Predatory

A/N: Content warning. Chapter contains some violence and mention of sexual assault/rape.

SASHA POV

When the swirling light and energy fade, I’m standing in the middle of what looks to be an abandoned warehouse. It’s mostly dark; witches’ lights, likely courtesy of Anselm’s fae retainers, bob here and there near the ceiling, and light from street-lamps outside slips through odd cracks in the walls and ceiling. Of course, the darkness will pose no problem to either Anselm or me, with our feline eyes.

The space where my fae escort and I are standing is clear and open, no doubt meant to be where Anselm and I fight. Around it, though, the warehouse is home to piles of boxes, rows of metal shelving, and decrepit equipment. Dust and cobwebs abound; no human has been here for quite some time.

“Here we are,” my escort announces, and some sort of glamour falls away.

“Ariadne? Anselm brought you along for this?” I question. I find it very hard to believe that Anselm would have brought along assistants I’m on friendly terms with to interrupt my field work, and I’m ashamed I didn’t recognize her earlier. I really need to get better at seeing through glamours. I can always tell when they’re there, but not what lies beneath them.

“He likes to bring the ones who are contractually obligated to fulfill his every whim whenever things are likely to get messy. Tempest is here, too.”

“You rang?” Tempest greets us with his unsettling, pointy grin, stepping out from behind a pile of abandoned warehouse junk. He and Ariadne were assigned to serve as Anselm’s personal assistants a couple years ago, as a punishment for somehow angering the Faerie Queen. Their term of service is ten mortal years, and they are counting down the seconds; we bonded shortly after their arrival through our mutual, deep and abiding dislike of our Commanding Officer. Unfortunately for me, there are still far too many seconds between them and freedom for me to reasonably hope they’ll be any help to me in this duel. I just hope their contract prohibits them from causing any form of harm to any WASP operatives.

“Speak of the devil.”

“You didn’t, but I came to tell you that he’s shifting now.”

Great. I was planning to use my feline form for this, since I’m otherwise unarmed, but I was hoping that he wouldn’t use his. Oh well. Either I’ll win or I’ll die, regardless of what forms we use.

“Guess I’d better do the same, then,” I sigh.

“You don’t have to. We’ve been authorized to provide you with one weapon of your choosing, if you’d rather keep this form,” Tempest informs me helpfully.

“Bold of him to offer, but I’d rather keep the playing field more…level.” A bazooka would be too merciful, I add silently, but I don’t dare say that aloud. Chances are that Anselm can hear everything we say. His fae assistants can afford to be flippant; their contracts protect them from his wrath. I am not so fortunate.

“As you wish. Sasha…are you sure? About this?” Ariadne asks me, periwinkle eyes glittering with concern.

“If you think I can’t handle this, just say so.”

“He is a volcano on the verge of eruption. Your energy is less readable. Storm clouds piling up.”

“Thank you.” If these fae can’t read me, there’s no chance Anselm can. “If you’ll excuse me. I have preparations to make.” I withdraw from them quickly, bounding over and around the derelict debris in the opposite direction from which Tempest approached Ariadne and me. I want to be as far from Anselm as possible to shift. Although my transition from this humanoid form to my melanistic leopard doesn’t take long—I have the shortest shifting time of any shape-shifter in WASP, as far as I know—those seconds of transition are my most vulnerable moments.

And Anselm has proven that he will take advantage of vulnerability whenever and wherever he finds it.

Memories threaten to overwhelm me—Anselm’s massive paw striking my mother’s head from her shoulders, his assistant holding my brothers’ heads down in buckets of water until they stopped struggling. And that horrible day at training, when I was too tired to run, too tired to fight him….

“One last lesson for today, Sukoshku,” he growled, planting a hand between my shoulder blades, pinning me to the floor. “You must be able to get information from your targets by any means necessary, including seduction, should the situation call for it. Other operatives have had trouble with that because of their own…lack of experience.”

Fabric rustling. A knife blade grazing my thigh, cutting my pants.

“Commander, please don’t—” I protested, squirming ineffectually. All his weight was on my slim fourteen-year-old body, my face in the dust of the training area, my limbs heavy and weak. I couldn’t get away.

“That will not be the case for you.” Pain, shame, disgust, PAIN, in a place I’d never explored myself. “You have the potential to be the best special operative we have ever had, and I’ll not have anything stand in the way of that.”

Elsewhere in the warehouse, something moves, making metal shelves screech on the concrete floor and bringing me back to the present. A few droplets of liquid have disturbed the dust in front of me, where I’ve crouched behind some boxes.

That’s the last time that bastard ever makes me cry.

In a matter of moments, I’ve pulled off all my jewelry, the high-tech devices Rika uses to keep track of me on missions. I don’t want to damage them when I shift. I hope I’ll be able to retrieve them, or that she’ll be able to find them. I don’t know where this abandoned warehouse is, but Rika and Zoe will be able to find it, as long as these stay intact.

Bast willing, I’ll be able to see them again, to thank them, to apologize.

The familiar black fur sweeps over my skin. Bones crack and lengthen. Muscles grow and shift. Everything is fire and pain, and then it’s over, and I flex my toes in the dust, letting deadly claws scratch the floor. I can hear Ariadne and Tempest muttering to each other, Anselm’s heavy footfalls, back from whence I came. I walk sedately back to the clear space in the middle of the warehouse. Pull yourself together. I’m sure Ariadne noticed my breakdown, but as long as Anselm knows nothing of it, it doesn’t matter. Better to have the moment of weakness before the duel.

“Welcome, Sasha Sukoshku,” Tempest says grandly as I enter the open dueling area directly opposite Anselm, who is now in the form of an immense lion. His mane is darker than I remember it being, and his coat is duller. I guess this form doesn’t age as well as his other one. I wonder how long it’s been since he’s used it in the field, in a real fight rather than sparring.

“Now that both contestants of the duel are present, we must determine the rules of combat,” Ariadne adds. “With your permission, we will use a temporary charm to allow you to make your thoughts audible in spite of your present forms.”

I dip my head to indicate consent, and Anselm does the same. I’ve done this before. Only the thoughts I direct as speech will be “heard,” meaning that I should be safe as long as I maintain my self-control.

Tempest and Ariadne chant a few words in some unfamiliar language, and then Ariadne touches my forehead while Tempest touches Anselm’s.

“I propose we fight until one of us surrenders,” Anselm’s rumbling tones echo inside my head. “Which will, of course, be you.”

“Don’t count on it,” I answer, keeping my tone light. Just banter before a sporting event between the opposing teams. “I don’t see you willingly choosing surrender, either. A fight until a surrender will likely be a fight to the death.”

“Generally speaking, death is considered an act of surrender,” Tempest verifies.

“When you lose, I’ll take that lycan’s life instead of yours. No sense sacrificing our best operative over a momentary lapse of judgment,” Anselm sneers.

“When I win, I will offer you the chance to retire and name me your successor. Refuse me and perish,” I respond coolly.

Ariadne shoots me a look that says she thinks I’m out of my mind. “Under the circumstances, we add a caveat that shifting between forms will also constitute an act of surrender,” she asserts firmly. “All combat must take place inside this warehouse without destroying it or giving any indication to the outside world that anything unusual is happening within. Violation of these terms will result in premature termination of the duel and arbitration of this dispute by outside parties.”

“Do all parties consent to the rules of combat?” Tempest inquires. He and Ariadne both seem on edge. They don’t like this. But they’re powerless to argue, powerless to intervene without direction from Anselm.

“I do,” Anselm and I answer at the same time.

“Then, without further ado, let the battle commence!”

Immediately, Anselm lunges towards me, powerful haunches propelling him towards me like a freight train. I wait without flinching and twist out of his reach at the last possible moment, swatting his flank with my claws extended as punishment for using such a tired tactic. He’s always been one to batter opponents into submission with brute force.

Blood streaks his dun-colored side as Anselm skids to a halt, stirring up a cloud of dust in his wake. Oooooo, now there’s an idea. I take off running, kicking up as much dust as I can. Behind me, I can hear Anselm pursuing me, but I’ve always been faster than he is. I leap onto a pile of boxes. Dust billows into the air as I bounce from box pile to box pile. As Anselm follows, the air in the warehouse quickly turns thick and choking, nearly unbreathable. I’ve moderated my breathing to long, slow inhales and steady exhales, trying to mitigate the damage to myself as much as I can. Visibility has been severely diminished. If I stay quiet….

A deep hacking noise, just to my left. I leap straight up into the air, barely avoiding Anselm’s massive paw. I land on his back and make sure to dig in all my claws before launching myself away from him again. He roars, but it cuts out partway through, giving way to more coughing. He’s close behind me, though; he must be doing some speed training on the regular when I’m not at HQ, and I’m not pushing full throttle just yet. I want him to underestimate me.

Time to take a chance. I whirl around to face him as he charges at me, diving low as he pounces. I slide under him, rolling to catch his belly with my claws, but his back claws cut my left hip deeply as I scramble to get away. Shit. Let’s not fuck up like that again. Normally I’d aim for throat shots, but his mane has his throat too well protected. Disemboweling him is my best chance at killing him.

Over the broken-down forklift, weave between the shelves. Dust is starting to die down; better fix that. Maybe I can get him to choke to death without having to put myself in harm’s way again. Dive to the side, wait, pounce—yes! Clean bite in the squishy part of his side, get away with just a scratch on my shoulder. He’s too slow. Run a zigzag path. Maybe I can get him to crash into something, stun himself briefly, give me an opening? Nope, he’s onto me, tightening up his techniques. Drat. Need a new plan. I charge directly for one of the support pillars at the edge of the open space. It’s solid steel, no real footholds, but if I go fast enough, inertia should carry me up it far enough for what I have in mind.

Here we go. Up, up, up—gravity is going to win—push off against the support beam. For a beautiful moment, I’m flying and twisting and somersaulting through the air as Anselm gapes at me below. Then my paws hit the ground and I’m sprinting directly at him again, swatting him with a paw as I dash by. He swings a paw heavily at me, but I’m already gone. Guess I can still surprise you after all. But no matter how clever I am, some things don’t change. He’s getting tired, not chasing after me as much. He wants me to bring the fight to him, which is where he’s strongest. It’s a good sign that I’ve already worn him down so much, but this is the part I’ve been dreading.

If you’ve ever been able to do it, Sasha, now is the time. It has to be this duel, and the sooner the better.

I slink back towards him, pretending I’m planning a sneak attack. He spins to meet me and then we start trading blows, twisting and turning around each other, dodging some hits, taking others. I evade more than I take, but both of us are getting sloppier due to fatigue, and our fight takes us all over the warehouse.

Suddenly my tail touches something behind me. I dart a glance backwards while dodging another of Anselm’s powerful paw-strikes.

I’m up against a wall. Anselm looms over me, his muzzle contorted in a triumphant sneer.

“Had enough, Sukoshku?” he taunts.