unnatural things writhed in the shadows.
Years ago, at a ceremonial sand painting in a Navajo community, Travis had watched the Hatałii, the medicine man, create beautiful colored drawings on the floor of large hogan. The man had sung intricate blessings and chants for hours as he worked. His purpose was to heal, to restore balance and harmony. If there was a polar opposite to that ritual, Travis thought, it was happening in this room right now. His bones felt like ice, and this time it had nothing to do with the temperature.
Maybe this is karma come calling. Perhaps the universe was finally balancing the scales and Travis would pay for what he had done in his younger days. He couldn’t take his own life—it was the first thing he’d thought to do after his wolf had killed the hunters, but of course, the damn wolf wouldn’t allow it. Chances were good, however, that his life was soon to be taken from him. Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be. And for once, his wolf probably couldn’t save him.
He still didn’t know where the hell his alter ego had disappeared to. The bitch had probably worked some weird-ass hoodoo that separated him from his wolf. However it had happened, he’d never felt so naked in his life. Taking stock of what he had left to work with against Meredith and her foul magic, he was forced to admit things didn’t look promising for him.
The only good thing in all of this was that Neva must have escaped. Aware of his relationship with her, Meredith would surely have taunted him with her by now if she had her. He hoped he’d taught Neva enough to manage her new life as a Changeling. He hoped, too, that
she’d remember him. Maybe she’d remember him as a pain in the ass. Or maybe, he hoped most of all, she’d remember what she told him: “You can be a real jerk sometimes, but you’re decent.”
As epitaphs went, it wasn’t bad.
If ever there was anyone who didn’t have an aptitude for shape-shifting, Baker figured it was him. Geneva had done her level best to coach him—although she claimed it was a case of the blind leading the blind—and still, it took most of the fucking afternoon before he finally sensed something different, something faint and elusive floating just at the edge of his perception. Mentally, he reached for it with everything he had.
And stood on two feet.
Stunned, he looked down at himself. Geneva had promised him it wouldn’t hurt, but he hadn’t expected that to be true, not after the hell he’d been through turning into a wolf in the first place. And he was downright amazed at how fast he had Changed—well, if you excluded the hours of mental exertion that preceded it.
He gave himself the once-over, flexing his fingers and then his toes. Whatever part of his leg he’d strained as an animal seemed to be just fine now. In fact, everything seemed fine—except he was buck-assed naked. Hastily glancing upward, he was relieved to see that the dark wolf, Geneva, was politely sitting with her back to him.
Turning his attention to the sheer sides of the sinkhole, Baker studied the limestone walls until he found a route he liked. He didn’t have gloves and climbing shoes, but he didn’t seem to notice the lack at all. Not only was he somehow tougher and stronger, his balance was heightened and he was surer of himself, confidently reaching for handholds that were mere pockmarks. Baker scaled the rock face in record time.
Still, when he hauled himself over the edge and got to his feet, the dark wolf had already been replaced by a pretty woman with thick dark hair that tumbled over her slim shoulders in waves. She stood just out of arm’s reach and turned as he stood up, thankfully keeping her golden-brown eyes strictly on his face. He could almost count the freckles on her nose and cheekbones and—
