Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers

Two upstairs windows shatter. A fox, a wolf, and a bobcat – Ike, Tommy, and Hank – hit the front lawn with teeth bared. Gunshots crack like thunder. I glance up to see Mark’s head and his scoped Ruger Redhawk 44 appear in the busted window. He gets off a shot, ducks down, and Oscar - with a shotgun - pops up in his place. Two more shots. The four not-Shifters stop their prowling long enough to get a look at Mark and his hand cannon. Ike doesn’t waste any time going straight for the throat of the nearest not-Shifter

I trust Mark and Oscar, as much as I trust anybody, not to accidentally shoot me in the back. Jose Shifts and uses his tail to knock Az on her ass. Eyes wide and cell phone at her ear, she crawls under the SUV.

Something heavy and sharp plows into the side of my head. Bright spots obscure my vision. A tall, hulking blurry figure rushes toward me. Instinct kicks in. I may be shorter than the creature on two-legs, but I’m quicker.

My retreat puts me directly in the path of another not-Shifter. Sandwiched between Fugly #1 and Fugly #2, I clamp my jaws around the nearest piece of not-Shifter flesh. Warm, bitter blood coats the back of my throat. That first, hot metallic taste is like flipping a switch in my head. My muscles relax and fall into the chaos of battle.

Bite. Dodge. Rush. Attack. Fangs and claws and the rush of adrenaline. God, I love it.

Not-Shifter skin is thick, but it shreds like tissue paper under my claws. It doesn’t take long for the road to become slick with blood and other fluids. I have to dig my claws in to maintain any traction. Fugly #3 escapes Jose’s relentless attack and comes at me with bloodlust glazed eyes.

I dodge left, hoping I can use the oak tree as a shield, but he catches me with a double-fisted hit to my rear flank. One minute that leg holds my weight and the next it doesn’t. When Fugly #3 pulls back for another hit, I twist and catch his forearm with my front claws. The white of his exposed bone is mesmerizing. Let’s see all of it.

He tries to pull away from me. A fist to the muzzle doesn’t dissuade me. Two front paws on his shoulders send us crashing to the damp grass. He plants a palm against my chest to try and heave me off him. Sweat beads on his forehead and streams, in pink rivulets, off his face.

I don’t even have to fight him anymore. All I have to do is… lean in.

His ulna shatters.

Rough, frantic hands pull me off the screaming not-Shifter. A sharp kick clacks my teeth together. A second kick knocks the breath out of my lungs. A third kick breaks a few ribs and sends me airborne.

Tommy’s howl wakes me from a pained daze. I hit the ground on all four feet. My rear flank protests the jostle. I ache everywhere, but I don’t have time to lick my wounds. The wards won’t hold forever. Who knows how many not-Shifters Olivet has in reserve. There are wounded Shifters in the house that have to be protected.

Fugly #4 breaks away from his battle with Ike to swipe at Jose’s recently healed tail. A fat chunk of spotted fur splats on the driveway. Az’s whimper is like a hot poker to my stomach.

Ike and I avenge Jose’s tail by removing four of Fugly’s fingers and most of his teeth. We bat him back and forth like a chew toy. Swipes of claws crosshatch already shredded skin. Nips that sting and bleed but aren’t fatal. Headbutts into joints and soft spots. Fugly #4 tries to defend himself, but he’s lost too much blood. He can’t keep up with us. Ike and I have hunted together for years.

When Fugly #4 is flat on his back, we step back to let Jose avenge his own damn tail. It’s a quick, but gory, evisceration. Fucking cats. Even I have a healthy respect for Jose’s rear feet.

Four Shifters versus three not-Shifters. Better odds, but not enough to warrant relaxing my guard. I head back for Fugly #3. That leaves Tommy and Hank with Fugly #2 and Ike with Fugly #1. Jose darts from Fugly to Fugly like he’s just inhaled a bag of catnip.

Jagged not-Shifter teeth scrape across my shoulder. I push the pain aside and dance around Fugly #3 until I find the right angle. I drive my head into his abdomen. When he doubles over, I kick him into the crumbling mailbox. Greta’s going to kill me for that one. She picked out the damn mailbox after the last one died an impressively explosive death.

Tommy yips. Hank soars through the air and crashes into the base of the oak tree. He regains his feet after a heart-stopping second, but his right foreleg is broken and I can see his ribs as well as a portion of his spine.

Tommy yips again as Fugly #2 tears a chunk out of his left flank. Fugly #3 doesn’t rise from where he’s curled around the mailbox. Okay. Priorities. Unconscious enemy or alive, and in danger, pack mate? Not even a question, really.

I race towards him, feet slipping on the damp grass. My weakened rear flank slows me down. I attempt to compensate by taking larger leaps, but fire races across my wounded side and nearly paralyzes me. Fugly #1 slips out of Ike’s grasp and leaps on my back.

Ike pulls him off of me and does something that makes Fugly #1 scream like an electrocuted banshee. It’s too late, though. Fugly #2 digs both hands into Tommy’s sides. When Fugly #2 pulls back, his twisted hands are coated with fur, blood, and pieces of bone. Miraculously, Tommy starts to move away from his tormentor. Two shots from the windows ring out and give Tommy more time to make his escape.

Time but not the energy. Tommy falls just outside the ward boundary. I waste precious seconds watching, waiting, for his chest to rise. Blood pools around his broken body. I take a step toward him, intent on dragging him inside the wards before one of the not-Shifters can finish the job. Claws scrape along my left side, dig in and swing me around. While I’d been distracted, Fugly #3 had risen to his feet.

Fugly #3 is a small but scrappy bastard. Resilient as hell. If he wasn’t trying to kill me, I might admire his staying power. He releases my shoulders to tear at my chest with his good arm. I bob away from his talons and drive my head into the side of his knee. The impact makes him teeter, but he remains upright.

Fine. Be that way. I bury my teeth into the furry, thick skin of his calf just behind his knee as he turns away to slice at me with his claws. His momentum, coupled with a furious snap of my head, tears his hamstring. He leg buckles.

His carotid artery is at muzzle-height. I’ve never been one to pass up an easy kill.

A shot, from far closer than the upstairs window, rings out. I spin, certain to keep my back against what’s left of the mailbox. Az, still on her knees but far too close to the wards for my peace of mind, aims and fires off another shot at the not-Shifter inching closer to Tommy’s body.

When Fugly #2 retreats – clutching at the spot where his ear used to be - Az drops the gun to the driveway. The scent of her blood floats on the breeze as she scrambles across the rough driveway to reach Tommy. It’s obvious that she’s trying to stay inside the boundary, but her reach just isn’t long enough.

A snarl over my left shoulder distracts me. I turn my head for a second. Just one fucking second to make sure no one’s going to try and bite me in the ass.

The pained cry of an ocelot seems to freeze the scene. No one moves. I don’t dare breathe.

Fugly #2 has a thick, hairy arm wrapped around Az’s neck. Her toes don’t touch the ground. He lifts her fallen ponytail, inhales, exhales, and laughs. The grating sound sets every one of my nerves on end.

“Human,” Fugly #2 grunts. “Fitting pet for Shifters. Just how far would they go to save you, human?” The not-Shifter tightens his grip on Az’s neck.

His beady eyes are fixed on me. The question is meant for me. I know the answer. He knows the answer. Everyone should, by now, know the damn answer. She’s pack.

“Shift,” he orders.

Does he really think that being in human form will make me any less dangerous? When I don’t immediately comply with his demand, he gives Az a brain-rattling shake. Her face goes ashen. Lines of pain bracket her pursed lips. I don’t hesitate to Shift out of animal form.

Every frantic beat of my heart urges me to rush forward and rip out the bastard’s spine for daring to touch Az. My racing brain reminds me that he could snap her neck before I made it two steps. I’d kill him, no doubt about that, but Az would be dead, too. Not a win-win situation.

“You know,” she sighs, as if she’s not seconds from being a corpse. “I’m really tired of people asking me the wrong question.”

I don’t like the way this sounds. I glare at her, trying my damndest to implore her to just be patient. I’ll get her out of this. Alive. Where’s the trust she promised?

“What’s the right question?” Fugly #2 asks, gaze darting down to his captive.

“How far would I go to save them?”

Before his tiny brain can process her response, she clamps both hands on his wrist and sinks her sharp nails into his skin. She curls one leg back to wrap her bare calf around his thigh. Given the angle and the height, her heel has to be somewhere damned uncomfortable. Good girl.

Fugly #2 bucks and twists, but she sticks to him like a barnacle. He flails his free arm. Slams his wrist into Az’s temple. Does it again when she doesn’t so much as flinch.

Her eyes fall shut for a moment. Her lips move. I barely make out the whisper of my name. Fugly #2 staggers backward. She’s draining him. Which I ordered her not to do. I foresee a long, loud talk in our future. His palm cracks against her face. Blood gushes from her nose to join the trickle running down the not-Shifter’s arm.

A dozen plans flit through my mind. A dozen plans are discarded . She’s too close for me to risk an attack. Too close for anyone in the window to get a good shot. With the way they’re moving, there’s no guarantee she won’t get hit.

As soon as her feet touch the ground, she propels them forward, stumbling and groaning, until they land in a huddle at my feet. The not-Shifter seems stunned. His eyes are closed and he’s stopped flailing.

I lift him up by the scruff of his neck. I can scarcely see through the red haze of wrath, but I tamp down on my anger. For a moment. I’m seconds from Shifting, and I don’t know that I can control myself if I do. Fur sprouts along my arms and my fingers lengthen, sharpen, into claws.

“Close your eyes, Princess.”

She’s no dainty daisy, but there are some things she doesn’t need to see. She doesn’t fear me now, and I don’t want to do anything to change that. Olivet is watching, he has to be, and I want him to know what happens to those who threaten my people. Who threaten my void.

I wait until she dutifully squeezes her eyes shut to drive my flattened hand up under Fugly #2’s rib cage into his thoracic cavity. His eyes bulge out when his xiphoid process breaks off. My hand’s momentum drives the ossified cartilage into Fugly’s heart. Skin and muscle rip under my nails.

Fugly’s heart thumps rapidly against my palm. I stare into his frightened eyes as I rip the organ out. Still beating, it lands nears Jose’s paws. The body falls to the ground with a thump. It starts to dissipate within seconds. The odor of sulfur rises from the ground. The heart remains.

“Can I open them now?” Az croaks, pinching her nose to try and stem the flow of blood.

I wipe the blood off my hands as best I can. Breathe in deep to shake off the Shift. “Yes.”

I haul her to her feet, intent on cleaning her up and then yelling at her until she’s deaf and I’m hoarse. She, naturally, has other ideas. She digs her heels into the ground when I try to drag her away from Tommy.

“I want to help with the triage,” she says. “Hank’s in no shape to play doctor.”

“How much magic did you absorb?”

“Enough to weaken tall, dark, and stinky.”

Oh, Princess, you do not want to play games with me right now. Killing Fugly #2 didn’t satisfy my rage. Not even a little. “How much?”

“Enough to make everything very funny for the next few hours,” she laughs. “Even Mark. I can give it to you, if you’d like.”

“No!” The last thing I need is more energy. “Discharge into the wounded if it’ll help.”

“Okay, you big meanie. What is your problem, anyway? In case it escaped your very attractive eyes, we won.”

“My problem? What is my problem?” I let go of her and take a large step back. Distance. Distance is good. “My problem is that you don’t stay fucking put when you’re told to. There are a half-dozen people here to protect you, and you still have to charge in like the damn cavalry. And then,” I poke her bloodstained chin, “then you have to taunt the psycho intent on killing you. Because you can’t keep your damn mouth shut for five fucking minutes!”

She blinks. A bucket of fury dumped on her and she just blinks. “Am I a member of this pack or not?”

“God, Princess, if you even have to ask…”

“Then you can’t have it both ways, Ricky. The pack comes first. The pack protects me, and I protect the pack.”

“Damn it, Az.” I don’t like her logic. Especially not when she’s basically throwing my words back at me. “This isn’t what I meant.”

“Too bad.” She grins, bruised face and busted nose not doing a damn thing to detract from her joy. “No takesies backsies. I’ll protect every member of this pack, even its obstinate Alpha, with my last breath.”

I haul her against me. She lets out a small oof on contact, but her arms wind around my waist. I bury my face in her hair; it smells like magnolias and dust and magic. Given that we’re surrounded by blood, it’s a welcome respite. “Let’s not let that be too soon, okay?”

“Cross my heart and, well, you know.”

Yeah. I know.