Publisher's Note
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher has no control over and does not assume responsibility for any third party websites or their content. The uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.
Copyright (c) 2010 by Storm Moon Press LLC
"City of Foxes" copyright (c) 2011 by Cornelia Grey. "Trust Me" copyright (c) 2011 by Elizabeth Hyder. "Alpha's Pride" copyright (c) 2011 by S.L. Armstrong & K. Piet. "I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside" copyright (c) 2011 by Wayne Mansfield. "Opening Worlds" copyright (c) 2011 by Cari Z. "Songs for Guitar and French Harp" copyright (c) 2011 by Angelia Sparrow. All rights reserved.
Cover art by Nathie
http://www.creationwarrior.net/
Interior art by Bulent Gultek, Jana Solinova
ISBN-13: 978-1-937058-08-1
ISBN-10: 1-937058-08-5
City of Foxes
Cornelia Grey
Trust Me
Elizabeth Hyder
Alpha's Pride
S.L. Armstrong & K. Piet
I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside
Wayne Mansfield
Opening Worlds
Cari Z
Songs for Guitar and French Harp
Angelia Sparrow
About the Authors
The city hadn't changed.
Jake Sullivan raised his gaze, observing it stretch above and in front and all around him. It was easy to recognize. It lay in wait, threatening and dark like an immeasurable spider. Ruins, iron and glass had entwined over the years to form the body of the metropolis: a vast conglomerate of houses, bridges, pinnacles, holes.
The air hung low, heavy on Jake's tongue. It had been years since he'd last tasted it.
He hadn't missed it.
Past dusk, the streets were empty. He remembered this, too. He took his time as he headed toward the center, finding his way with ease. More buildings had sprouted, but the underlying structure hadn't changed. Jake doubted it ever would. Eight years had passed. Jake wasn't sure what he'd expected: the blood-burning passion of belonging, sappy feelings of coming home, even anger and hatred and the desire to turn on his heels and never get near the stinking place again. He had expected something. Yet, all he could feel was a vague distaste.
Yeah. The place still sucked.
A crash came from a narrow alleyway to his right. Angry voices rose, and then the rapid thump of several feet. A small, white shape rushed past Jake, followed by three very large, very unhappy men.
As he watched, one of the men sprang forward and let out a triumphant cry. "Got you!"
His friends joined him, panting. As Jake walked on, keeping to the side--hiding in the shadow of a large iron wall--he could make out the shape of a kid, kicking and struggling as the man held him mid-air by the scruff of his neck. The kid wasn't making a sound.
"You little thief," one of the men said, still breathless. "We've been waiting for a fucking week. I knew you'd come back."
The first man shook his hand, making the kid dangle like a rag doll. "You and your scum race are a disgrace to this city. You know that?"
Jake's eyes narrowed. The kid had a mop of white hair, and white, triangular ears on the top of his head, flattened back like those of an angry cat. A long, white tail poked out from his trousers, tense and stiff as he struggled.
One of the fox people. Jake's jaw clenched. He sure as hell didn't need a reminder of this.
"So, what shall we do with you, huh? You know what happens to thieves in this city, don't you?"
"And don't think we're gonna feel sorry because you're a kid."
"Righto. He deserves a lesson." One of the men brought a hand to his side. When he lifted it again, polished steel gleamed faintly in the streetlight. "Hold him still, man. Now, how about a knee? Should we pick the left one or right? What do you say, little scum?"
The kid squirmed and thrashed, but the man's grip was steady. He didn't talk, didn't scream; there was merely a low, guttural sound coming from the back of his throat.
Jake averted his eyes. It was none of his business. And, even though eight years had passed, he'd still better keep under the radar. By all means, he ought to walk on and forget he ever saw or heard a thing. That was the rule in the city.
"Look at him, he's crying, the little girl! Not so brave now, eh, thief? Whassup? Afraid of a little gun? Why don't you call for your mommy?"
Jake rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to punch something. Oh, come on.
"Hey. You three," he called, advancing in slow, measured steps. Sure enough, three heads snapped toward him. Reactions varied from annoyance to uncertainty to plain fear. Big strangers coming up to you in deserted streets at night seldom led to any good. Jake puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders under his leather coat, trying to look even bigger.
"How about you let go of that kid and go back to where you came from?"
"Excuse me?" one of the men barked. "I don't think so, buddy."
"How about you mind your own business, mister?"
Jake glanced at the kid. His cheeks were dirty, streaked with tears, and he was looking at him with huge eyes while trying to hold back the sobs. Jake wondered if, by any chance, God hated him.
"Yeah. I don't think I can do that," he said. "So, we have two choices. You let him go and we all go our way happy, or you don't let him go and force me to kick your sorry, coward asses into next week."
When two guns swiftly joined the first one, and all three ended up aimed at his head, Jake wasn't really surprised.
"Here's a choice for you," the man holding the kid said. "You fuck off or we shoot you in the face. Whaddya say?"
Slowly, Jake raised his hands, fingers spread. "Sorry, mates. I think I'll just fuck off. No hard feelings, yeah?"
"Too little too late, mister," one of the guys laughed. "If you think we'll let you--"
He was cut off as two blinding flashes lashed out from Jake's palm; electricity arced through the air and plunged into the metal of the guns before spreading in the men's bodies. Screams echoed in the street as they shook, paralyzed by the onslaught of energy, before collapsing to the ground, twitching.
"Run!" Jake shouted as the kid scrambled to his feet. The little one was quick to obey, and in an instant he was dashing off, disappearing in the nearest alley. Jake ran after him, casting a quick glance behind. His power was too weak for three enemies--always had been--but it might be enough to stun them, at least for a while. If they were lucky, if they could run fast enough--
Sure enough, that wasn't the case. Soon Jake could hear faltering steps and harsh voices as the men launched into the chase. He glanced around frantically; the alley had high walls, and he could see nowhere to hide.
"Kid," he called. "Please tell me you know where the hell you're--"
He was cut short by a round of shots, echoing like fucking explosions in the narrow passage. He ducked, sprinting forward to cover the kid's shape with his body. He yelled, "Run," as more bullets hissed past them, and then he was stumbling, falling, as pain exploded in his left shoulder, the strength of the impact sending him face down on the tarmac. He tried to push himself up, collapsing with a choked curse when he leaned on his wounded arm. Pain whitened his vision for an instant. He snapped back to awareness gasping for air as tiny hands touched his face, grasped his jacket, tried desperately to drag him away.
"Run," Jake rasped, gritting his teeth as he tried
to move, nailed to the ground by his flaring shoulder. "Get the... hell out of here..."
As another wave of white, blinding pain shook through his nerves, disconnecting him from reality, Jake thought he felt the street come alive around him. Shapes plummeted down from the sky, broad and silent as if unfolding from the shadows. They flew past him, and he believed he heard screaming somewhere not too far away--wild shots, and then the clatter of metal on asphalt. He tried to see, to lift his head, but a tall, graceful white shadow materialized near him, and he couldn't look away.
"Is this it?" he said, or tried to say, as he felt warm fingers on his skin. The shadow crouched low, and Jake thought he could see golden irises flare. "You're death?"
"I'm certainly not death, idiot," a voice replied, distant and surprisingly gentle. Jake felt himself be lifted--strong arms around his waist, and then the ground moving, shifting, floating by. "Let's get you out of here."
The world spiraled and flickered and then lit up, impossibly bright. Jake closed his eyes against it, tried to shelter them with his hands, and then knew no more.
Jake woke up with a gasp, and hauled himself upright.
He was in a small, cramped room with walls a collage of metal scraps, a plastic roof. Assorted junk lay on the floor, arranged in neat piles in the corner. Jake craned his neck to the side, spotting a small old stove. The fire was reduced to dying embers. He was lying on a rickety camp bed, his jacket folded at the bottom. He pushed himself up, shaking his head, trying to clear the--
Wait.
He wiggled his shoulders, puzzled. Tentatively, he leaned back, resting his weight on his arms. Nothing. He reached to touch his left shoulder, pressing down with his fingertips, half-expecting an explosion of pain, and all he found was a neat round hole in a sleeve stiff with dried blood, and perfectly whole flesh underneath. He sure wasn't about to complain, but... what the hell?
He toed into his boots and made his way out of the shed, pushing the door closed behind him. A gray sky hung over a cluster of small buildings of scraped metal and plastic panels. Thin paths snaked between the shanties, crisscrossing apparently at random.
Jake stepped on, alert and on guard. The few people in the street stopped to stare at him, some uncertain, some plain curious, some with frightened, wide eyes. Jake swallowed as he took in their appearance. Broad triangular ears poked out of their hair, covered in a fine fur, red-rust colored. The same shade was matched by the long tails Jake could see poking out behind them, some held stiff, some twitching nervously. A large man caught his gaze and slowly drew his lips back, uncovering sharp fangs.
Jake swallowed. Fox people. All over the fucking place.
That did not bode well for him.
"Hey. Glad to see you woke up, man," a warm voice said.
Jake whipped around, his arms instantly raised in a guard, fists clenched.
"Whoa. Calm down, big guy." A lean fox was standing a few feet from him in worn grey jeans and a t-shirt, hands raised in mock surrender and a smug grin on his lips. His eyes were a pale gold, observing him with a cross of arrogance and amusement.
Jake lowered his hands, feeling vaguely idiotic. "And you would be?" he asked, trying to look menacing. The fox just smirked.
"Name's Liam. I also happen to be the guy who saved your ass, so you can relax. You're in no danger here."
Jake looked at him intently. The fox had long hair, the same shimmering white of the kid's. His ears were white, too, twitching gently in attention, and a white tail was curved gently around his legs. A memory of bright white stirred in his mind, a gentle voice telling him--something--as strong arms lifted him up, just before everything went dark. "I think... I think I remember you," Jake said, slowly. "Thanks, then. For... yeah, saving my ass. And I suppose, for..." Jake touched his shoulder. "Whatever this is."
"Just a little healing power. It was the least I could do."
"Is--is the kid all right?"
"You can bet your ass he is," a shrill voice replied. Jake looked around, but couldn't see anyone. "Down here, you twat."
He glanced down and wound up staring into the eyes of a very tiny human, barely over a foot tall. He had his hands on his tiny hips and was currently looking up at Jake with utter contempt. His skin was a dark gray, and a long, naked tail trailed behind him. "Rat people," Jake whistled. "I haven't seen one of you in over--"
"Yeah. Spare me the story of your life," the rat interrupted. "You may want to thank me, too, you know. Liam here gets to be the hero, but without me, you'd be pushing up the daisies now."
"Mosley is right." Liam smiled, reaching down to pat the creature on the back. "It was his flying squad that sent your attackers running for their life. So, if there's a hero here, it's him."
"Flying squad? What do you--"
"The pigeons. The mutant pigeons. Like that one," Mosley cut in, pointing upward. When Jake looked up, he saw a bird broad as a bloody table circling above his head. That was new. "What, you never seen one before, you big monkey?"
"Hey. Mind your tongue, rat-man," Jake growled. The little creature just chuckled, elbowing Liam's calf.
"I like him. Stupid, but he's got balls," he said. "It will be fun having him around."
"Having me--no. Listen," Jake raised his hands. "I saved your kid, you saved me, and that's all very brave, but now I'm off back to town."
"You may have some trouble with that, mate," the fox said, one eyebrow cocked. "The three guys you clocked? That was militia. They'll be onto you as soon as you show your face around the city. You should stay with us for a while until they move on to chasing someone else."
Jake cringed. Damn it, the bloody militia. Just what he was trying to avoid. "Don't worry. I can sure as hell take care of myself."
"I'm not worried. To be honest, I couldn't give a crap," the fox shrugged. "But you saved Kye. I'm just trying to return the favor; you know, preventing you from basically committing suicide."
"How thoughtful," Jake tucked his hands in his pockets. "Now, how about I go my way and you start minding your own damn business?"
The fox narrowed his eyes. "That's fine by me."
"Fine," Jake scoffed.
"Fine!" The fox turned on his heels and stomped off, his white tail twitching angrily from side to side.
Jake watched him go, feeling somewhat deflated. Below, the rat cleared his throat.
"You know, you really can't be showing your face in town right about now."
"I know." Jake raked his hand through his hair. He knew the militia too well to even get anywhere near the city. Of course they'd recognize him. The militia never forgot a face. Especially not...
"What the hell do I do?" he muttered.
Mosley patted him on the knee. "You can go clean yourself. You stink," he said. "And then you can accept Liam's offer. Don't worry. He may seem mad at you, but he never holds a grudge."
Jake rubbed at his eyes. Damn it.
He should never have returned to the stupid city.
He hadn't gotten lost in the camp for a whole two days. Jake was rather proud of himself.
The place was a fucking beehive: small barracks sprouted everywhere without anything even remotely resembling a rational planning. Reaching the communal kitchens would take over fifteen minutes from his shed--the one he had to share with Liam--and another fifteen to the water storage.
Just what one could expect from a bunch of furries too busy running after their woolen balls to do anything productive, as he said to Liam every chance he got. Liam would just laugh and say "We're not cats, you brainless monkey." Liam called him monkey a lot. Oddly enough, Jake found he didn't really mind.
Mosley had been showing him around for the past week, chattering relentlessly. The rat had, it seemed, taken him in sympathy. He also had the annoying habit of randomly buggering off at the most inconvenient times, leaving Jake stranded and without a clue of how to get back. Like at the present moment. Now, that red-painted shed did seem familiar...
&n
bsp; He almost missed the three foxes when they began following him. Almost.
He slowed down, and then stopped. He felt them stop a few yards behind him. He wondered just how much of an idiot they thought he was. "Anything I can help you with?" he asked.
One of the foxes chuckled. "You're smart, human," someone said. Jake turned around, keeping his face devoid of expression. A tall redhead was scanning him with evident dislike, flanked by two brown, decidedly more beefy, foxes. It was easy to tell who the leader was.
Jake just waited.
The redhead tilted his head and spat. "We don't like human scum around here," he said. His friends made a point of cracking their knuckles loudly.
Jake hardly managed not to snort. "That's too bad."
"You got a quick mouth there," the fox hissed. "Liam may have decided you're his new pet, but he won't always be around. I've got my eye on you."
"If you like the view." Jake suppressed a grin at the angry red that bloomed on the fox's face. He had no patience for half-assed threats. If there was going to be a punch up, he'd rather just get it over with.
The fox just bared his teeth. All talk. "Save your breath. You never know when you might need it."
"Thanks," Jake replied, dryly. "And now, if you'll excuse me." Without a second glance to the trio, he turned on his heel and walked off, deliberately slow.
"You better watch your back, scum," the fox called.
Without bothering to turn around, Jake raised his hand and flipped him the bird.
He didn't mention the incident to Liam. If the redhead gave him any grief, he'd deal with it himself. Also, Liam seemed preoccupied enough; he'd disappear at strange hours and return looking utterly frayed, his eyes dark and serious. He'd smile and dodge Jake's tentative questions and pretend to be completely fine, but Jake could tell.
Like now. The fox was sitting on his bed, pretending to read a tattered book; except he hadn't turned a page in ten minutes, his gaze unfocused somewhere beyond the paper. Jake wondered if he really thought Jake wouldn't notice, or if he simply didn't care.
Wild Passions Page 1
