Page 103
Story: Angel of Water & Shadow
Little grooves indented her forearm—bite marks. The ones near her wrist were definitely new. I’d worked countless shifts with her at Kona Koffee before I got fired, and she had a story for every scar: boozy late-night wrestling, unlucky run-ins with vampires, and simply Turning at the wrong place, wrong time.
But these marks… these ones she tried to cover with her flannel sleeves. These ones she wasn’t proud of, didn’t joke about.
These were from tending to a beast far worse than a grumpy customer.
These were from Chet Jennings.
Forget the claws and fangs and godlike strength he’d been granted after being bitten at the full moon party earlier that summer—just his name sent a chill down my spine. The thought of facing him tonight…as not only a witness to his carnage, but a victim of it long before…was enough to make my pulse thrum off beat.
A wail erupted from the thick of the forest, curdling the mist. It couldn’t be Chet: he’d already be at Crescent Rock under the watchful eyes of the Council of the Moon—the Elders who made up the governing body of all the local werewolf packs—impatiently waiting for his trial to begin.
But Chet wasn’t the only thing that lurked in the night, wasn’t the only monster who’d made it their sole mission to destroy me.
Shadows coiled in the darkness as if they were living, breathing things. Without the light of the moon, it was damn near impossible to see.
Breath a wisp in the air, I glanced behind me. Nothing but fur and trees. The steel gazes of Shanley’s pack tracked my movement.
Most of the wolves were bare, but some of the larger ones had packs strapped to their backs. Clothes. Around the others, a couple shreds of fabric shone bright against the damp forest floor. Sometimes, Shanley had once told me while we were mopping up spilled milk, the urge to Turn came on too quick, too strong, and even the nimblest, most experienced wolves couldn’t get undressed fast enough.
I placed a shoe in Shanley’s hands, my fingers knotting in the beast’s mane. “This won’t hurt him?”
She shook her head, ashy blonde strands flopping over her temples.
Of course it wouldn’t hurt him. Kenny was all muscle and brute strength in every form. Pressing my heel into Shanley’s palm, I hiked myself up onto his massive shoulders with such effortless grace I would have never, ever believed I’d be capable of. But…
I was stronger now. Faster. Keener senses. Still couldn’t outrun a werewolf, no matter how much Empyrean magic—Source—I’d inherited from my mom.
Shanley wiped her palms together, brushing off the dirt. “River, you good?”
I nodded, tucking my fingers under Kenny’s long outer chestnut coat to hide how badly I’d started trembling.
He huffed out through his nostrils, paw scuffing the earth, ready to run. I willed myself not to focus on the way his claws indented the soil, how when he rose on his hind legs, standing tall and proud, my head grazed the lower branches.
How, once he took off, there would be no going back.
In less than an hour, I’d be facing Chet on the stand.
I could still feel the heat of his nasty breath, his saliva smearing over my skin… A chill rattled my shoulders. How was I going to relive his public attack at the bonfire, and the private one in his bedroom, in front of Elders, witnesses, strangers?
“Stay low while we’re running,” Shanley said.
My head snapped in her direction, sticky thoughts of Chet dissipating for now. I’d get through this for her. Because no matter who bit whom that smoky night at the beach, it was her pack, her territory, her problem to solve—and from the little I knew about werewolf politics, punishments were vicious.
I inhaled, the air sharp and minty. I wanted to bring Chet down. But, more importantly, I wanted to be there for Shanley like she’d been there for me all summer, wiping my tears, dragging me out of bed past noon, forcing me to do the unthinkable—socialize.
“Keep your grip tight on the ruff of fur around Kenny’s neck. I’ll be right alongside you.”
In a flicker of movement her hands had tripled their size. Fingers curling, palms swelling, tufts of fur sprouting along her knuckles…
She had started to Turn.
“When I howl, it means we have ten seconds till takeoff,” she added, but those final words were torn apart by a shrill whimper as her flesh and muscle tore and transformed.
A familiar sense of unease hollowed out my stomach. It didn’t matter how many demonstrations Shanley had given me—hearing bones crack and reset, watching facial features morph and sharpen never got easier.
Fixing my gaze on the starlight trickling down through the canopy, on the dark outlines of the redwoods, I waited for her to finish shifting, wincing at every godawful snap of her limbs.
Prickly dry leaves crunched beneath the heavy thud of her feet, now paws, as she stalked to her position at the front of the pack. Velvety ears perked, and she drew her nose towards the sky. A melodic ooooowwww poured out of her throat.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103 (Reading here)
- Page 104
- Page 105