First Species

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  I wrinkle my nose, clearly smelling animal, the faint smell of manure, and, of course, the hay smell.

  Straw litters a concrete floor with my body a small heap on top of it. Heartbeats start piling up, and I sit up straighter, letting my gaze roam. A lone window is placed high on the wall, maybe three and a half meters from the ground.

  There are bars covering the glass.

  Weak light drifts through, showcasing the dust motes dancing in the filthy, stagnant air. Where am I?

  Nowhere good, I answer my internal question.

  Just then, the door I didn't realize was behind me opens, and a brutally handsome man strolls through. Built like a pro-wrestler, he offers a vague smile. The expression sits on his face as though he's not accustomed to using his facial muscles that way.

  Pushing off with my hands, I affect a backward scuttle. Reaching the wall and using the heels of my palms, I walk myself up the wall.

  When I'm standing, I keep my hands flat against the cold stone surface of the space.

  It's just him and me.

  I don't know who he is, but he carries a completely different vibe then Jac and Drest. Given how I got here, this dude can't be good.

  The prehistoric and First were hotheads. But I knew they were intrinsically decent.

  This guy—doesn't feel good, and the urge to cry closes my throat for the hundredth time in the space of twenty-four hours.

  “I am Seiger.”

  I jump at the deep timbre of his voice as the sound vaguely echoes within the strangely-shaped room I find myself.

  Say-gher. The name sounds Spanish or something. Hard to remember, harder to say.

  I keep silent.

  Steadily, he walks toward me.

  I don't have anywhere to go. Instead, I flatten my body against the wall.

  When Seiger looms above me, he cups his hand over my crotch.

  I whimper, instant sweat forming at my pits, crotch—dampening my hands.

  “You are ripe, female.”

  As if this insult weren't enough, in walks Chuck, closely followed by Dave then Scott, the dickheads from the bar and obviously something more.

  Oh my God, fluke of fucking flukes.

  My eyes shift back to Seiger.

  Instinctively, I know he's the real threat. None of them have auras. That's why I didn't know about Chuck and crew.

  But Seiger does. A cloud of inky vapor covers his skin, which also shimmers like Jac and Drest's.

  Unlike theirs, his is a low iridescence, snaking through the ebony of his aura like a tease of goodness.

  I know better.

  “Isn't she a ripe peach?” Chuck cackles.

  Instantly, I find my voice. “Fuck you, Chuck.”

  His smug smile vanishes.

  Seiger claps a hand over my mouth. The hand that'd been covering my crotch loosens a finger and jams itself upward, lodging, material and all, deep inside my channel.

  My scream is muffled by his hand.

  “You will not use those words, or I will cut your tongue out.” His lips curl into a cruel smile. “You don't need one to be bred.”

  Feeling my eyes bulge, I nod my head. Anything to get his finger out of me.

  He excises the digit but cups me again, simultaneously lifting my body off the ground with one hand.

  His hand is hard against my vulnerable center.

  I try not to contemplate how strong Seiger would need to be to lift a woman by the crotch with one hand, and I can't manage to wrap my tired brain around the thought.

  Chuck sidles up beside Seiger, dwarfed by their leader's size.

  My throat makes a dry click as I painfully swallow.

  Chuck's nostrils flare. “I like her scared.”

  “As do I.” Seiger shifts his eyes to Chuck. A hollow piece of time slips by, “Leave us, Chuck.” His voice bites the other guy's name off like an amputation.

  In a very unlike-Chuck-reply, he bows his head, tucking his eyes away and a tail I can't see, the jerk. “Yes, Alpha,” Chuck mumbles.

  I was right. This creepy guy is their leader. Not that the why or who matters.

  Somehow, Chuck and gang got me away from Drest and Jac. Supposedly, the top shelf dudes of shifterdom.

  My eyes follow Chuck's backward retreat through the open door. Light disappears when the door is shut and latched behind him.

  Those soulless eyes return to me, his hand squeezing my vagina painfully. “Now, where were we?”

  I struggle in earnest, screaming beneath his hand.

  He silences me.

  “Do not make me hurt you more, Paige.”

  Spitting blood, I use my elbows to try and crawl away.

  I thought my fingers had hurt before. Three are broken now, adding to the insult of the torn nailbeds.

  Landing on the back of me, Seiger seats his raging erection between my butt cheeks.

  I must be some kind of closet masochist. Bucking hard, I displace his intrusive rod and have time to be grateful for the extra strength I've gained through my current transition before Seiger grabs my hair, smacking my forehead into the ground.

  Stars explode in my vision.

  “I will take you, female. You will bear me chimera.”

  “Fuck you,” I grind out, realizing something wonderful, something terrible.

  I am transitioning, and I'm also dying.

  Chuck came and fucked that up with whatever he did. Sort of like someone nailing my system with uppers and downers at the same time.

  So I'm in a sort of limbo. My face is pressed to the filthy floor, bruised cheekbone swelling against the cold concrete.

  My palm is pressed against the surface, elbow up. Elbow up, I think.

  Slamming the hardest part of my body above me, I hear a crack sound.

  Seiger howls, rolling off my back.

  Relieved of his weight, I jump to my feet, sway, nearly face plant, but with a lurching pivot, stagger toward the door instead.

  I try the latch, and it holds. Landing my forehead against the surface, I suck an inhale, gritting my teeth against the searing pain of my fingertips, and jerk the handle with both hands. The cool metal comes off in my grip just as Seiger catches up to me.

  Rounding the handle on him, I slam the solid pull into his already broken nose. Four! The contact is brutally effective, and Seiger falls like a sack of potatoes where he stands.

  Sucking back a sob, I drop the thing and whirl toward the door again.

  Slipping my abused fingertips between the crease of the door and the jamb, I pull, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip to keep the scream at bay.

  The door gives, and I stumble into a brightly lit corridor. Not turning to see what's happened to Seiger (I hope that fucker is dead), I shuffle down the hall, noting the windows similar to the one in the room I'd been in, line the wall at the same three and a half meter height. All barred.

  Stifling another defeated sob, I make my way with tunnel vision to the door I see at the very end of the labyrinth-type hall.

  Please, God.

  Please.

  Sudden pain cripples me, and I drop to my knees and look at the back of my foot. A bone protrudes from where Seiger repeatedly stomped on it.

  I stand with one leg. Eyes fixed on the door, and begin to walk, dragging my broken foot.

  Almost there.

  I halt suddenly. The ground shakes. At first, it's a tremor, reverberating beneath me with shivering, rhythmic force. Then, the vibration becomes stronger, causing the ground to shudder beneath my weight. A bellow from an animal not heard on the earth for millennials sounds.

  I cover my ears. Jac!

  Dragging faster, I reach the door just as a hand grabs the waistband of my pants, hauling me backward. I scream the malesʼ names. The ones I had been ready to leave. The ones who can save my life.

  I scream with everything I've got. But I'm too damaged to fight Chuck. Who's a half-horse something. Scott and Dave look like... hyenas.

  “No,” I whisper, and my
bad foot twists. “Let me go!”

  Chuck grabs me by my neck, dragging me up with his arm that still looks normal. The other one is half-hoof.

  The air in my lungs freezes. OhGodOhGodOhGod.

  All hope drains away as I realize if the cavalry had shown up, how would they find me when Chuck has my neck in a vice? Can't breathe—can't talk.

  One of the men punches me as I helplessly hang there, breaking a rib.

  “That's enough. Don't want to break too much of her, or she won't carry offspring well.”

  Silent tears drop over the flesh of his clenched hold on my throat. The new pain of my broken rib layers on that of the foot and nails before it.

  Death is the only release from the prison of my pain.

  Then, my eyes take in a beaten Seiger making his way to where I am pinned against the wall. A fierce moment of pure joy seizes me, knowing I am the cause of the healing marks and breaks all over his body.

  Even though I'm apparently dying, the new blood from my transition roars through me, gaining me something wonderful I can use.

  Shutting my eyes as oxygen ebbs, I visualize my hands being new again like the ones I saw on Drest.

  Not human. But other. Maybe I can make a difference with the time I do have left.

  Chuck's eyes round when mine open because he's seeing something new.

  Our mutual gaze moves to the hand that wraps his forearm. It's mine but not. I jerk the talons of my hand through the flesh of his arm, leaving gleaming tracks of revealed bone.

  Rearing my hand back, I plunge my new knife-like protrusions through his throat.

  I don't have the strength to extract them, so we fall together.

  When the door is opened behind me, we tumble through, landing between stout legs five meters higher from where my body lays.

  I don't move. Even with Chuck bleeding on top of me, I lie there, arms falling lifelessly to the sides of my body.

  With a roar, the woolly rears a knee, and with the last vestiges of strength, I roll Chuck off my body.

  The woolly brings his foot down hard, crushing what Chuck was into unrecognizable bloody soup.

  Bits of Chuck splatter me.

  Drest drops to kneel beside my body, eyes running over my form, clearly taking in the damage. The image of him shimmers, wavering like water sheeting glass, and suddenly, he's First.

  I mutely watch Dave and Scott die, limbs discarded like doll parts. I don't mind the warm blood smacking my body.

  I lick it from my abused lips, praying for death.

  Praying for anything at all.

  Chapter 22

  Drest

  W e're on the run with the entire Mutable colony on our asses, in addition to our female sliding into death.

  Lungs burning, I traverse the gradual hills far from Sioux Falls at a steady climb. If we can just get to the more mountainous areas, we can seek shelter and transition Paige.

  There is no more time left for easing the female into her new role. It's already manifesting. It's transition or death.

  “Stop,” Paige whispers.

  “Shh, female,” I soothe with a gasp and increase my speed. Fuck jostling, she will have to deal with the jarring as a consequence of escaping the Mutable nightmare we found ourselves in, allowing myself a small smile of savage satisfaction.

  By my reckoning, we dispatched nearly thirty percent of the colony. Reluctantly, I must concede the woolly was a huge part of that success.

  He's just so damn big.

  Jac suffered huge damage, but like a real soldier, he runs with wounds that can only partially heal with the energy expenditure for flight that he requires.

  That we both do.

  Thank earth there are no Lycan who are part of the colony—or cheetah. Our trek would be mired in battles and eventual death as the rest of the Mutables caught up to us.

  But earth is smiling on the pair of war-torn shifters we are, and we run with the wind at our backs, the scent of our flight in the perfect direction for non-detection.

  Finally, a stroke of luck.

  Jac scrabbles up the face of a jagged, nearly vertical outcropping of rocks. Sure-footed, the woolly keeps his half-mammoth form and lifts himself with sheer raw power, using his brutal strength to advantage. Reaching the top, he flings himself over the upper curve at the apex of the rock slope with a ground-shuddering thunk.

  My fatigued muscles shake as I scale the last three meters. I don't conceal my relief when Jac's head pops over the cliff, and he holds out his arm.

  Paige is tethered to my back in an ingenious wrap of discarded material, and the feel of her dead weight worries me though I sense she still lives. Barely.

  Grabbing Jac's forearm, I feel him wrap his fingers around my own, and he hauls mine and Paige's combined weight over the cliff.

  Landing hard, I cringe as small rocks dig into the flesh of my hands and knees with biting teeth.

  Jac walks around to my back. “Fuck, she looks bad.”

  My inhale is a raw slice of starved oxygen. “Stop talking, and get her off.”

  Carefully, Jac untwines the fabric stolen off a dead Mutable's corpse from Paige's body and the lightness of her falling backward causes me to close my eyes.

  Turning to look at our female is the bravest thing I've ever done. Guilt bottoms out my stomach as I take in her injuries.

  Her First form had pushed through to assist her as the onslaught from the despicable Alpha had rained down on her.

  Paige lies so still.

  Jac and I exchange a look for a swollen moment. “Is there a cave or anything... anywhere?” I ask, hoping for something, expecting nothing.

  He scrubs his weary face with a filthy hand. “Think so. We got lucky. There's something not too far from here.” Jac leans forward. “Can you scent those assclowns?”

  Too tired to laugh, I nod. “I have the ability, but I don't scent them.”

  Jac's shoulders release tension. “Gotta say I'm about outta gas.”

  I know exactly how he feels, and we have a female to transition. Swinging a hand ahead of me, I say, “Lead the way, prehistoric.”

  With a sour look, Jac scoops the drowsy Paige into his arms and trots across the slightly uneven, but thankfully, flat rockscape we cover as quickly as possible.

  “Gonna need water,” Jac tosses back at me.

  Yes, I think, unconsciously licking parched lips.

  Jac disappears around a corner, and suddenly, he's out of sight. I turn slowly, taking in the encroaching twilight and dimming environment as my gaze hunts his location.

  Closing my eyes, I drop my jaw and scent him out.

  Whipping my head to the right, I make out a sliver of dark inside what looks like a simple crevice in a gigantic, misshapen boulder.

  Frowning, I walk forward and squeeze my body sideways, glad that I've shifted back to gorillan. My First would have never fit.

  Entering, I stop, allowing my eyes to adjust to the near-dark of the new environ.

  “Over here, First.”

  Suppose I deserve that, but from now on, we'll probably be on a first-name basis. Since Paige will be ours whether she wants to be or not. The consequence does not sit well with me. In my mind, I was always going to be with a mate who had chosen me.

  Now, it would not be me but us. Jac, me, and Paige. Jac and I aren't exactly compatible.

  I walk toward the sound of his voice and drop to my knees when I scent Paige.

  Her distress. Her impending death.

  His wide eyes shine as they meet mine. “Fuck, dude, can you bite her?”

  Quickly, I survey the damage, sensing the injuries: broken rib, foot, lacerations galore, and some internal injuries that are vague but present.

  Picking up a delicate hand, I note the talons and two twisted fingers of one hand while the other one remains in human form with a broken digit as well.

  A breath of rage leaks out of me. The force of adrenaline and energy required to partially turn in this way makes me sick. Th
at a female in transition would use her life's essence to defend herself goes beyond the emotion of rage into the visceral. I wish I could have killed that fucking Alpha.

  Reining in my temper with an effort, I say, “I can inject her with my healing essence to help stabilize Paige, but the injuries will have to wait for later.” I give a small shake of my head.

  “Why is she partial First?” Jac asks.

  Throat burning, I say quietly, “Paige had to use all her strength and a good part of her life essence—sacrifice it—to defend herself.”

  His fists clench. “Those. Fucking. Dicks,” Jac seethes.

  “Yes.” Flattening my hands underneath her upper body, I slide them beneath her and gently haul Paige onto my lap.

  Her flesh is hot, skin gray.

  Paige suddenly opens her eyes, the lovely color of our kind, a light, molten gold filling with sudden panic and pain from the movement.

  Brushing some loose dark blond hairs from her ashen face, I say formally, “All will be well.”

  Lifting a hand with great slowness, she places it on my arm.

  Blinking rapidly, I haul her higher unto my lap, fangs elongating until closing my mouth is impossible.

  Jac remains silent for once.

  Her throat to my lips, I don't explain.

  Widening my jaw, I strike hard.

  Paige's body stiffens, and I grip her to me, disallowing movement so her throat is not torn by my deep punctures. My body releases what it's meant to. Unfortunately, First Species males only release healing essence into females who are destined or who are already their mates.

  In this case, circumstance forced our hand. Now, it is destiny's choice if she survives.

  Paige's body falls limp in my arms.

  Jac leans forward, palms to bended knees, eyes wide.

  Releasing her throat carefully, I retract my fangs and tongue the wound closed. Her head rolls to the side, and the wounds of my healing are already beginning to fade.

  “Will she be okay?”

  I shrug. “I do not know.” I cannot help the uncertainty in my tone.

  “What?” Jac hisses. “Aren't you the ʻfirst of us all?ʼ”