by R. J. Blain
“You whore,” he snarled at me, his voice booming. “You have no idea what you have cost me.”
I restrained the urge to laugh. “Lose something?” Taunting an armed man was a good way to get myself killed, but unless I could cross the distance to the cliff and make my jump before he shot me, I was already in trouble.
“How did you find them? How did you know they were here?” Scallywag’s voice rose in pitch.
I risked taking a few steps forward, my body tensing as I prepared myself for the stupidest plan of my entire life. Jumping from a cliff while trying to outrun a bullet was suicidal, but I lacked another out.
Even if I rushed him, he’d have plenty of time to aim and fire. I wasn’t impervious to bullets. In that, I was as mortal as my enemy.
“I didn’t know. I was here to see your collection, and I don’t mean of unwilling women. You wanted to add me to their numbers, didn’t you?” I flexed my hands and kept my chin high and my stride steady.
Scallywag lifted his gun, aiming it at me. “That’s right. Come over here nice and quietly. Maybe I lost them, but I can begin again with you.”
“I’m not in their class, I’m afraid.”
It was true; they were all spitfires, and Julie was their queen. I considered myself fortunate she hadn’t decided to squish me like a bug. My masochistic wolf wanted more of Julie’s attentions.
I ignored my wolf and focused all of my attention on Scallywag. The man’s grip on the weapon was weak but he held his finger safely away from the trigger. With my vision so blurred, I couldn’t tell if the safety was engaged.
Either way, I needed to take risks if I wanted to make my getaway.
Scallywag grunted and clacked his teeth. “I’ll get rid of you once I have others again, don’t worry. Although, given enough time with ladies of that caliber, you may become just like them.”
I read between the lines: he meant to coerce the next werewolf female he caught to change me into one, too. Swallowing my laughter, I shook my head. “I’d rather die.”
“I can arrange that.”
I dipped into a crouch, balanced my weight on my toes, and surged forward, sacrificing speed to zig zag and make it harder for him to hit me. His first shot smacked into the dirt in front of me. Focusing all of my attention on the cliff, I broke into my fastest run.
The second shot grazed my shoulder, and I stumbled before recovering. White capped water stretched to the lightening horizon, and I cursed the black clouds blanketing the sky over the churning sea.
My feet slapped on the wooden deck leading up the lift, and when I reached the edge, I jumped and plummeted to the ocean far below.
Cliff diving was all about angles and hitting the water just right. Without knowing the depth of the water, my plunge into the ocean might end with a broken and battered body before the surf pounded me into the stony shore.
I twisted my body, hoping I wouldn’t break my toes, ankles, and legs when I smacked into the ocean feet first. The last time I had done something as stupid as jump off a cliff into the sea, I’d done just that. Only the fact I’d done the jump solo had prevented some uncomfortable questions, although changing to my wolf had lessened the damage from a full break to a fracture.
I didn’t have long to consider the painful ways I could die before I hit the churning waves. Blowing air out of my nose and mouth as I sank down, I kicked and swam for the surface. The water caught my clothes and jerked me towards the shore. It wasn’t until my feet hit bottom I was able to propel myself upward and gasp for breath.
The crack of gunfire heralded a splash beside me. I yelped and recoiled, and the second shot came so close to my shoulder the splash of the bullet hitting the water struck me in the face. I took a deep breath and dove, fighting with the dress coiling around my legs.
Unless I made distance or found a place to hide, I was as good as dead.
The open water offered the best chance of long-term survival, so I propelled myself deeper into the ocean, surfacing long enough to catch a breath of air before submerging again. Even with my wolf lending me his strength, it didn’t take long for my energy to flag and the weight of my dress to pull me down.
I broke the surface long enough to catch my breath, twisting to watch the cliff. I had washed out several hundred feet, but my wolf-enhanced vision caught the motion of the lift lowering to the shore beneath the castle.
Scallywag pursued me, and he had a motorboat still tethered to the dock.
“Mongrel,” I hissed.
The dress wasn’t fit to be worn by anyone ever again, so I ripped through the material in my effort to escape its heavy confines. The skirt went first, and the current ripped the fabric out of my hand. The rest I pulled over my head, although I ended up tearing the sleeves off, which were determined to cling to my arms. The bra took me the longest, and I cursed the clasp behind my back, submerging several times before I managed to free myself.
There wasn’t anything I could do about the stockings or tattered ruins of the sleeves, not without drowning myself in the process.
The backfiring of the motorboat’s engine warned me I’d run out of time. Cursing my luck, I dove and let the outbound currents catch me and propel me far from shore, where no sane man wanted to go.
Then again, no one in a small motorboat had any business risking the open ocean with a storm brewing on the horizon. One or both of us would drown, and I had no idea which one of us would succumb first.
With my luck, probably me.
Without the dress weighing me down, I could tread water. The thundering sky, surging winds, and capped waves offered a measure of protection from Scallywag, who trolled the waters in search of me.
When he spotted me, he screamed curses at me and fired his gun, but I ducked beneath the water and evaded his attempts to kill me. The storm swept in, and the rolling seas turned vicious, dragging me towards the cliffs, like it or not.
I definitely didn’t like it, especially because the same waves were driving Scallywag back to his dock. With no idea how many rounds he had left in his gun, if I wasn’t careful, our game of silent Marco Polo would come to a tragic end—for me. Snarling a curse, I angled towards shore to make distance from the madman and the cliff skirting his castle.
My wolf wanted me to put an end to the man permanently, but I didn’t dare.
I remembered too well what had happened to my mother. No matter how much Scallywag deserved it, I couldn’t reveal my true nature to the man or kill him. If I wanted to do more than survive through the day, I needed to make a clean getaway without anyone learning of my dual nature.
Focusing all of my attention on an outcropping of stone jutting up from the ocean, I swam across the current, allowing the waves to propel me towards shore while distancing myself from Scallywag.
I checked over my shoulder in time to watch the man drive his boat right up onto the stone shore and jump out before running in my direction. I snarled and dove, continuing towards my goal. When I surfaced, the crack of gunfire echoed against the cliffs.
The thump against my upper arm shocked the breath out of me, and the ocean pulled at my legs and dragged me under the waves. Conflicting currents spun me in a circle, tossed me to the surface long enough for me to splutter before sucking me down again.
Water swirled around me, and fire seared through my right arm despite the ocean’s chill.
A strong current snatched my feet, yanked me out of my spin, and jerked me out to sea. I clawed my way to the surface, although my right arm refused to obey me, leaving me using my legs to keep afloat. I twisted in a circle and hissed my shock at how far from shore the current had dragged me.
The ocean was full of perils, and rip tides drowned swimmers every year without fail. My only chance of escaping was to swim across the current and find calmer seas. With the full brunt of the storm stirring the water, my options were limited. Shuddering, I inspected my right arm, relieved and alarmed the bullet had gone through.
The hole wouldn’t
completely close when I shifted, but with luck, I’d be able to swim as a wolf. Otherwise, I’d drown, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I drew in a deep breath, called on my wolf, and shifted.
Under normal circumstances, shapeshifting from human to wolf involved a flash of pain that felt like it lasted an hour but took less than a second. Time slowed, stalling around me while my body twisted on itself, bones snapping and reforming while muscles snapped and regrew. My skin dissolved away before sprouting fur.
Shifting in the ocean hurt unlike anything I had ever experienced. While the waves froze around me, the frigid waters pierced through me, and the salt burned when I remained trapped between shapes.
I never quite understood the logistics of how my clothing and possessions shifted with me, but I was grateful for it; my identity and way to resume my life remained with me, one certainty I could rely on.
This time, however, something was different. Warmth surrounded my right foreleg, soothing and spreading through me to numb the pain of my transformation. When it reached my head, time snapped back to its proper order and waves crashed over me, dragging me beneath the water.
A soft, blue-white luminescence surrounded me, and where the light touched, I sensed life teeming in the water. Bubbles burst in the churning surf, and energy flowed as the storm unleashed all its fury on the uncaring sea.
The waters cared nothing for who—or what—lurked in them, lifeless yet full of life, leaving me to the mercies of fate. A fish, drawn in by my flickering glow, darted away, startled. My awareness of it winked out the instant it retreated.
Tearing my focus away from the unwanted insight, I forced myself into motion, paddling for all I was worth to the surface. I panted, tossing my head up high so the spray wouldn’t drown me before I had a chance to orient myself.
The currents tugged at my fur, but I fought them, and once I located the storm-battered coast, I angled towards shore while the rip tide clawed at me in its effort to sweep me farther from the safety of the cliffs.
Thunder rumbled overhead, and lightning flashed across the sky. The ocean trembled, and a jolt of electricity surging through the water made my body tingle. A second bolt zapped into the sea between me and the shore, and bursts of blue and white danced across my vision.
Several dead fish, victims of the storm’s fury, flowed by me on the currents, winking in and out of my awareness as they passed through my field of vision. My wolf’s hunger surged, but I wrestled control from him before he could chase down a free meal instead of swimming for the safety of shore.
By the time I swam free of the rip tide, the coast and its cliffs were distant. Huffing my displeasure, I shifted how I swam, catching one of the plethora of waves pounding the shore. As though bored of me, the sea willingly released me from its embraced, regurgitated me onto the pebbled coast, and left me lying where the land and water met, the surf tugging at my fur but lacking the strength to reclaim me.
It took a long time for me to catch my breath, and as my frantic heartbeat settled to a steadier rhythm, my body sent me a bill for all of the abuse I had put it through. While shifting helped mend broken bones and other injuries, they left their mark on me. The jump from the cliffs hadn’t helped any; my hind legs twitched and throbbed from the bruising impact with the water, and sharper pains warned me I had likely fractured something when I had hit the ocean. To make matters worse, a gradual but increasing throb in my head promised even more misery later.
At least the rip tide had helped in one way; I couldn’t spot any sign of Scallywag. The cliffs, while still towering overhead, were sheltered by a curve in the coast, buffering me from the full fury of the ocean and the storm churning it. Rain pattered down on me, accompanied by the rumbles of thunder and gusting winds.
Stifling a groan, I rolled over, got my paws under me, and staggered upright, my head hanging low as I braced my legs so I wouldn’t flop back to the pebbled beach. A glint of gold drew my eye to my right forepaw.
The bane of my heritage, the bright pink fur of my paws fading to a brilliant tawny gold frosted in white, was offset by the blue scarab cuff secured to my foreleg. During my transformation, it must have shifted, too, for it fit well. The metal and stones gleamed in the flashes of lightning, and it glowed a pale yellow, its color lost in the shimmer cast by my fur.
I bumped it with my nose. Warmth radiated from the metal and gemstones, and faint steam wafted from my fur, which fluffed as though someone brushed and dried it. I shook myself off, spraying water off my coat.
Later, I would ponder the mystery of the bracelet and why it hadn’t shifted and become a part of me like everything else I owned. Later, I’d worry about how and why it had attached itself to me.
First, I needed to get to Hamburg and make my escape from Europe before I caught a severe case of death, for which there was no cure.
Chapter Six
Time was not on my side. In my current state, even if I ran my fastest without stopping to hunt, it would take two days too long to reach Hamburg, Germany. There was no way I would catch my ship back to the United States, which left me with Plan B.
Plan B involved using an old passport set to expire in a few months and picking up the mantle of an identity I had left behind long ago. In all honesty, I was ex-military, although not in the way most people expected. It was the truth I had learned the finer points of military-level extraction from a former SEAL, but I had been far more involved than I liked to think about.
I’d never gone to boot camp; agents like me endured more unconventional training. I’d never served, not in the way that earned respect. I had a fake title, and it ranked among the officership, but it had been earned through subterfuge and special operations instead of traditional warfare or paper shuffling. Officially, I was a name in the records no one ever saw.
I would’ve given a great deal to be a traditional paper shuffler. Those with comfortable desk jobs didn’t throw themselves out of airplanes on the government’s command, slink into places they didn’t belong, or involve themselves in operations no sane man wanted a part of.
I had survived far more suicide missions than I wanted to think about.
Perhaps if I had started in the military instead of being shunted from military branch to military branch, I would have had more traditional training, but I was a ghost, someone who appeared unexpectedly in the night and vanishing as soon as my job was completed.
Right before I’d made my great escape from the government’s chokehold on my life, some spur-galled incompetent had thought it wise to elevate Daniel McClain, my name within the military, to the rank of Major in the Marine Corps as part of the ongoing coverup meant to help me slide from operation to operation, a fiasco that had ensured I hadn’t used the passport I’d been issued a week before a botched op had offered me freedom.
There was probably still a missing person's report out on me somewhere, which would result in some very uncomfortable questions if my passport was flagged. The government didn’t like when their officers vanished, and they had taught me many of the tricks I knew. I had new ones up my sleeve, but if I wanted to make it back to the United States undetected, I couldn’t do it as Declan McGrady.
The fact my client had sussed out Anthony’s location worried me. Fortunately, almost a decade had gone by since Daniel McClain had disappeared. All I needed to do was make it on board a cruise liner without being picked up.
I shuffled into a ground-eating lope heading north along the coast. I needed to traverse a great deal of France, the entirety of Belgium, and the Netherlands before following the German shore to Hamburg, where I’d book the next cruise out.
Fortunately for me, I had planned for some problems, and the lodge I had reserved in Hamburg was in my name for a full month, giving me plenty of time to make the journey before I had to worry about anyone invading the place searching for my whereabouts. The lodge knew I was scheduled to travel across Europe, resulting in me being gone for days or weeks at a time.
&nb
sp; While inconvenient, the lodge’s location would even allow me to skirt the city and approach as a wolf without running risk of anyone seeing me half-naked in the tattered ruins of a dress.
I had done my job, and considering I had been working with a stacked deck in the dealer’s favor, I had done it well. Sighing my resignation, I searched the cliffs for a way up.
If I wanted to reach Hamburg alive and in tolerable health, I needed to hunt. Then I’d run for as long and fast as I could, hoping I could get on board a cruise liner westbound before my strained body failed me.
France was not the optimal place for a werewolf. The few forests lining the vineyards and farms were thin and low on prey, and I didn’t dare approach the herds owned by humans. While I’d be long gone before the loss of the animals was discovered, I hadn’t survived for so long by taking unnecessary risks.
Most importantly, I didn’t dare get too close to civilization. The last thing I needed was someone reporting a ghost wolf with pink paws, nose, and tail. The tips of my ears also being pink was the insult to injury. When I was in my prime, I could almost control how much my fur glowed, though I could never quite get rid of the pale blue and white luminescence radiating from my fur. It made hunting difficult, giving my prey plenty of warning I was around.
Humans, especially the superstitious ones, tended to think the worst when they caught a glimpse of me. Some thought I was a demon dog coming to end their lives. Others thought I was more like a will o’ the wisp, luring them close so I could eat their souls while leaving their bodies alive.
I’d made the mistake of getting too close to people as a wolf once, and I swore it would never happen again. While I hadn’t been caught, I’d been forced to move away from the forest I’d called home, beginning my habit of changing territory every now and then to prevent people from finding me in the winter.
