It would be comical if it wasn’t a life-or-death situation.
The two that aren’t engaged in a weird game of bumper cars come at me from the front.
Blood flows freely down the left side of my face, making it impossible to see out of that eye. Nervously, I pull my bottom lip into my mouth to chew on, only to release it with a grimace. I didn’t realize it was speckled with blood as well.
Even with the massive amount of adrenaline flooding my system, my brain is sluggish. Instead of taking action, I just stand there, my feet glued to the ground.
I was wrong. This is the end.
I’m going to die without knowing the truth about what has hunted me my whole life.
I throw my arms up in a feeble attempt to protect myself, but look away, unable to force myself to face the end.
I’m sure any moment, my life will flash before my eyes, but rather than a montage of childhood scenes, a blinding light drops from the sky, forcing me to squeeze my lids shut.
Something lands, shaking the concrete slab under my feet.
It’s only a moment before the brightness dims and my eyes pop open. Standing with his back to me is a guy in jeans and a black leather jacket, double-fisting a pair of weapons. A sword in his right hand, a gun in the other.
I’m already dead. That’s the only explanation.
I can’t see humans in this reality, only their strange colored auras. But I can see this guy in glaring detail. Everything from the mop of dark hair on his head down to his chunky-soled, well-worn black motorcycle boots.
I rub my eyes, managing to smear blood all over my face.
Smooth move, Emberly.
I scan the roof with my good eye. The shadow beasts are still there.
What. Is. Happening?
The guy standing between me and my attackers is a good half-foot taller than me, which puts him around six-foot-five at least. His raven black hair is longer on top than on the sides.
My perusal of his form is shoved aside when I register the faint white glow haloing his body—an exact replica of the one encasing my own.
We are somehow the same, but not knowing what makes me different, I can’t say what our similarity is.
“What are you waiting for? The dinner bell?” He taunts the creatures in a deep growl.
Is he trying to get killed?
The silence is broken several beats later by the bark of a humorless laugh, startling me. Jerking, I smash my elbow into the car door.
Add it to the growing list of injuries for the day.
“You know I’m harder to kill than that.”
My eyes scan the deck. He can’t possibly be communicating with those ugly things. They don’t talk. I’ve never once heard so much as a peep out of any of them, and I’ve been running from the monsters for as long as I can remember.
“I guess that means it’s up to me to make the first move.” The guy concludes his strange one-sided conversation by lifting the gun and shooting several rounds at the shadow beasts.
Covering my ears, I crouch during the initial volley of shots.
Ever since my second foster home, I’ve had an aversion to guns. It doesn’t matter that this one may have just saved my life—I still don’t like them.
After another series of loud pops, the gun clatters to the ground in front of me. The acrid stench of sulfur laced with a metallic zing wafts from the barrel. It reminds me of burnt earth.
I glance up to see several of the shadows zipping toward us.
The guy mumbles something under his breath that sounds like, “This is what I live for,” before the air sizzles and pops, and I’m blinded by another bright flash.
Chapter Three
A roar splits the air a half-second before the brightness dims. An oversized lion towers on all fours where the guy was just standing.
I press a fist to my eyes, further smearing blood across my face. What I think just happened couldn’t have really happened.
People do not just turn into animals.
The golden beast shoots forward and collides with the first dark shape it reaches, knocking it back several feet and sending both animal and shadow beast tumbling.
Several monsters join the fight. The lion’s claws gleam in the daylight; sharp fangs snap, and it isn’t long before the animal’s coat is glistening with black liquid.
“Steel! Stand down!” a sharp voice bellows.
I’m so caught up in the battle in front of me, I missed the people swarming the top floor of the garage. There are at least twenty newcomers, all haloed in the same white glow as myself and the mystery guy who just disappeared. The group forms a semi-circle around me, pushing the shadow beasts back.
A feline growl snags my attention. I look up to see the lion jump over the line of would-be rescuers and take up a sentinel position in front of me. Shaking out its coat, the lion splatters me with a putrid mix of black blood and saliva.
Nasty.
I was already covered in my own brand of grossness, but that bath upped the “ew” factor by a million. Thank goodness I didn’t have my mouth open, because the fluid on me smells like a combination of rotten eggs and butt. I have to order my gag reflex to stand down.
A man on my left turns his head to issue a command to the group. I recognize his masculine features right away.
Deacon—the man from Anita’s. The would-be kidnapper.
With people and monsters both blocking the stairwell, I have nowhere to run.
“Steel, take her to the transport,” Deacon barks.
The lion growls low in its throat, the sound vibrating in my own chest. The fine hairs at the nape of my neck stand on end.
“It’s not a discussion. Do it. Now!”
Shaking its head in annoyance, the oversized cat turns to me. Its head alone is half the size of my torso. I move to retreat, but my back hits the driver’s side door of the Emberly-dented car.
“Nice kitty,” I murmur with wide eyes.
It makes a very human guffaw before rolling its teal and sapphire eyes.
There’s a shock of black fur streaked through the beast’s gold mane to the left of its right ear.
I’m not exactly sure what this thing is—it certainly isn’t your garden-variety zoo lion—but I am sure I’m not comfortable being anywhere near it. Even if it did save my life, there’s a wildness about the giant animal that makes me nervous.
Without warning, it sinks to its haunches and jerks its head in a “hop on” gesture.
I shake my head so fast I won’t be surprised if I get whiplash from the motion.
No way am I climbing on that thing’s back for a joy ride.
It growls low in its throat in a show of impatience.
“Listen up, buddy. I don’t make a habit of climbing on strange animals.”
The overgrown house cat rolls his eyes another time, proving he understands every word coming out of my mouth.
He takes a step forward, and I scramble up and over the car hood behind me. Sliding off the other side, I take off in a sloppy run.
There’s another stairwell on the opposite side of the parking deck that I’m determined to reach.
Behind me, a roar morphs into a loud caw. It’s like someone is jamming knitting needles into my eardrums. I stop myself from bringing my hands up to cover my ears, so I can keep pumping my arms as I run.
A wave of displaced air slams into my back a moment before I’m airborne, feet still moving as if I can run on wind.