by Tenaya Jayne
“Stop!” he yelled.
All the muscles in her arm clamped down, and her finger, already half-squeezing the trigger, began to shake as she fought against his command. She’d been so close.
Leith reached out and grabbed the gun from her hand, only to swear loudly in pain and throw it from him. He looked down at his hand that was now red and smoking.
“That’s my favorite gun. I had it plated with silver. You know how I love silver.”
“Well,” he sneered at her. “I suppose I have to congratulate you on a clever little move.”
His raw hand whipped out, backhanding her across the face, splitting both her lips. She staggered momentarily, but held her ground. Hatred was boiling over inside her. His eyes went wild at the sight of blood on her lips, and he took a step toward her again.
This was where Forest drew the line. She spit the blood in her mouth across his face, savoring his shocked expression for a split second, before disappearing again and taking off back down the alley to the club. He wouldn’t follow.
****
Horrified, Leith wiped his hand across his face. He couldn’t believe Forest had been capable of showing him such disrespect. He had forbidden her, years ago, of ever showing him disrespect. He didn’t consider her attempts to kill him anything other than amusing foreplay. But this? His control over her was weaker than it had ever been. She was learning to fight it. The fact the she could exercise any measure of free will around him caused him disquiet. If she could fight back even half of the persuasion he once held over her, his life really would be in danger.
Leith thought of the scar that ran down the length of his back, from shoulder to waist. That had been excruciating.
He tucked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans and leaned against the wall. He didn’t want to lose his favorite toy. Why had she never been able to see that he loved her? Lowlife Halfling, he thought bitterly. If he couldn’t keep her, he’d have to kill her.
Licking the blood remaining around his mouth, he stomped off down the street.
****
Forest waited until she was certain that Leith was gone before venturing back into the alley to retrieve her gun. It had landed next to the smelly dumpster. She looked at the overflowing trash receptacle, so very metaphoric to her mood. Every memory and emotion connected to Leith was like that putrid garbage.
She kicked the dumpster as hard as she could, sending the rats living behind it scampering. She shouldn’t have to put up with this, dammit. She was a warrior, a formidable one at that.
With her .45 tucked back in the waistband of her pants, Forest retreated to the shadows of the club. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the concrete wall, concentrating on her breathing. She was seething and torn about reporting Leith. Focus. Focus. Focus. Reporting him would bring attention to her failure to control the traffic through her post. Nuts to that.
She had two hours and thirty-seven minutes left to work. It was no good—she couldn't do her job when she wanted to kill everyone in sight. She pulled out her phone and sent a text to her boss, Kindel, telling him she was cutting out early. Forest went out the front door and headed straight for her car. Traffic was light, and she zipped through the streets of downtown, jumped onto the Mopac expressway, and arrived back at her luxury, north-Austin condo in no time.
Her mind was in a terrible snarl. She dropped her bag and her keys on the floor and stomped into the dining room. Bracing both her hands on the table, she closed her eyes and tried breathing deeply. But calm would not come. Emotions swelled like a tsunami and came gushing out violently. She grabbed the glass fruit bowl on the table that was full of peaches and threw it against the wall as hard as she could. Shattered glass, splattered peaches, and tears fell. Would her life ever be her own?
Destroying her fruit bowl felt good, but it wasn't enough violence to assuage the storm within. Not nearly enough. Her body felt flattened where Leith had touched her. She wiped at the tears on her face, vomit rising in the back of her throat. Growling, Forest grabbed a shard of broken glass from the floor and went into the bathroom. The lights stung her already burning eyes. She let loose a scream of rage at her reflection. Crying! Crying was weakness.
Forest pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor. She turned to the side and looked at the pattern of her scars Leith had marked her with so many years ago. Biting down on her bottom lip, she took the shard and stabbed it a quarter inch deep into her shoulder. Wincing, she dragged it in a jagged line down to her elbow, then dropped the bloody glass into the sink and splashed water on the self-inflicted wound. She watched it for a few minutes. A searing rushed through her flesh, causing her to yell obscenities at random and kick the vanity.
She splashed water on her arm again and looked at it closely. It was no good. She healed too quickly to build scars on top of scars. The pattern remained unaltered. Sighing, she left the bathroom.
In her living room, she surveyed the mess. She would clean it up tomorrow.
Dawn began to color the sky as Forest dropped on her bed and fell asleep.
Chapter 2
Piles of files were stacked to eye level atop Kindel's desk. Every miniscule tidbit of information on all Fortress operatives was heaped before him like a haystack. He must find the elusive needle. The clock ticked loudly, incessantly drawing his attention. He had a weeks' worth of work and only a handful of hours to complete it. They weren’t paying him enough for this crap.
He closed his bloodshot eyes and took a few deep breaths. He couldn't pull this off. The weight of his thoughts pulled down on his shoulders like an over-stuffed backpack. What would they do to him if he failed? Fortress couldn't fire him—he was privy to too many government secrets. However, they could demote him. Kindel shuddered.
He focused on the piles in front him. He had been through every single page. He knew every operative personally; he managed three quarters of them. And not one stood out as the obvious choice for the black ops mission.
Kindel pushed his chair out and began pacing the floor of his office, too agitated to care that pacing was very un-elfish. The King had clearly lost his head, and the high council stood behind him, cheering on this folderol. They had formed a plan and dropped it right in his lap. He would do all the work, and the council would take all the credit. Like always.
Kindel ground his teeth. He needed an operative who specialized in combat and stealth. He had plenty of those. Not a spy. Kindel hated spies. He needed someone he could trust, someone loyal to him. But more than anything, he needed someone versatile and also, unfortunately, expendable. He needed…He needed…
His phone vibrated in his pocket. A text from Forest. He read it, half-smirking, half-scowling. Why did she always call him The Suit?
Suit, leaving work two hours early. Dock my pay if you want. Oh wait, forgot I'm salaried.
–blows raspberry— Forest
Forest! It hit him like a sucker punch from an ogre. He needed Forest. Forest was the solution to his problem. An imperfect, knotty solution, but selecting her made sense.
He ought to reprimand her for her insolence and work habits, but Earth was low on his list of priorities. Personally, he didn’t really care if the whole human race was annihilated, but it was part of his job to oversee the portals from Regia.
Kindel dug into the mound of paper and fished out Forest’s file. He scanned through it, wishing he could edit out a few little unsavory things. His logic for selecting Forest for this mission was undeniable, as were the strong objections he knew the council would raise. He sat back down, dipped his quill in ink, and began to write the proposal.
Forest’s eyes loomed in Kindel’s mind. He couldn’t conjure her face, as he had no idea what it really looked like. He wished she had been born a pure blood elf, like him, and not some cast off, illegitimate Halfling. As it was, she was considered the lowest of beings in all the world of Regia. His respect for her was second to none because no one else gave her any. She was undeniab
ly shady, and bad tempered, and had a love affair with weapons that Kindel didn’t understand. Through the years he had watched her battle harder than anyone else, only to achieve less. She was the only Halfling Fortress operative in all of Regia’s history.
Kindel rolled his thin shoulders and cracked his neck. He knew Forest didn’t fantasize about him the way he did about her, and that was best, he told himself. Nevertheless, he longed to see her true face, if only for a moment. But she couldn’t have shown Kindel her real face even if she wanted to. When she finally met her destined life mate, she would never be able to hide her true form from him.
Kindel agonized over the mission proposal for the next few hours. He wanted to be realistic and fair to Forest if she succeeded, but not so much that the council would notice his favoritism. Using her was going to be a hard sell. The council met in the morning, and should they approve the mission, Kindel would meet with Forest in the evening before her shift. Kindel smirked. She might be an even harder sell than the council.
****
FORTRESS CASTLE, REGIA
HIGH COUNCIL MEETING
The high council chamber in the heart of the castle was empty except for Kindel. He didn’t like being in this room alone. It made him feel like a child, sneaking somewhere he wasn't allowed. A copy of his proposal rested on every seat. Personally addressing the high council was something Kindel had only been called to do a few times before. It was a high honor—one that turned his stomach. He was sure his career would suffer if the council rejected his proposal, but in all of Fortress’ operatives, no one made more sense for this mission than Forest. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who knew about her prejudice against vampires. Her file documented it. Aside from that, the members of the council might act too high and mighty to care about a Halfling, but they indulged in gossip just like everyone else. They all knew about her.
The chamber doors opened. Security ogres came through first and positioned themselves strategically around the circular room. The six council members lazily filed in. First came Devonte, the Wizard. He was ancient and hunched and could give Oscar the Grouch cranky lessons. Kindel avoided him whenever he could. Wizards considered themselves above the law, and Devonte more than most. The fact that they were a dying race gave them an imaginary license for lawlessness. If Devonte desired more power, he could have declared himself the emperor of Regia, and no one would have stood against him. One wizard could destroy an entire army.
Next into the chamber was Nahcaan, the Ogre. Eight-foot-two, five hundred pounds of exaggerated muscle and a perpetually cheerful mood. One of the most educated and talented ogres in all of Regia, he spoke slowly and evenly. Kindel didn’t have the slightest idea which way he would vote on the mission. Nahcaan was excessively logical, but the ogres were faithful allies to the vampires. Always had been, always would be. Could logic trump fidelity?
Zefyre, the Elf priestess, followed Nahcaan. She smiled thinly at Kindel, who felt his stomach flip. She was five hundred years older than him(not that she looked a day over twenty), and had been Kindel’s first boyhood crush. It was hard for him not to blush around her as the memory came back into his head of how, when he was fourteen, he had proclaimed passionate love for her. He figured that she would be behind his proposal for the mission out of family loyalty; she was Forest’s aunt. Zefyre would never claim Forest publicly since her brother hadn’t owned that Forest was his.
Next came Frost, the Werewolf. Kindel always felt unsteady around him. He was broad as most werewolves were, and always looked as though he hadn’t shaved in a week. However, for a werewolf, he was positively posh. A superior politician, slick as they came. What you saw was not what you got with Frost. Frost would probably vote against Forest taking the mission, because that would be the politically correct move.
Fifth in line was Gagnee, the Shape shifter. She was Kindel’s idea of the dragon lady. She changed her appearance more often than any other shifter in the whole of Regia. Kindel suspected she did so to eavesdrop on her underlings. Her vote would be the easy yes. Shifters were considered to be second-class citizens; they stuck together fiercely. Gagnee might not approve of Halflings, but the fact that Forest’s mother was a shifter would sway her.
Lastly, there was Lush, the Vampire, whom Kindel despised, mostly because of his rumored liaisons with Zefyre. He was typical vampire nobility scum, condescending with every syllable. Everything from his clothes to his tone of voice was calculated precisely. Arrogant and ambitious. He was nothing more than a successful social climber.
They sat in a semi-circle around Kindel, methodically smoothing their robes under their butts and looking down at the papers in front of them. Silence fell as they read. He watched their expressions change as they thought about his proposal. Lush shook his head in disapproval when he finished reading and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting for his fellows to join him.
One by one, they put the papers down. It was Kindel’s job to begin the tug of war. “Shall we vote, or is deliberation needed?” he asked.
“Needed,” Lush said immediately, in unison with Devonte.
Kindel gave a little bow to the council and prepared to hold his mouth shut while the arguing began. It was, as he expected, going to be a long day.
Chapter 3
The late afternoon sun baked Forest’s red curtains. The light filtering through washed the walls in pink. She slept as though drugged in the heat of her condo. The ceiling fan over her bed was off balance, the chain pulls clinking cheerfully, as it buffeted her with hot air.
The vibrating sound of her phone as it knocked repeatedly into her bedside lamp, disturbed her sleep. She rolled over and grabbed the offensive little thing, reading the email from Kindel with blurry eyes. Some of the message registered in her sleepy brain, and she forced herself to sit up. She grabbed the tumbler of lukewarm water by her lamp and drank it down. It tasted stale and dead, and she hated it. Earth’s water was one of the few things Forest didn’t like about the place. It failed to regenerate her the way Regia’s water did, didn’t taste as good, and wasn’t as pretty. She hissed in pain from what she’d done to herself hours before.
Unable to focus on the email, she headed for the shower, turned it on, and stepped in. The water washed off the dried blood on her arm and swirled pink around her feet. She ran her fingers gingerly along the ridges of her scars. The pads of her fingers knew every line. The cuts she had made hadn’t changed her scars in the slightest; they still felt exactly the same. Her shifter abilities allowed her to hide them from the eyes of others, but she couldn’t hide them from herself. Those scars were the cruelest things in existence, because they ensured that she could never forget the night she received them.
The water worked wonders in waking her up, and she was able to fully comprehend Kindel’s email when she read it again. She read it and re-read it, excitement blasting through her. This was important and unexpected, and she needed to hurry. The email was vague, but she knew that whatever this mission was, it was her chance. A "big break", as the humans called it. She had to push back her urge to rush about, in order to get to Regia quickly. Arriving in Regia, sweaty and out of breath wouldn’t look very professional. So, instead of flying around, she made herself an iced mocha and stepped out onto her terrace to catch a few minutes of the sunset.
Forest loved Austin. It was a beautiful city, with its hills, and trees, and river. She loved Earth’s sun too, so warm, so different from Regia’s. She had been all over the earth, but she preferred America, and Texans emulated the kick-ass attitude she herself worked to perfect. She breathed deeply and sipped her coffee, letting all the angst of last night slip away. This might be the last time she saw her beloved Austin for a very long time, and she would miss it.
Once the sun dipped behind the treetops, Forest felt it was time to hustle. She tossed the glass from the bathroom sink into the trash and rinsed the blood away, then looked at herself in the large mirror for a moment, calculating. S
he looked a bit like Wonder Woman. Too sexy for an important meeting in Regia, she decided. There were magazine pictures of different models and actresses taped to the wall around the edges of the mirror that Forest used as inspiration. She filed the Wonder Woman look into her memory before shrinking the long, curly black hair into a sleek red bob. The curvy figure shrank as well into an almost boyish shape, and for a finishing touch she spattered some freckles across her nose. Her eyes remained the same green they always were, no matter what her shape. She did a quick check to make sure that her ears were not pointing at the top. For some odd reason she always had a hard time controlling them. If she didn’t pay attention, they would shift back to their natural shape of their own volition.
There was nothing Forest could find in her closet that would be appropriate attire once she crossed the portal. She slipped on Flip-flops, short cutoffs, and a tie-dyed Keep Austin Weird T-shirt. It made her smile when she thought of the disapproving look Kindel would give her.
Lastly, she half-emptied her jewelry box, putting a silver ring on each finger, silver hoops and studs in her ears, and half a dozen silver chains around her neck. Oh, if only she’d been so decked out last night.
Forest quickly cleaned up the peaches and glass before grabbing her keys, MP3 player, and tucking her .45 in her waistband. She set the alarm on the security system and stepped out into the heat. The baking-hot concrete almost melted off the bottoms of Forest’s flip-flops as she strode to her car. She felt powerful just looking at the black and red 1971 Dodge Demon 340. Not only was it rare, if she’d had the time, Forest would have taken it to car shows. It glistened in the sunset like an oil slick. She slid sinuously behind the wheel; the leather of the seat scorched the backs of her bare legs. The engine roared to life, literally, a feral demon indeed. She plugged her MP3 player in and turned it to something to heighten her mood.
The Demon terrorized the streets of Austin, rattling every window with the engine’s growl and some good old-fashioned Beasty Boys, Brass Monkey.
