by Riley Storm
“Go, Klaue!” she whispered, pumping a fist excitedly.
The Queen’s head shifted ever so slightly, but she didn’t say anything, just noting Jessica’s support for her mate.
The bears kept going, and the five minute mark passed. Judging by the frenzy of the crowd, she expected that it would normally be over much quicker.
“How long do these normally take?” she asked.
The guard—Khorve was his name—answered her question. “The last one was one minute thirty-eight seconds.”
“Who the hell is Klaue fighting?” she asked, wondering who the brown bear was. “They’re really good.”
“His name is Korpez,” Queen Kaelyn responded. “And he is very good. Brutal, but much better than I expected.”
“Not good enough,” Jessica hissed as Klaue ended the fight in convincing fashion, flipping his opponent onto his back with a vicious shoulder to the midsection and putting a paw to Korpez’ throat, ready to rip it out.
The crowd went ballistic, some howling with anger, many cheering Klaue on ecstatically.
“Well, Jessica, I do believe you’re now mated to the Champion of House Ursa,” the Queen replied, standing to address the crowd.
“Hell, yes I am,” Jessica replied proudly, beaming down at her mate while Klaue changed back to his human form.
He looked up at her and their eyes met.
Hell yes I am!
***
***
Shifting Alliances
1
It started with a pinch.
Inappropriate, rude, degrading, and in theory, assault. Yet it was something she’d experienced countless times before and should have been able to brush off. One didn’t fall as far down the ladder as Amber had, and still expect to be treated like gold. Her self-worth was about as high as the odds most of the people in the dive bar were sober. Non-existent.
Amber put up with the sticky, crunchy mess on the floor. She put up with the yellowed, nearly burnt-out lighting that left half the cracked and peeling booths in near total darkness. She dealt with the taps that didn’t work, and glasses that had permanent stains in them. Amber accepted the constant leers and sexual undertones of the clientele. She ignored the thousand different health infractions, including the pair of junkies shooting up in the corner for the third time that day.
All of that and more. The drug dealing that went on blatantly between her boss and half the bikers and criminals in the joint. The prostitutes coming and going, some just taking care of business in one of the aforementioned booths. There were constant fights, and there’d even been a shootout the week before.
Amber ignored it all, let it happen around her. She was just happy to have a job she’d been able to keep for more than a month. Thirty-nine days, to be exact. It was the longest she’d had a job since—her brain shut that avenue down faster than the bullet had flown past her head the other week. There was no point dwelling on the past. It wasn’t coming back.
Today, however—today was different. Today, Amber was having a rough day, and Jet, the biker, wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d tried flirting with her. Tried whistling, leering and ogling her from head to toe. She’d sweetly, but firmly, shut him down, much to the laughter of his companions. That was, until another table had come in nearby. She’d gone to bring them their drinks, and on the way by, Jet had reached around and pinched her ass.
Yawning darkness blacker than the deepest, farthest corners of the rundown Lola’s Cavern & Bar awoke inside her.
“No, please,” she whispered, amid the shattered glass and beer, much of which had splashed up onto her. “Not now.”
“What did you say?” Jet growled threateningly.
Behind her, the new group, some local toughs from Plymouth Falls, were jawing at the bikers, and Jet wasn’t the type to take that well.
Pressure headaches erupted across her skull, trying to work their way out, even as she clamped down on her temples, trying to keep them from exploding. The drums… she could hear the drums in the dark now, the sound of her heartbeat turned ominous. It was too much. The shouting, the broken glass, the beer soaking her jeans and black half-sleeve top. It dripped to the floor.
Drip.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? Those were our beers!” one of the newcomers roared.
Drip.
Jet and his gang pushed their chairs back.
Drip.
The bar went silent, everyone hunkering down, ready to get out of the way, or in some cases, get involved.
Drip.
Amber’s rage at her treatment began to bubble, like oil on a pan as the heat slowly warmed it. Then it would hiss, and crack, and finally, would pop. Just like she would, if she couldn’t control it. Again.
Drip.
“Get out of our bar,” Jet said, his biker goons never ones to back down from a fight with local ruffians that had wandered in thinking they owned the joint.
“Please stop,” she whispered, still standing in place, hands clamped to her head, darkness roaring as it searched her for a way out, a weakness. An escape. She couldn’t give it one. Not this time, not with so many people around.
The last time...
She shuddered, blocking out yet another painful memory, but it was too late. The power was welling up in her. It was growing, multiplying, like a thousand-tentacled demon from the depths of the seventh level of Hell.
“Apologize for ruining our drinks,” one of the toughs snapped.
None of them cared about Amber. Just about their beer.
“Everyone. Out.” Amber stood up, eyes shut, trying to keep her emotions in check. If they would just leave, she could handle it, go through the breathing exercises. Be alone.
“Excuse me? You spilled our fucking beer, you worthless cunt. Don’t fucking talk to me like that. Shouldn’t you be cleaning this mess up or something? Make yourself useful. What the fuck is wrong with you anyway?”
Amber’s eyes snapped open.
The tough stumbled back a step, his entire crew moving with him. She knew what that meant. Her eyes were no longer the soft forest green that stared back at her into the mirror every day. Gone were the peace and laughter that somehow still managed to exist in her face, despite her fall from grace.
In their place was the fury-filled gaze of her other side. The one with red eyes that danced with flame and a dark orange ring at the center that promised nothing but—
“Pain,” she spat, her voice deepening, twisting, as the power took hold. It laughed at its victory, tendrils digging in deep, controlling her movements. Her speech. Controlling everything but a core of brilliant blue-white at her center that she protected with all her strength, waiting for the power to extinguish itself, like it always did after an event like this, where it had over-extended itself.
“What?” the tough asked, looking at his group for reinforcement. “What the fuck are you saying? And what the hell is up with your eyes?”
“Pain,” she hissed, her right hand jerking out awkwardly.
Power surged through her body and leapt across the distance between them. Red lightning hit all the newcomers. Each one went down, screaming as every nerve ending in their bodies registered extreme pain at the same instant. They crumpled, voiding their bowels and tearing their vocal chords, vision blinding by searing, intense pain the likes of which they had never felt before.
“What the fuck,” someone gasped from nearby.
Amber whirled. It was Jet and his biker goons.
“He—hey I don’t want no trouble,” Jet said, throwing up his hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you like that. Please.”
“Pussy,” she spat. Her eyes focused on the table they’d been sitting at, and the beer glasses on it. A single thought zipped out from the darkness that had infested her mind, and the mugs exploded. Glass and beer sprayed the bikers, drenching them and opening a thousand cuts on their bodies.
More of the same gang, a different group than Jet’s, stood to b
lock her path, but they looked uneasy about it.
“Are you su—”
The power in her ran out before she could get any farther. Amber’s legs wobbled, and she nearly fell.
“Listen here, you bitch,” the bikers snarled, as if recognizing that things had changed. “When we’re through with you, you’re going to regret what you did to our boys.” They advanced, the leader’s face splitting open in a smile that promised nothing but pain. “Nobody is going to hear you scream for us to stop.”
Fear. She was terrified.
“No,” she moaned, trying to push herself from the floor, knowing what was coming. “Stop.”
They didn’t understand. The anger was gone. It was used up. But fear. Fear was something new. It was stronger than her rage. Always had been. Fear of what they were going to do to her. But more importantly, fear of what she was going to do to them.
The power returned in a blast, spurred on by her newfound emotions, adrenaline pumping through her body anew.
Tables exploded as she clenched her fist violently. The light bulbs in the entire bar exploded. If any patrons had been watching idly, they now took off running for cover. Only the bikers remained. Everyone hesitated.
Amber took that moment to unleash the light at her core, momentarily taking control of her body once more. She forced it to turn and run. Behind her, bikers howled in rage and pursued the tiny woman. She fled into the back, heading for the back door. Amber barreled into it, some remnant of the power inside her lending itself to her flight, ripping the thing off its hinges as she flew into it like a linebacker.
The shouts from behind her faded as she took off through the parking lot, darted across the two-lane interstate and then into the field beyond. Snow drifted down, packing itself up higher, though it was already to her knees. The temperature was absolutely frigid out, but she didn’t notice. Nor did she care.
Whatever was inside of her didn’t feel cold. Didn’t feel the chill as the wind whipped at golden-blonde hair that fell to her lower back. It saw through the tears that formed from her almond-shaped eyes, tracking down her thin cheeks. The bitter air slid easily through her shirt, prickling her body with its needle-like fingers, a body no longer covered with an insulating layer after months of never really knowing where her next meal was going to come from.
Amber didn’t feel any of it. She wouldn’t, not until the power ran out. Behind her, the snow hissed and melted, the heat pouring out from her just another sign of the thing that she was battling to keep contained. It was losing now, having given a lot of itself to fight the bikers.
Every step she took, what remained of her own mind fought it down, slowly pushing it back inside, using what little mental strength she had left after so many months of fighting to bottle it up, cage it, and stop it from harming her again.
She began to become aware of her surroundings. The light had faded from the sky. They were approaching the shortest day of the year, and it was already growing dim at three-thirty in the afternoon. Or was it later? The forest had swallowed her up. She couldn’t hear any signs of cars. Just how far had she run?
The temperature was plunging fast, and Amber suddenly keeled over as the last of the power went out and her body registered the assault the elements had been waging on it since she’d fled the bar an unknown amount of time earlier. Everything hurt. Her face felt like it was ready to shatter.
“Hello?” she called. “Can anyone hear me?”
Part of her hoped the bikers would find her. They would take her inside, to somewhere warm. Where the cold couldn’t hurt her anymore. Where it wouldn’t slip through her shirt, seize her fingers, and turn her hair brittle and stiff.
Nobody was there. She was alone. Again. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes, but they froze before they could fall. Amber couldn’t even cry for herself, to mourn the life she’d had before losing the one she now lived.
That was what she knew was going to happen after all. The cold was going to kill her. At least it would extinguish the darkness inside of her forever. Nobody else would ever be harmed by whatever was wrong with her, and the only person she would kill, was herself.
Poetic justice in that, I think.
Amber’s legs gave out and she sank back onto a snowdrift, entirely unaware of her surroundings. Darkness closed in around her vision, but this time, it was peaceful. Cool and soothing.
Permanent.
2
They stood in the back of the dive bar.
“She was here,” he pronounced after a moment, looking around. “Recently.”
The sky was dimming overhead, and a snowstorm was moving in. It would arrive in full force within an hour, two at most, if he judged it correctly. According to the weather reports, it was supposed to be a massive one, close to two feet of snow expected in the next twelve to twenty-four hours. All of Plymouth Falls would shut down for it until the sleepy town could dig itself out.
“We need to find her. Soon,” he said, pulling out a long silk scarf from the sleeve of his black sweater.
All the others wore the same thing. Black sweater. Baggy. Black sweatpants. Baggy. Black tactical boots. Not baggy.
Each withdrew an object of some sort or clutched theirs tighter. One held a pendant in his hand. A second clasped a figurine carved from obsidian in the shape of a bear. The third and final member of his team grasped an oak rod about fourteen inches long, intricately carved with various symbols and runes.
To anyone who didn’t know what they were, the group might have looked ridiculous. For those who knew, they would be running as fast as they could. Like their quarry surely was, even then.
The Asps were here. And they were on the Hunt.
“Fan out into the forest,” Kasperi ordered. “Find her.”
The quartet turned and began to jog forward. They ignored the few cars on the interstate, timing their crossing with ease to avoid being hit. Reaching the field on the other side, they crossed single file in the snow, eyes scanning for any sign of tracks. Kasperi swore to himself. The wind and the fresh falling snow were whipping across the field strong enough that their tracks were swiftly wiped out. Finding their prey wasn’t going to be easy.
Reports had come their way for a long time, of a rogue mage making their way up the eastern coast. Various unexplained incidents happened every few weeks or more. Nothing ever serious, no deaths, but it was enough that Kasperi’s boss had begun to dedicate some effort to tracking this person. Whoever it was, they were cagey and mysterious, and it had taken them three months to get a fix.
Partly, it was because they had stayed mostly off the grid. Working for cash, never really going anywhere that had video cameras, but most importantly, they had all assumed it was a male. They were wrong.
Kasperi wasn’t overly enthused about killing a woman, but if she was a mage that had lost control of her power and begun to use it for evil, then he would do his job. What they’d had trouble figuring out, however, was the reason for the pattern of incidents. Most mages who ignored the rules set out in the Novarupta Accords by the shifters tended to use their magic for their own, personal gain.
This mage was different, because every time the rogue mage used magic, they seemed to lose something. It was possible they were insane. Kasperi gripped the silk scarf a little tighter as he and his team of mage hunters came to the edge of the forest, pausing to scan their surroundings.
“Fan out. Hundred feet spacing. She can’t have gotten far,” he muttered when no tracks were evident in their immediate vicinity.
His men turned and spread out, marching along the edge of the forest, looking for signs as they covered more ground. Kasperi had to give credit where credit was due. The Asps of High House Ursa were extremely well trained, something for which he could not take credit. That belonged to Kvoss the Assassin, head of the Asps. Kasperi was just a newcomer who was rising quickly due to his skill with artifacts, as well as the dual blades strapped to his back.
“Begin your search,” he ca
lled.
Gripping one end of the scarf in his fist, he waved it in slow lines in front of his face. Red began to tinge his vision as he called upon the magic imbued into the magical artifact. It grew and spread from him in a slow-rolling cloud, falling to the ground and pushing deeper into the forest as it searched for any signs of recent magic use. A simple tracking spell, but with limited effectiveness.
The artifacts were the bread and butter of the Asps. Although most shifters couldn’t use magic naturally, anyone with proper training could use an artifact imbued with magic. They came in all shapes and sizes. Silk scarves. Pendants. Carved figurines, and engraved rods.
It was how they were able to go toe to toe with mages and survive.
“Ah ha,” Kasperi muttered as a patch in front of him began to glow a brighter red.
Pushing forward without saying anything, he entered the forest, running after the trail. His team had been handed info that the mage was nearby. A call had been placed to the local police department about a girl shooting stuff from her hand and going crazy. It had caught everyone by surprise, because Plymouth Falls was the town closest to where the bear shifters of High House Ursa lived. She was in their own backyard.
He ran onward, his team following in pursuit, as was standard. If at all possible, they wanted to take the mage peacefully. Without a fight. It was much easier to diffuse a situation if only one of them showed up at first, instead of surrounding an already volatile person with four huge men wearing all sorts of weaponry.
“Why are you running?” he said to himself. “Do you know we’re coming?”
The trail led deeper and deeper into the forest. Much farther than he would have expected from someone simply trying to escape that rundown bar after causing trouble. In this weather, she most likely could have stopped on the far side of the field before even entering the forest. Instead, they were nearly a mile into the forest, and the trail wasn’t growing much fresher. Had someone warned her that the Asps were on the way?
