Or who thought I wielded mystical witchy powers to get it, which was beyond ridiculous.
Aunt Grier was a necromancer. Had her magic mutated me in utero, that was what I would have become—a necromancer. Not a garden-variety witch, but whatever.
If I tried beating the ignorance out of people, I was more likely to kill them than cure them.
“I’m sorry,” I told her, “for the abundance of dickweasels in your pack.”
“I’m also sorry for the abundance of dickweasels in your pack.”
Our easy camaraderie made it simple to picture how this might have been my life, had I been born without necromantic intervention. I could have had friends in my pack, friends in other packs. My status as the eldest child of the alphas would have elevated me rather than made me a target with a flashing sign on my back. But without Aunt Grier, and her magic, I wouldn’t be standing here.
“Here, fishy, fishy, fishy. Here, fishy.”
Paula jumped at the voice and only then noticed my backpack. “What is that?”
“My aunt’s parakeet.” I shrugged out of the pet carrier. “Corbin, do you mind holding Keet?”
We had reached the top, where more grates formed a platform over a massive tank filled with…sharks.
Well, that explained why Bast confronted me in the tunnel. A hint of things to come.
“Oh,” Corbin grumbled, “so you do remember I’m here.”
As if I could forget. His presence was a warm tingle down my spine, impossible to ignore.
Once Corbin was in possession of the carrier, bubble facing out, Paula peered in.
“Oh. I see him.” She laughed. “He was hanging upside down from the top.”
“He’s weird like that.”
“Here I was wondering if clear backpacks were new and trendy. I always miss those memos.”
“Trendy? Me? No.” I snorted. “Whoever’s in charge of fashion deleted me from their newsletter too.”
I tolerated jeans, tees, and undies. I hated socks, shoes, jackets. I preferred strappy camisoles with shelf bras, though I didn’t require one, sadly, and breezy athletic shorts with panties sewn in.
Simple. Painless. Efficient.
Glamourous, I was not.
Plus, it was easier to get bloodstains out of basic clothing. Or to replace it without breaking the bank.
“Anytime, princess,” Bast taunted. “I don’t have all night.”
“That’s my cue.” I rolled my shoulders. “Paula, if you have a phone, I would appreciate you filming this.”
Technology made it easy for wins and losses to be credited without dispute.
For that reason, I filmed everything. Then I sent the tamer bouts to my folks, who watched the clips at home while eating popcorn and cheering me on from the couch. Sometimes they invited friends over, really made a party out of it, and left me wishing I had never been born.
Corbin had no parting words for me, but he did hold my stare until I broke away to face Bast.
“You challenged me, I even let you pick the location, but the choice of weapon is mine.”
“I can beat anything you’ve got.” He snorted. “Are your claws manicured too?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The tips of my fingers were a horror show of chewed nails and torn cuticles. “Do you even know what a manicure is?”
Paula’s soft laughter did nothing to calm Bast’s raging temper, and he released a vicious growl.
“Shift.” I anchored my hands on my hips. “I’ll give you a five-second head start.”
“Keep it.” His upper lip quivered, and spittle dotted his chin. “I can beat you without it.”
“Need me to hold your clothes?” Paula checked with me. “You don’t want to lose them in the water.”
“Gwyllgi keep what they wear during the shift,” Corbin answered for me. “Handy, right?
“For real?” She gaped at me. “So unfair.”
“It’s a fae thing.” I winked at her. “Thanks for offering, though.”
Crimson magic splashed up Bast’s legs in a red wave that crested his shoulders, climbing until it coated him. As the viscous liquid drained away, his human shape did too, melting into a muscular form that was half bull mastiff and half Komodo dragon. His burnt-orange fur gave way to heavy scales in strategic places, and needlelike teeth filled his mouth.
The change was much gentler to my kind than our warg ancestors, faster too, but he wasn’t me.
Not to brag, but I came from a long line of female alphas. I might be crap at living in my human skin, but I knew my worth on four paws.
On the edge of my hearing, Corbin counted down from five, as if he couldn’t help himself.
When he hit one, I gave myself over to the magic, and it splashed, crimson and vibrant, around me, pulling me down into my gwyllgi form. I wasn’t winning any beauty pageants like this, but I was a beast. Literally.
“I’ve never seen a gwyllgi shift,” Paula whispered to Corbin. “Never seen one in person either.”
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Corbin had the balls to sound proud, like he had anything to do with it. “Wait until you see her move. She’s like greased lightning.”
The praise earned him a twitch of my ears. I couldn’t be hearing him right. How would he know? He had never seen me fight. Never watched me shift, either. I had only let him see me in this form a handful of times, aware of how off-putting the odd blend of canine and reptile could be.
The only way he could have that knowledge was if…Mom and Dad let him watch the videos.
As proud parents, I could picture them doing it, but why would he ask to see them in the first place?
Bast finished his change, and his rage at me for beating his time tempted me to roll my eyes. This guy, and his brothers, had been pack since before my birth. He knew me. He knew what I was capable of. Why my speed still offended him, I had no clue.
As Mom was fond of saying, You can’t fix stupid.
And she had tried, for my sake, until it became clear her intervention only made me appear weaker, an easier target for when my parents turned their backs. To survive the pack, I had to make it on my own.
For the sake of the recording, I stood my ground and let Bast strike first, a punishing rake of his claws down my side.
The low snarl rippling through the room sent a hot shiver down my spine, and my ruff stood on end. Corbin knew better than to interfere. All his posturing accomplished was distracting me. The urge to snap my teeth at him twitched in my neck, but I couldn’t afford to take my eyes off Bast.
When Bast circled for a second pass, a nip and run, I let him get close then snapped my jaws shut on the side of his throat. I shook him until he yelped then spat him out on the grate. Had we been on two legs, it would have qualified as him crying uncle, but the murderous glint in his eyes warned he had no intentions of taking the out I was willing to give him.
“What the hell?” Mathieu grunted. “Is that…bird shit?”
“A sparrow must have gotten in,” Ormond muttered. “Like they do in grocery stores.”
Oh, God, no.
Keet.
That was the last thing I needed, but I was stuck.
Shift and yell at the bird, and Bast would eviscerate me in my softer, pinker human form.
Let the bird dive-bomb them, and I was in real danger of them killing him.
Well, he couldn’t technically die, he was already dead, but if we lost his body parts, we would have to source new ones, and I did not want to grave rob for a parakeet.
Using my distraction to his advantage, Bast slammed into me, knocking me closer to the platform’s edge.