Savage

by Lila Dubois

  “Yes, hooding is a way to keep him calm, and bound is the only way to control him.”

  They fell quiet, the hushed, hurried words melting into the tense silence as Jahrl raised his voice.

  “Release him!”

  The warriors dropped the ropes and the slip knots gave way, sliding from his wrists and waist. Anleeh, who had been ominously still, jerked into action. He ripped the rope from around his neck, jerking his hood off with it, and lunged at the closest warrior. The man extended his spear and Siara cried out as, for a shining crystal moment of horror, it looked like the man would run Anleeh through. But Anleeh jerked to the side, ripped the spear out of the other man’s hands, spun around and knocked his opponent’s legs out from under him. The movement was so fast that the end of the spear blurred as it whistled through the air. Anleeh brought the shaft of the spear against the man’s legs with such force that a meaty ‘clunk’ was audible to all.

  Siara expected him to back away, as he had on that first day when he’d been forced to prove himself, but instead Anleeh planted one foot in the man’s belly to hold him still, twirled the spear in his fist and then raised it, point directly over the man’s heart, for a killing blow.

  “Anleeh, no!” Siara called out, but the sound was covered by the battle cry of the other warriors. Two came forward, jabbing at Anleeh while keeping themselves out of range, distracting him, as the third pulled their fallen comrade out of danger.

  A roar of pain echoed through the village when Anleeh threw his spear, embedding it into the thigh of one of the two remaining men. The warrior collapsed to the ground, hands wrapped around the spear, trying to relieve the pressure of the weight. Anleeh stalked forward, every muscle and tendon moving with grace beyond that of what humans could do.

  The remaining guard ran up behind Anleeh, fisting his hands in Anleeh’s tunic and digging in his feet. Anleeh reached back, grabbed the other man by the neck and flung him away. He then ripped off his shirt, bare chest steaming with heat in the cool air.

  When he reached the man on the ground, Anleeh sank slowly, knees folding as he brought his body down. The other man, clearly panicked, raised his hands, batting and pushing at Anleeh. With animal calculation and human brutality, Anleeh grabbed one of the man’s forearms, one hand at the wrist, the other at the elbow. Anleeh’s biceps bulged and the muscles in his back flexed as he snapped the bones. The man screamed, and screamed again, as Anleeh dropped the now misshapen limb. Siara felt bile rise in her throat, her vision going dark and knees weakening. The muted snap, like a heavy branch breaking, echoed sickeningly in her mind. Beside her, Raven laced both arms around Siara, keeping her on her feet.

  “Anleeh,” she whispered, “stop.”

  The man beneath Anleeh now lay still, whether with shock or dead Siara did not know.

  Anleeh placed his hand against the man’s leg, on either side of the protruding spear. She breathed a sigh of relief when he took no further action against the man. Instead he rose, hands coated in blood. Anleeh turned away from the man he’d felled and wiped bloodstained hands against his bare chest, leaving streaked handprints of crimson. It was primitive and barbaric, monstrous.

  Siara did not know she’d spoken aloud until Raven whispered, “This is a part of him, the part of himself he fears, the part he has kept hidden from you.”

  Anleeh lifted his hands, tilted palm to the sky, threw his head back, and roared.

  The sound was beautiful in ferocity, filling the silence, subduing it, replacing it with vibrating notes that held rage, triumph, and a need for power.

  As quickly and unexpectedly as summer lighting, Siara’s beast rose, responding to Anleeh, more real, more powerful, than it had ever been before.

  Previously Siara’s beast had been like a catalyst, freeing her to act on emotions and power that were always in her. This time Siara could feel the beast, like a real physical thing, clawing inside her. Siara opened her mouth but air would not come as her beast wrapped claw-tipped paws around her throat. She tried to raise her hands, to tear the claws away, but she could not move.

  Her panic and fear warred with the beast’s rage and hunger. The beast wanted, wanted, wanted, to be with her mate. Saliva pooled on Siara’s tongue as her beast longed to lick the blood from his salt-sweat chest, and then, with the sweet copper taste still coating the tongue, bite him, bite her mate to mark his flesh, and let him mark her.

  Anleeh roared again and Siara’s paralysis broke. She grabbed at her neck, drawing in great woops of air. Around her the warriors echoed Anleeh’s cry, raising their voices in howls.

  “Raven, h—help me, my beast, I cannot control her.”

  “She is called by his. You must go to him.”

  “I cannot; he has gone mad.”

  “Yes he has.” Raven’s voice dripped with sorrow, and when Siara looked at the older woman, there were tears running down her pale cheeks.

  Siara turned back to Anleeh and forced herself to put aside her initial reaction, and instead understand what was happening. This was Anleeh’s greatest fear, this horrific loss of control and of self. She’d tasted it, when her beast rose, preventing her from moving, filling her with repulsive desires. What must it be like for him, one so controlled, to have lost control, to have fallen to his greatest fear, the nightmare that plagued his dreams?

  As the howls of the warriors faded to silence, Jahrl stepped forward.

  “Anleeh, son of Sedrick, child of Den, welcome home.” Siara was astounded that Jahrl walked right up to Anleeh when he was so clearly dangerous.

  “He should move away,” Siara whispered to Raven.

  “Jahrl is the alpha, the beast in Anleeh knows it,” she answered.

  Jahrl threw back one side of his cloak and raised a long scepter that had been hidden beneath.

  “You would not take this honor many years ago, for you said you wanted to be the greatest warrior, to be stronger and faster than any, and would not accept the honor until that time. You left to learn these things, and when you returned you proved them.

  “But the man who returned to us was a lie!”

  The warriors shouted their agreement, and Siara bared her teeth in a small growl of her own. How dare they say that the man he was, the man he’d become in the Great City, was not a true warrior? Anleeh’s head turned toward her, as if he’d felt the small surge of anger, the growl, but Jahrl drew his attention.

  “Today you proved yourself. Not a single life was lost among us, and their casualties were great. No man who left that battlefield will forget the way Anleeh tore through them, making a mockery of flesh and bone.”

  Jahrl raised the wooden scepter he held, the bear claws attached to the end gleaming dully, and then, in a savage blow, raked it across Anleeh’s upper body, opening four jagged wounds diagonally across his chest. Siara’s beast screamed in terror. They were hurting him, abusing her mate, her lover, her beloved. She would stop them, protect him when he could not protect himself.

  Siara broke away from Raven and pushed through the circle of men, running for Anleeh as his knees slowly folded beneath him. She expected to feel her beast rise in anger, but she remained dormant. Siara skidded to her knees before him, reaching out and then pulling her hands back before she touched him. Blood poured from the furrows in his chest.

  “Get back, woman,” Jahrl snarled.

  “Nay.” She did not look at Jahrl for fear her anger would overpower her. Siara need to be calm. She turned her attention to Anleeh, the rest of the world melting away as she focused on him. His suffering pressed down on her like a yoke across her shoulders.

  “Anleeh,” she whispered, keeping her voice level and calm.

  “Go.” The order was low, guttural, forced between his teeth. She caught a glimpse of his eyes, the ring of green thin around the enlarged black center.

  “Anleeh, let me help you.”

  “Go. No control. Leave me.”

  “I will not leave you.” Tears welled in Siara’s eyes. “I will hel
p you. I know you do not want this, that you fear it…”

  “You are wrong in that.” Anleeh lifted his head and his voice had cleared, velvet smooth, no longer rough, but touched with a low note it had never contained before. “I was wrong to fear it, for it is a part of me.” He ran a finger through the crimson liquid that slid down his chest and placed it in his mouth, sucking away the blood.

  “Anleeh, please, you must control it, control this…”

  His head bowed, arms and shoulders twitching, the muscles rolling and knotting in unnatural ways, as if his skin could no longer contain him. He pulled his finger from his mouth and gagged slightly.

  “Lover,” he pleaded softly, voice gone gravely once more, “please run, leave this place, leave me here.”

  Heart breaking, terrified and confused, Siara knew that leaving him was the last thing she would ever do. “Never.”

  Anleeh lunged for her. Siara raised her arms, instinct driving her to protect her face and neck. He toppled her to the ground, ripping her furs off, exposing her bare breasts to the sky and his hungry eyes.

  He leaned low, and when he found access to her neck and face blocked by her arms he started to growl. Every hair on her arms, back, and neck stood on end, the reaction of prey to the growl of a predator.

  “Heart of my son,” Raven’s voice tickled her ears, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. “The beast must rise; the beast must be set free.”

  She nodded, though she did not understand, and lowered her arms. It took every scrap of will, of bravery, and of love for Anleeh, to expose her neck to him, even as he continued to snarl. His lips pulled back in a parody of a smile, his eyes so wild, so wide, that none of the beautiful green iris showed.

  She lowered her arms and her eyes, submitting to him, acknowledging his dominance. He descended on her, hands curled into claws, grabbing at her arms and hips, squeezing, bruising. He bit her shoulder, just where the smooth skin curved up into neck, bit until it bled, until her blood mingled with his own in his mouth.

  She wanted to scream in pain, but her beast held her still, quiet, submissive, beneath him. Her stomach rolled as his chest, slippery with blood, slid against her bare breasts. The smell of blood, sweat and earth was strong around them, overwhelming. Each breath was a struggle against his bruising hands and the weight of his chest.

  The longer he held her down with teeth and hands, the more violently he twitched. His massive shoulder, blocking her view of the sky, was trembling. As she watched, the trembling changed.

  Things moved beneath his skin, rising and falling to push against the confines of his flesh.

  Anleeh pulled back, lips stained with her blood, her chest now smeared with his. He scrambled away, movements jerky, harsh. He curled onto his knees, hands covering his head. A low keening filled the air, and the noise was so pitiful and horrifying that Siara almost took the opportunity to scramble away, to flee.

  She didn’t realize she was crying until a soft breeze, at odds with their terror, cooled the wet track of tears on her cheeks.

  “Anleeh,” she whispered, voice hoarse from the suppressed tears. He was coming apart, like a rug unweaving, and she didn’t know how to stop it, how to help him.

  This was magic, old magic, the magic of the people of Den, that moved under his skin so that it appeared claws raked from within, pushing up the flesh in low hillocks. Siara remembered her own feeling of a few moments ago, that her beast was a real thing growing inside her, choking her.

  A strange calm settled over Siara, like a shield, one that would protect her from whatever happened.

  She crawled to Anleeh, her beast rising up and urging her to keep her head down, move slowly, keep her movements small, show him she knew he was the stronger and acknowledge his dominance.

  Anleeh was still balled on his knees, bloody hands clenched in his dark locks, motionless but for the undulations under the skin of his back. His arms were streaked bloody to the elbows.

  He jerked as she grew closer, a growl slipping out among the keening. She hesitated, and for the first time looked up, looked at the circle of watchers. She scanned them, looking for help, for acknowledgment. As her gaze moved over them each person met her eyes, but it was with the same blank stare that she’d seen when the woman was tortured.

  When she looked over her shoulder Siara saw Jahrl and Sedrick. Raven stood behind them, their outstretched arms blocking her way.

  It didn’t matter. Siara needed no help, needed no guidance.

  Carefully, gently, she reached out, placing her hands on Anleeh’s back, against the pulsing flesh. He convulsed at her touch but his inhuman cries fell quiet. They watched, Anleeh’s mother, father and uncle, and waited for Siara to act. Waited and watched.

  Siara let her eyelids droop, gaze unfocused, until the grey mist of her mind, the mist in which she’d glimpsed his beast before, was visible, overlaying the physical reality of the world.

  She looked at Anleeh and shuddered, the horror of what she saw so great that she had to force herself not to look away.

  In the grey mist Anleeh was not a man, but a teaming twisting mass of beast, legs tipped with razor claws and talon, tails whipping in fury, back and shoulders rising and falling, the vertebrae clearly defined through thin skin or covered by thick layers of fur. Siara tried to separate what she saw into different animals. The massive forelimb of a bear, the ruffed shoulders and back of a lean winter wolf, and the long white tail of a leopard, were the things she could identify. Anleeh was like a God’s melting pot, the viscous liquid from which pure life, in definable form, was distilled.

  “Have you always been like this?” she asked, voice echoing oddly between the grey mist world and her own, “Trapped, without form? Without definition?”

  Into the grey mist a beast crept, her body low, movements slow, tentative. Siara’s beast approached Anleeh’s, circling him, sniffing gently.

  In that moment the solution became clear, and it was not magic, but Siara’s beloved logic applied to something extraordinary.

  Anleeh has no control, because his beast has no form.

  Siara slid her hands up and down Anleeh’s back, quieting the beasts within. “How you have tortured him, how hard he must have worked to deny you.”

  In the mist Siara’s beast continued to circle, looking for her mate, her posture nervous, worried. “I need to see,” Siara whispered, and the mist cleared.

  A trill of pleasure skipped down Siara’s spine, as for the first time, she saw her own beast. A black leopard, her fur hinted with spots, long and lean of body, tail twitching, circled the still unidentifiable mass that was Anleeh.

  Siara closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the mist was gone. Anleeh had fallen into her arms, his head resting against her shoulder, hands digging into her hips, holding her when he had nothing sane left to hold onto.

  “I love you,” she told him and then, with every ounce of will and conviction she had, let her beast rise through her, consuming her. The she-leopard roared to life, streaming through Siara’s body, possessing her fully, claw tipped limbs stretched within the confines of Siara’s arms, pressing forward until they reached Anleeh, until Siara’s beast, still a creature of mist and magic, unseen but powerful under her human skin, touched Anleeh.

  Anleeh’s body jack-knifed away from her. His hunched back bowed, his chest stretched and fresh blood began to seep from his wounds. His eyes, wide and green once more, were sightless, staring at an unseen place between earth and sky.

  His fists opened, fingers curled in claws, and he ripped at his chest, digging his fingers into his wounds, tearing at his skin. He threw his head back, neck straining, as a red light began to pulse around his body, growing denser until Anleeh was only a pale outline in the center of the murky blood-light.

  He bellowed and the sound mutated into a yowl.

  Siara slowly pushed away as her beast fell quiet, heels digging into the earth as she backed away from whatever was in that red light.
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  The light began to suck inward, folding and rolling inside itself, falling to the earth where it coalesced, disappearing into the form that lay on the ground.

  Slowly it rose: a snow-white leopard.

  The beast straightened, lifting and setting down each massive paw in turn. He was huge, a head taller than Siara as she knelt. The leopard leaned back, stretching from hips to forepaws, claws flexing into the earth, digging furrows as they retracted.

  He pulled out of the stretch and moved to Siara, slinking with a cat’s grace.

  Siara forced herself to be still, but turned her head away in fear, breath coming in short, hard pants between trembling lips. She had been so sure of her actions, but now she’d truly created a monster, and if it chose to turn on her, on any of them, there would be no salvation.

  She felt the beast’s breathe first, a puff of hot air against her cheek. Then thin whiskers brushed her cheek a moment before his head butted lightly against her. Siara whimpered and drew her head down. The leopard butted her again, harder. Siara’s beast bounced to the surface once more, twitching with happiness, cooling Siara’s fear and helping her understand the body language of the leopard.

  She slipped her arms around the beast’s neck as she turned to face him.

  The leopard’s face was twice as large as hers, the massive muzzle covered in soft, short white fur, eyes, outlined in darker fur, large and beautiful, tilted in the face, the inner corners flowing down into the straight lines of the muzzle. The irises were green.

  “You are beautiful like this, Anleeh.” The leopard opened its mouth, exposing bright ivory teeth. Siara squeaked in alarm. “Anleeh, please don’t eat me.”

  He closed his mouth, head tilting to the side, and then nudged her again, rubbing his cheek to hers. Siara buried her hands in the beast’s neck, feeling the thick fur and skin, digging her fingers in as she began to shake with relief.

  This was Anleeh, calm and seemingly aware, able to understand her, no longer possessed by the battle madness, no longer tortured from within. She’d helped him bring the beast out.

  He was free, but lost to her.