Feral

by Serafini, Matt

  Elisabeth crossed the street to Sheila's General Store when Fane took her by the arm and hustled her to the rear of the building.

  "You were once a valuable asset to us." There was venom in his voice as he spat the words out. Licentious eyes ogled her breasts in the low v-cut, but he didn't touch. "You might be under the impression that I'm here to catch up, and I understand that. I'm proud of the way I conduct myself in this dreadful body. But do not mistake kindness, an admittedly new trait for me, for weakness. I'll gladly bruise your pretty face if you'd like to test me."

  Elisabeth put distance between them.

  "Your arrogance is no longer amusing," she said. "I have never doubted you. Ever. After all this time, you choose to treat me as though I'm one of your devotees?" Elisabeth fingered her necklace, straightening the fangs as she spoke. "You choose to steal my belongings as if to reiterate that I am nothing more than a toy to you."

  "After the way you treated one of my own, girl, be glad that is all I had my men do. I should've done more than simply remind you that I am in control of this pack."

  "Pack? I did not come here to join any pack...least of all yours, Anton...and I'm certainly not part of any following you may have somehow amassed."

  "Relax, Huntress..."

  "I have not been a Huntress for a very long time."

  "Once a whore..."

  "Finish that thought, and I'll make you a fucking eunuch."

  Fane stopped to compose himself. Elisabeth wanted to think that she had been effective in selling the threat.

  "You say you are no longer a Huntress...fine. Yet, here you are...close to me and mine. What am I supposed to think about that? And more curious still, you slink through the night turning clueless tourists into fledglings. Do not try and tell me that you are not hunting your prey...to deny it is to disrespect our years together."

  "I came here to be left alone. To be near our kind, yes, but for no ulterior motive. Greifsfield would have fallen off my list of real estate had I known that Anton Fane was already here. Do not delude yourself by interpreting this as anything but poor planning on my part. I sought the seclusion of the woods to be alone, not to admire you from afar."

  "How fiercely independent. You've become quite the modern woman, haven't you?"

  When she didn't respond, Fane's haughty expression fell away. Her continued defiance had finally chipped his fortitude.

  "Very well," he said with softening features. "Something important is happening in Greifsfield, whether you choose to ignore it or not is up to you. But I cannot have you running around turning these horrendous fleshbags. For that, you must answer to me."

  "I will say this, Anton. I did things for you that no one else would have. Remember the south of France? That night should've been enough to haunt my dreams forever and, yet, I followed through without question." She tugged the necklace gently. "And when the order hunted us, I did as you instructed. Every time."

  "You hunted them for revenge..."

  "Eventually, yes. But for how long did they hunt us? Before we even knew there was an order, how many assassins did we send to the grave?"

  "Simpler times," Fane said. He looked at her with a hint of nostalgia. Elisabeth recognized this familiar fondness as if no time had passed. For a moment, he was a far cry from the tyrant attempting to bully her back into line.

  "Why can't you leave it at that?"

  "I'm not trying to make you feel like an exponent but, just as it was back then, you will do what I say without question."

  "You are not relevant to me anymore. Until today, you seemed to have no trouble remembering that."

  "Choosing to disregard our little covenant, then?"

  "Never. It's you who perverts our customs to suit your convenience. I don't know how many other fools you have at your disposal, but you are wasting your time if you think me one of them."

  Elisabeth studied the terrain behind Sheila's should he try another advance. With a dumpster to their right, they were obscured from all passersby, and the wooded veil to their left offered futile escape. She would never run from him. Decades had passed without fear of him, but that didn't mean she'd forgotten what a monster he was. No need for a clash here. Not that Fane would let that happen, anyway. He could have others attempt to do the job for him. Apparently everything was beneath him now.

  Everything except speechifying.

  If this upcoming congregation was as important as his implication, he'd make sure nothing went wrong.

  She stood her ground, unflinchingly and with reflexes queued, ready to break away.

  "I have come here today with a considerable lack of respect, I admit." Fane's shifted tactics were hollow—always a soldier and never the politician. "The Huntress deserves more than that. I am here on business and without the time needed to reunite old friends and lovers."

  Elisabeth shuddered.

  "Let me start again, Hunt-er, Elisabeth. Let me explain why I had one of mine come to visit you yesterday." He advanced, anticipating her flightiness.

  After a cautious moment, she relaxed.

  Then he lashed out, seizing her between powerful arms. She leapt back but Fane had been faster. Her dress was caught in the ball of his fist and, with a grunt, he yanked her forward into an unwavering grip.

  "See that," he said, his eyes darting up and down the length of her face before lowering to enjoy his view of her assets. "You are a complacent little whore when it comes to me." His hand clamped around the small of her back, then dropped lower, caressing her ass over the thin layer of chambray. He forced his lips onto her own, licking her clenched mouth. His tongue crawled through her lip barriers and lashed her pearly whites.

  She whipped her neck away, refusing to validate the intrusion.

  Elisabeth squeezed her eyes, racing to escape this as Fane's interest in her mouth waned; he nibbled on her neck with playful laughter, little beads of unwanted saliva leaving stains she couldn't wait to wipe. His breath was rotten as it sprayed her cleavage; his near inaudible groans of lust absolutely reviling.

  "Stop..."

  Her objection fell on Fane's apathy. He pressed close, rustling her hair. Slapping her cheeks. Squeezing her neck. Violently, he yanked the fabric of her dress, tearing it, and squeezing her breast tight in his hand.

  "What did I just say to you?" It was time to vacate this despicable rendezvous.

  He laughed at her retreat. This wasn't an old friend. He was an immoral king making an unsolicited advance on a chambermaid. The good thing about his spreading lust was that it made him all too predictable. He lunged forward again, just as she knew he would.

  "I know you too well," he said, closing the tiny gap between their bodies. "You only think you're in love with that boy."

  He knew.

  It was no surprise, she reminded herself. Mestipen had told him everything. Too much. The gypsy peasant would die as soon as the moment was right.

  He was upon her again, licking his lips at the sight of her. Small steps inched closer to the dumpster, moving toward the empty liquor bottle that rested atop a pile of stretched trash bags.

  "You are still probably the most gorgeous creature to have walked this earth," he smiled. "How's that for being nice?"

  "You," she snarled, "Are not half as charming as you’ve been led to believe."

  “This is not the first case of mistaken love I've seen. We're always mistaking reality for myth, wouldn't you say? You, who have recruited more of our kind in any given decade than some Huntresses accomplish in a century. I would think that the mystery of love would've been dead to you by now. It's all about the flesh with these simpletons...never about the soul."

  "I did not think you this foolish."

  "Don't tell me you still believe that love is possible." He flicked her necklace. "You more than anyone else."

  This was it.

  Her rage popped like a cork as she seized the empty bottle by the neck. Fane lunged but she was too fast, evading him completely. She swung the bottle an
d it smashed across his head with a crack that sent shards of glass raining. He roared in pain, rubbing his eyes free of Jack Daniels as she dashed for the front of Sheila's.

  Curbside, Fane’s sedan continued its clueless idle.

  This isn't going to end well.

  She slowed her step once inside the general store. The elderly clerk behind the counter, Maddie, squinted from behind her tiny wireframe glasses.

  "Elisabeth, you look radiant in that gown."

  "Thank you, Maddie." She ducked into an aisle and followed shelves of cereal, pastries and juices all the way to the rear of the store. To where she'd been known to grab the most basic art supplies on occasion. Somewhere behind her, Fane stomped down another aisle in pursuit, grumbling expletives.

  Music to her ears, as it were. She was delighted to have sparked such ire.

  Fane appeared in the back aisle, shoulders rising and falling in cold, mechanical fashion.

  Her hand closed around the shelved scissors as he thundered forward. With them, she spun on the balls of her feet, meeting his stride.

  Stopping it dead.

  Elisabeth pushed the blade against his throat, applying only a hint of pressure. Enough for the sharpened tip to indent into his stubbly skin. He froze, his eyes swinging down to assess the threat.

  She poked the blade into his flesh with just a tad more force, subtly threatening to draw blood at any wrong move.

  "You're going to bury that in my throat? For what gain?"

  "It will make you squirm...and it will hurt. At the very least, it will make you look very silly in front of your men when you go back home, tail between your legs."

  Fane watched her for minutes. Through clenched teeth he said, "The Huntress will sit at my side when I need her to."

  Elisabeth cocked an eyebrow and popped her lips into the shape of an o to feign surprise. "You think so, huh? Is it your newfound wealth that fuels your ego?"

  “You will witness the largest Turning in our pack's history. It will be unlike anything you have ever seen." Fane's teeth mashed, sprinkling little beads of spittle across her skin.

  "I. Don't. Care."

  "I'll kill him before this is over."

  Elisabeth swiped the scissors across his neck in fury, leaving behind a scrape of wet crimson. "If you show up at my home again, or if you so much as speak to Allen, I will make sure you spend the next few days explaining to your kin that certain appendages do take some time to grow back."

  Fane seethed, pressing fingers to his wound.

  "I came here to tell you that I wanted your pup at the Turning with you. I wanted him to face indoctrination the right way. He should also have the opportunity to witness his Huntress in all her glory, fulfilling a function for a higher purpose. You are a part of something larger, Elisabeth, and you do not turn it off whenever you feel like it. What sickens me is that you pretend not to realize this. You have a history with me. In many ways you are history. Those full moons on the moors where we'd vie for the most vicious kill, just you and I. We are responsible for so many of the stories passed down about our kind. And now you tell me you don't care about any of it?"

  Elisabeth felt like slashing his jugular a second time, but she held her ground hoping he would leave.

  "I will call on you again," he said. "And you'd be wise to be ready. I've got your pup. What happens next, his new life or sudden death, depends on you."

  Fane backed away, walking off with the wound dribbling down his neck.

  Just like that, he'd defeated her.

  He would kill Allen without hesitation, if he hadn't already. Anton Fane was an adversary who left nothing to chance. Threats on Allen weren't idle. If he said he had him, he was not bluffing.

  Elisabeth listened as Fane's vehicle trailed off. She was going to have to find Allen quickly. And if it was too late, Anton Fane and his entire pack of followers would burn.

  She'd come to this sleepy little tourist town for inspiration, and here she was considering war.

  She swallowed hard, knowing full well it had to be done.

  And there was no turning back.

  ***

  The point of the journey is not to arrive…

  Rush lyrics played in Allen's brain with literal relevance. Neil Peart might've had something else in mind when writing them, but it was the only thing Allen could think as the car hurried along winding blacktop.

  They moved without regard for the local speed limit or traffic laws, and Allen bounced between his backseat captors. He hoped for some semblance of direction, but his curiosity was rewarded with a fist to the gut. The wind tore from his lungs like a vacuum and he doubled over, choking on his own breathlessness.

  "Told you not to look, yeh?"

  "Do it again." The guy sitting shotgun turned and jammed the gun barrel in his face. "Give me a reason. If you even sneeze, I'll assume you're turning into a fuckin' animal and splatter your shit all over my friends. It'd get messy real quick, but they'd understand."

  It wasn't hard to avoid looking up from then on. They knew exactly who and what he was, but that didn't prevent them from speaking in clipped tones. It never occurred to them that he could hear those too, especially in such an enclosure, but the information he gleamed was next to worthless.

  They were dragging him back to Greifsfield. He didn't know why and he didn't know for whom.

  "I don't care if he does turn." The guy beside him said. Let him try it. A lot of good it will do." He pushed a slab of cold metal against his temple. "I will blow his brains all over Loiza before his fangs come out."

  To his left, Loiza laughed. "No. I don't think yer doin' that." His voice was soft, but authoritative. "Less you want to join this mutt in a world of hurt."

  "Hey, look at me." This came from Shotgun, and his voice was tinged with amusement. "You look pretty scared from up here. Are you scared?"

  Allen was slow to raise his eyes, fearing another sock to the gut.

  "Hey, my man," Shotgun said, still lightheartedly. "Look at me when I tell you to, okay?" He offered a playful slap against his cheek that threatened worse things to come. His hand climbed into Allen's disheveled hair, stroking it. "I do not see what she sees in you, I really don't."

  He wished that he could offer a witty response, but he was too scared to breathe.

  "You should probably know that it is her fault you are going to die. The bitch could've easily saved your life, you know. But pride is a tricky thing. It clings to her like the stench of her past...and that's why you're going to die, boy."

  "I love her," Allen said with defiance that might not be interpreted as such. He should've been on his knees begging for his life, although it wasn't notions of death that lingered, rather worry that he'd never see Elisabeth again.

  To this, Shotgun laughed and said something in his foreign tongue. Then, in English, "You cannot stop a whore. Not even with a hundred horses...an old gypsy saying. When you are gone, she will move on. You will be a footnote like the many before you."

  "Fuck you."

  "Keep talking, I'm going to be the last thing you see before you die."

  Shotgun’s threat didn't resonate as intended. Allen had undergone too many changes to let things end this way. He felt anger and hatred, but there wasn't any fear. Would these goons be able to kill him now that he was—

  Yeah, what the hell am I?

  —something else. They claimed to know the answer, but didn't seem like the educator type. Any of them.

  "Do I stop?" the driver asked.

  "Yes," Shotgun said.

  The car slowed beside a ticket booth. A posted sign read "TO MT. GREYROCK SUMMIT AREA."

  A clerk worked the booth. As the driver rolled the window down to engage him, the thug on Allen's right jammed the butt of his pistol into his ribcage. "I will fucking splatter you," he said.

  Allen believed it. What help would the lanky college-age kid be, anyway? His best bet would be to wait until they got him up to the summit and make a break for it. Since waki
ng up this morning he'd felt superior, even in Allen form. Everything was heightened, especially his speed and strength. Outrunning these guys wouldn't even be challenging.

  "We don't allow visitors to the summit after dark," the booth jockey said. His stance recanted when the driver handed him a one hundred dollar bill. "But who am I to deny anyone the majesty of the Berkshire skyline?"

  Shotgun laughed and waved to the jockey as the gate rose.

  They were on the move again.

  "Why didn't you kill him?" Loiza asked.

  "This mountain employs more than Greifsfield. I kill some kid from Pittsfield, people start asking questions. You want to explain to the boss why people are suddenly asking questions?"

  Loiza said nothing.

  Allen's nose wrinkled. The men on either side of him reeked of cigarette smoke, alcohol and more. His nose studied the menagerie of smells until he realized the anomaly: Loiza was vaguely awash in the scent of Mr. Thick European Accent, and vice versa. They wore each other's musk, and had likely been fellating each other before being sent out to recover him.

  He added senses to his list of already superior strength and speed.

  "Pull off up here," Shotgun motioned to a dark turnoff.

  The driver did as he was told, swinging the car onto an inclined path that brought them to a cul de sac marked "SCENIC AREA I."

  When the car stopped, Shotgun got out and fumbled for the weapon he must've stashed beneath his seat while passing through the gate.

  Loiza stepped from the backseat and tugged at Allen's shirt, tearing right through the seam. He fumbled into the dirt and suffered a kick to the stomach, then the balls, then his head. More feet joined in, winding and pouncing as his vision went white beneath bursts of stabbing pain.

  "Blow his fucking brains out and toss him over the rail."

  Allen heard two hammers cock, a mini-firing squad ready to go. His body tensed and his eyes squeezed shut with so much force that the pressure stung.

  There was a stomp, deep and severe, followed by an explosion of glass. His eyes popped and, through a blur, he saw every window of the sedan burst into shards.