Unknotted

Parking Lot Brawl and Cracked Glass

Georgie

I lunged, and the dominant did too. His body morphed and swelled and swelled and swelled… Until I was lunging at an overgrown lion with four hundred pounds on me and a wingspan of golden brown and white feathers. Fantastic…

As I said before, fortune was never my friend. Only my luck would run me into the one hybrid with a near identical form to mine. Except he was larger and stronger.

I was already in mid attack before I realized my blunder. We collided, chest to chest, paws wrapping around each other in a death grip. His claws sank into my back, tearing fire through my flesh, while mine only ripped strands of feathery fur from his mane. I bit at his neck and received only a mouthful of fur for my efforts. Sometimes, being a female really was a disadvantage.

The weight of his charge knocked me backward. My back and wings slammed against the jagged gravel of the parking lot. I didn’t have a moment to shake off my disorientation before his fangs cinched around my throat. I sucked in one breath before he cut off my air. I scrambled to catch my feet under him, clawing at his belly with my hindlegs. Fangs digging into my neck, he thrashed and shook me like a ragdoll.

Living the life that I had, there were many ways I had imagined dying. Aside from expected deaths like being dissected by poachers or bludgeoned in gladiatorial combat, I had considered electrocution, a mishap with a chainsaw, heatstroke, suffocating in a refrigerator, one of Jik’s inventions blowing up in my face all possible ends to my life. Just to name a few. Dying in the parking lot of Chubby Burgers had never occurred to me until this moment.

My dominance was howling to keep fighting, to shove him off, and finish this. If it was that easy, I would have already done it. The Ebbing Society had taught me one hard lesson though: sometimes feigning weakness was the only way to stay alive and accomplish a mission.

So, instead of listening to my dominance and choosing option three, I retracted my claws and went limp. A moment later, his hold around my throat eased, and I was finally able to draw breath.

The dominant loomed over me, one massive paw to each side of my head, his bloody fangs bared. Even while he was attempting to kill me, the magic never stopped weaving. If he would only loosen his hold on the cords binding them—obviously we weren’t compatible—then maybe I could pick apart the half-finished knot.

He was too stubborn, or too stupid—I couldn’t decide which—to let go. What I needed to do was stretch the cords until they snapped. I needed distance and time away from this dominant. I needed an escape.

Time to switch tactics.

Slowly, I turned my head. He growled, his breath misting over my cheek. I stiffened, eyes squeezed shut, waiting for him to sink his fangs into my throbbing neck again. When he didn’t, I cracked an eye open and turned to look at him.

Eye color was the one constant in a world of shifting bodies. Even disguising potions couldn’t entirely cloak them. His azure eyes bore into mine, taking in every twitch of my whiskers, ready to finish me off if I didn’t do exactly as he wanted. Having trudged through enough of Peth’s smutty romance novels, I knew what that was. He wanted me to accept him as my pragmora and offer him unbreakable loyalty and endless affection. That should have been easy enough to fake, right?

I lifted my chin higher, exposing my throat in surrender. My dominance bayed at the indignation of it all, but I ignored its instincts. His growling tapered off, but his lips still bore his fangs. There must have been too much challenge in my eyes. So, I asked myself, What would Felicity do?

Nudging my nose against his, I brought my face dangerously close to his teeth. His lips fell over his fangs, and his ears perked forward with curiosity.

Very good.

I tried to roll onto my paws, but the moment I moved, he snarled and pushed me back down again, unconvinced I had fully submitted. Which I hadn’t. Because I wouldn’t. Submitting meant more than just doing what he wanted, it meant abandoning any rebellious thoughts. That wasn’t going to happen.

I needed to diffuse his doubts. Still on my back looking up at him from between his paws, I did something only desperation would drive me to. Again, I nudged his nose with mine, softening him, and licked his cheek.

He pulled back, surprised. I nudged him again and licked his lips. He tasted of cinnamon. A purr rumbled from his chest into mine. He sniffed my cheek, then rubbed his face against mine. His fur was soft and something about the connection I found undeniably pleasing. Inwardly, I berated myself for letting the potion muddle my thoughts.

He sniffed my throat, and a low, sad roar escaped him. He licked at the blood, and magic tingled and itched across my wounds. The pain ebbed away as his rough tongue cleaned my fur. I realized, with a measure of surprise, annoyance, and fear, he was healing me using the land’s magic.

How was that possible? Only hybrids with a connection through a coavani or pragmora knot could use the magic on each other. If I shared neither knot with this dominant, then he shouldn’t be able to heal me at all.

Unless… Dread dripped into my belly. Unless this had nothing to do with a potion and everything to deal with a genuine pragmora knot.

He finished healing my back and throat and stepped back without ever taking his eyes off me. I didn’t dare move yet. I knew how this worked; I had to wait until he granted permission. For the millionth time in my life, I stewed on how much I hated dominants.

Finally, with a nod of his massive head, he granted permission for me to roll onto my side. I followed him with my eyes as he circled. I couldn’t stop my tail from flicking as he rubbed against my back and nuzzled his head beneath my chin. His touches were kind now, playful. I wasn’t fooled. He was marking me with his scent. It could have been worse. Skunk could have been part of his beasts form. His scent though was clean, masculine, and thankfully, subtle.

Once I was thoroughly covered in his smell, he nudged his nose against mine one more time before turning and throwing a command over his shoulder. “Come.”

With this back turned, I scowled at him. But he was still too alert for me to risk fleeing, and his cronies were closing in behind me. I looked them over for any sympathy I could lean on. The one with the dreads frowned, arms crossed. He gestured with his chin for me to obey his friend. No help there apparently. The other, well, he didn’t look too pleased either. At least he wasn’t glaring at me. Rather he seemed to be contemplating what had just transpired. Also, not helpful.

My attacker glanced back. Seeing me still lying there, he snarled and swiped at the air. “Come.” His voice was sharp again.

I eased onto my paws, tucking my wings against my body, and crawled forward on my belly. I must have looked pathetic enough. He dropped his eyes to the ground, as if ashamed—as he should be—and turned away. I followed him, his buddies closing in behind.

(Chapter continues in part 2)