Obsidian Gate - Chapter Eight

*Yet another edit on this chapter. Hopefully the last? Oh well, at least I hope it makes the chapter flow better. *

Chapter Eight
Dan Gets His and Anya Gets Hers

The confrontation was over much quicker than Danthias would have expected. The elf, in his newly donned chains, was escorted by O’Brian, Landen, Marissa, Alex, and Sarah to the small room where Ewald and Russell had taken the young thugs. The elf was now daring to hope that there might actually be an end to this ordeal. Dan’s lawyer, smiling deceptively, brought up the rear. It was painfully obvious that he was out for blood.
Ewald’s face showed an interesting shade of maroon, as the entourage entered. The little man stood up, glaring at O’Brian and Landen, while Russell watched on passively.
“What the hell do ya think yer doin’ bringin’ that freak in here?!” he cried, “I’m tryin’ t’run an investigation here!”
Before anyone could say a word, Dan piped up, in perfect English,
“What they’re doing is busting a hole in your investigation, you fat shaved ape!”
Ewald colored even darker, though the elf would’ve sworn that wasn’t possible.
“Bite me, you mangy creep!” he cried.
“I would but I have no idea where you’ve been,” Dan shot, flashing his teeth in a deadly grin.
Ewald was about to say something when Jonas Swift stepped forward.
“Mr. Ewald, my client wanted me to inform you that he’ll be filing a lawsuit against you on grounds of harrassment, assault, and defamation of character,” Swift said, “As a lycanthrope, my client was deeply offended by your comments and actions.”
Before Ewald could even say any more, Landen piped up.
“O’Brian an’ I also had a little chat with the Captain about yer attitude,” he said, “Seems he feels a three week suspension without pay’ll do ya good; have fun.”
Trent, the boys’ lawyer, stood, just as Ewald sank, bewildered, back into his chair.
“There’s still the matter of my clients’ accusations,” he pointed out, pushing his glasses up a little further on his nose, “Not to mention numerous charges of attempted assault and resisting arrest that’ve piled up since that young man’s been here. What do you intend to do about those?”
“Your clients’ accusations are bumpkiss,” O’Brian said, “I took the liberty o’ lookin’ at their files an’ let me tell you, a jury ain’t gonna have a lotta sympathy fer a buncha AFH hooligans. As to the other charges, we’ll deal with those as they come.”
“We have eyewitness testimony to the severity of the wounds your clients inflicted on mine,” Jonas Swift spoke up, “We also have a signed confession from one Tobias Simms stating his involvement and naming your clients as accomplices. Officers Landen and O’Brian have already spoken to Judge Avery down at circuit court and he was most sympathetic. Simms will be getting four months jail time and six months probation, a much better deal than anything your clients will get.”
“We also have plenty of testimony to the treatment our client got under NYPD care,” Swift continued, “When we brought this to the attention of the Captain, it seems he was most upset and most apologetic. He intends to conduct a thorough investigation into how paranormals are treated here and has assured us that any charges against our client that occurred after and during his arrest will be dropped.”
Without hesitation, Swift handed over a neat pile of documents to Trent, who seemed to have lost some of his muster. For a few moments, he just stared at the other people in the room in disbelief, then began to read through what he had been given. The more he read, the more his face fell. Eventually, he stopped, looked over at his clients and sighed.
“This changes everything,” he said, “I can’t prosecute this. Their case is airtight. All they need is a sympathetic judge and we’re done for. No one wants to be seen defending racists and there’s no way for you to not come off looking like four prime examples. This case’s nothing but a political nightmare, a little ticking time bomb. I’m sorry.”
“What?!” one of the young men exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
“What I’m saying is, if this goes to trial, we will lose,” Trent said, sighing, “The best option for the whole bunch of you is just to plead guilty, cry mercy, and agree to an out-of-court settlement. If you insist on going to trial, your parents’ names will be dragged through the mud and you’ll all go to jail for at least 10 years, minimum.”
“What are you saying?” the young man demanded.
“What he means is, Elias Woodrove, Calvin Rupert, James Corbin, you’re all under arrest for assault, attempted murder, illegal possession of an unregistered firearm, and possession of an illegal weapon,” Landen said happily, as he and O’Brian neatly and quickly fitted Elias and his companions with shiny new silver cuffs.
The thugs were so shocked that, at first, they put up absolutely no resistance, as their rights were read to them and the charges against them were explained thoroughly. Trent, his head in his hands, stood by and paid attention, knowing the boys would be needing his services soon. After the shock had worn off, however, Woodrove began to get angry.
“My father’ll crucify you all!” he shouted.
“Yoah daddy didn’t know y’all were involved in AFH,” Alex said, practically purring, “O’Brian jus’ talked to ‘im. Seems he really didn’t like the idea o’ supportin’ a racist. Y’all’re on yoah own, honeypie.”
“Bitch!” Woodrove hissed, “You an’ yer furry boyfriend’re gonna be sorry.”
“My, my, sexist as well as racist,” Alex said, hand over her heart in mock horror, “Ain’ that an attractive combo.”
“You’re all gonna pay for this!” Elias shouted, glaring at everyone in the room, then turning his look at Dan, he added, “You most of all, you freak! Bite me!”
“Don’t tempt me,” Danthias snarled, suddenly two inches from Woodrove’s face, his voice a quiet menace and his cultured accent only adding to the subtle threat.
No one had seen him move and everyone in the room could not help but gasp at the young lycan’s strength. The need for violence was riding him now, an almost physical thing, but Danthias managed to hold it back, barely.
“After all the misery you caused me, it would be the least you deserve,” he was hissing, “The only reason you and your cronies are still standing is because these good officers have assured me that killing or otherwise maiming you would be a bad idea. Don’t make me change my mind.”
Woodrove paled visibly, as though he were on the verge of soiling himself, and Danthias released him, threw him back into the waiting arms of the police so suddenly that the cops almost didn’t have time to catch him. As soon as he was released, Elias was suddenly surrounded by NYPD, who had filed into the room, and was lead away with the rest of his cronies, cursing the whole way. Danthias watched them go with a smile then, slowly letting go of his anger, Dan looked over at O’Brian and Landen.
“Now, which one of you fine gentlemen is going to release me?” he asked sunnily.
“How come you never said a word to us?” Ewald demanded, pointedly ignoring O’Brian, who was holding his hands out for the keys to Dan’s cuffs, and the lawyer, Trent, who was hastily following his clients, “Why didn’t you tell us you could speak English?”
“Because I wasn’t about to sully my good name consorting with the likes of you!” Dan snapped, “Now hand over the damn keys, baconbreath!”
Growling, Ewald jerked the keys from the ring at his waist and flung them at the elf in a towering rage.
“There and be damned to ya!” he screamed, on the verge of incomprehensibility, drool running, unnoticed, down his chin.
Danthias merely jumped a bit, nimbly catching the keys in his hands, as Ewald slammed the door shut behind him. Alexandra looked up at the elf and grinned.
“My, my, y’all sho do have a way with people,” she commented.
“Sorry, beautiful, seems t’be my curse,” he said, flashing her one of his patented grins, “Except with women, of course.”
Alexandra laughed and rolled her eyes. Dan chuckled a little, then began to concentrate. While the others watched in stunned silence, Dan curled himself up into a little ball again. When he stood up, the cuffs were dangling from his fingertips. The elf whistled a jaunty little tune, twirling the cuffs around his fingers, as he tossed O’Brian the keys. The cops were all staring openmouthed and Charlie was laughing hard enough to have tears in his eyes.
“My aren’t we flexible,” Alex commented, grinning in spite of herself and unable to stop her habitual flirting.
“Some time, I’d like to give you a personal demonstration of just how flexible I can be,” Dan said, his grin turning even more saucy, “I’m double jointed pretty much everywhere.”
Alexandra’s face turned a pretty shade of red and Charlie laughed all the harder, as she threw up her hands in exasperation.
“Y’all’re awful!” she exclaimed.
“Don’t knock me ‘til you try me,” Dan replied, without losing a beat, “I’m actually quite good.”
“Alright, you win!” Al cried, “Ah give up; No more innuendos!”
“Aww, you’re no fun,” Dan pouted but his smile would not leave and neither would the naughty look in his eyes.
“Never thought I’d see Alex that color as long as I lived,” Charlie commented to Landen, “She never blushes.”
The whole party had a little laugh, as Alex gave Dan a playful swat, then O’Brian commented,
“Those things really wouldn’t’ve held you, would they?”
“Probably not,” Danthias and Alexandra said at the same time.
The two young people looked at each other and grinned, the same kind of sly, mischeivious smile, and Landen threw up his hands in mock disgust.
“Great!” he muttered, “Now there’s two of them!”
The whole group laughed heartily and O’Brian unlocked Dan’s collar and took the cuffs from him, smiling.
“Yer somethin’ else, Kid,” he muttered.
It took some time for the paperwork to be ready for Dan to be released but lots of swift talking from O'Brian and plenty of assurances to the Captain helped smooth things over. The lawyer was also surprised to find out that Dan hadn’t been kidding about paying him. He sent him home with a handful of gold coins each and several large rubies that were worth easily twenty times what he would have normally received for his services. Unfortunately, the necklace that Danthias was so frantically looking for was indeed not among the things confiscated by either police or hospital, however, the elf simply forced himself to keep a positive outlook and vowed to search all of his possessions and everywhere that he had been so far when time permitted.
Ten minutes later, Dan was looking up at the sky and grateful for the sun on his face, even the dim sunlight of this world. Glancing over at Alexandra Lee and grinning, Danthias casually snagged back his lock picks from her back pocket. He made sure to do it in just such a way that she knew what he was up to and he got the desired little yip of surprise and a big grin from the lovely lady in question.
“You little devil!” Alex exclaimed, laughing, “Ah shoulda guessed y’all’d be pullin’ that one!”
Dan merely bowed a little bow.
“I always aim to please,” he said, “Where to now?”
“Charlie’s,” Marissa called, “You’re ridin’ with me.”
“Why is that?” Dan asked.
“How long has it been since you’ve really eaten?” she asked.
“Somewhere between twenty four and forty eight hours,” Dan admitted.
“Come on; I know an excellent butcher who caters almost exclusively t’ lycans,” Marissa said, “He even keeps late hours.”
Danthias wanted to protest and weasel his way into riding with Alex, however, he caught the look on Marissa’s face and knew instinctively that she wanted to talk. Besides, being tolerant of a lycan was one thing but seeing exactly how violent they could be up close and personal was something else. Deciding not to argue the point, Danthias headed over towards Marissa. More than anything else, he needed time to think and it was long past time for him to do it on a full stomach. What little he had managed to eat before he had come here just would not sustain him any longer. On top of that, he would have time to pump Marissa for more information on this world.
Waving a cheery goodbye to the other two ladies, making sure to make some serious eye contact with the one called Alexandra and smile, Dan clapped Charlie on the shoulder, gave him a cheery grin, and joined his fellow lycan.

2.

The Gnomish death machines Danthias now understood were called cars or trucks, depending on their shape. The sleek black one that Marissa owned was called a Hummer and she wielded it the way a dwarf would wield his favorite axe. Dan had to admit that, while the thing scared him to death, it sure was pretty. The outside had an eye-catching, stylized, Chinese dragon on it, all done in outlines of white, silver, red, and gold. The style it was done in was called “air brushing,” though Danthias did not completely understand the term. Flames, all done in reds, golds, whites, and silvers, graced the sides of the machine, originating from the hood, where the dragon chewed its own tail in a figure eight and the interior was a very plush black leather that Dan had to admit was comfortable, even though he was terrified.
The elf sat strapped into his seat, a death grip on the small rubber handle in the ceiling that was supposed to be some kind of device to steady oneself within the vehicular contraption. Marissa had called it an “oh shit” handle. Whatever its true name was, it did not help much.
“So what’s this Unicorn Forest like?” Marissa suddenly asked.
“It’s about fourteen hundred miles or so of nothing but green,” Dan said, “The air’s so fresh there, there’s nothing to compare it with. Especially not in this cesspool.”
“Tell me about it,” Marissa muttered, squashing any worry Dan may have had that he was insulting her by insulting her world, “So, were you born in the Unicorn Forest?”
“No, I was born in Elvenhome,” Dan replied.
Just talking about home all of sudden made him more homesick than he had ever dreamed, however, Marissa spoke up quickly, shattering his somber thoughts.
“That a continent or a country?”
“Both,” Dan replied, “It’s an island nation, the smallest of Solaris’s continents. We have a ton of names for it but most elves just call it Elvenhome.”
“So, is that forest on another continent?” Marissa asked.
“Yeah, Lucresia,” Dan said, “That’s the biggest continent on the world. Most everyone and everything comes from there.”
“Sounds nice,” Marissa said absently, as though she were a mile away.
“It is,” Dan replied, then, his eyes narrowed, “You did that on purpose.”
Marissa chuckled at the elf’s accusatory tone.
“Yep,” she said, “Distraction’s a wonderful thing.”
Danthias glared peevishly at her for a moment. As if he could forget that they were hurtling at nearly eighty miles per hour across a concrete surface with hundreds of other death machines all around them, any one of which could crash into them at any minute! His exasperation was momentary, however.
“Speaking of distractions, explain this paranormal thing to me a bit better,” Dan said, settling a bit in his seat and trying to get comfortable.
“How so?” Marissa asked.
“I know what lycans are but I have no idea what you meant by all those terms, especially the way you were using paranormal,” Dan replied.
“You should talk to Sarah about that,” Marissa replied, “She’s better than me at explaining things and I’m no expert on any other kind of paranormal. What I said about the term is true, however. It’s basically a catch-all term for anyone not human.”
“Can they really just lock you up like that?” Dan wondered out loud, “I mean, is this kind of treatment normal for a lycan on this world?”
“You mean like how you were treated?” Marissa asked.
The elf nodded, sighing, then muttered,
“I’m just really out of my element here but where I come from, people can’t just lock you up for no reason, even if they think you’re a lycan, not without some kind of proof, and they certainly wouldn’t put those horrid locks on anyone for any reason.”
“Yeah, there’s a lot o’ paranormals who’re really upset about those things,” Marissa said, “They’ve been fighting in court for the last three years t’have ‘em all destroyed but most people won’t even entertain the notion.”
“Why?” Dan demanded, horrified, “Are they that scared?”
“Yeah. Paranormals haven’t been on the radar in a big way for that long. It’s only been in the last ten years or so that laws’ve started to be drafted and the paranormal population’s risen enough for anyone t’do anything about it. I mean, mutants got the vote back in the late sixties but the rest of us are just now getting some concessions.”
“Why would they make such horrible devices?”
Marissa shrugged uncomfortably.
“When the new laws got drafted, the police were expected t’deal with a whole new kettle of fish: lycans, mutants, vampires, and all of it without much in the way of extra training. Government wouldn’t even spring for a larger budget t’research more humane ways o’dealin’ with us. They just loaded the cops with info and said “here you go.” Didn’t even give ‘em silver weapons or anything. You gotta admit, it’d be pretty terrifying t’face a psychotic lycan without any extra protection if you were human.”
Danthias nodded thoughtfully, as the woman continued.
“The collars they made were designed t’help level the playing field so the cops could take down the bad guys without worrying about gettn’ munched. Problem is, it really rides the line between keepin’ the cops safe an’ violating our civil rights. It’s one o’ those touchy subjects they’ve been pushin’ around fer years.”
There was a few moments of silence, while the elf digested this information and then he turned to Marissa casually.
“Do the others know you’re not human?”
There was about a ten second pause.
“Yeah, they know exactly who and what I am,” she said.
“You aren’t just a lycan,” Dan said, miffed, “The nose doesn’t lie, Marissa. Which of your parents was the dragon?”
Marissa stiffened a bit, hers eyes going wide, then sighed, as if defeated.
“Found me out too, did you?” she said softly.
“Figured I owed you for meowing at me. Besides, once you’ve smelled a black dragon, you don’t ever forget that particular scent.”
“True,” Marissa replied, then after a small silence, “My mother was the dragon. My father was a red weredragon. They were the last of their kind.”
Pointing at the tatoos on her collarbone and navel, she said,
“These were done in memorial of them and my brother.”
The one across her collarbone, half hidden by her shirt, was of two dragons, an eastern style black one and a Western style red one. The black one was on the left and the red on the right. They were facing Marissa’s shoulders, with their tales meeting in the middle of her chest and twining upwards together, the tails half obscured by the pendant. The navel tattoo was of a red eastern dragon chasing and biting its own tail in a circle around her belly button.
Then, indicating the tatooes on her arms, she said,
“And these are their clan insignias.”
The top of the pyramid was a black tooth, an elongated fang, with the bottom left being what looked like a red scale of some kind and the bottom right being a stylized red Western style dragon with scales in its claws. As Marissa touched them, a momentary sadness seemed to come over the half dragon but she hid it well.
“I’m sorry,” Dan said softly, noticing how quiet her voice had gone. Something about the tatoos rung a bell in Danthias’s memory, something he should have remembered but the elf shrugged it off and continued to listen to the woman as she spoke.
“They all died a long time ago,” Marissa said, seeming to shrug it off, “What’s done is done.”
Then, switching subjects, she asked,
“What about you?”
“I’m what you call a moon elf,” Dan replied, “I contracted lycanthropy about five years ago. It was stupid really, just blind dumb luck, an accident. I had a ring that allowed me to assume the abilities of certain lycanthropes, a magical item I found in a tomb. Unfortunately, the wearer ran the risk of contracting lycanthropy. I’d been using it most of that day and well, my luck ran out. I threw the thing away as soon as I realized what happened and I went looking for this necklace to help me control my changes.”
Dan described the necklace he had been wearing, an intricate chain of pearls and moonstones, all done in shapes of the various moon phases, coalescing in a single, large moonstone to represent the full moon, and how he'd gone on a perilous quest to attain it.
“I can’t take it off or my Changes become painful and I’ll blackout, not remember a damn thing I’ve said or done,” Danthias said, fingering the place where the stones should be.
“Mine’s inherited but I still have the same problem; it’s why I always wear this,” Marissa said, indicating her necklace, an onyx eastern dragon, rampant, showing its claws, “My mom gave it to me when she saw that my Changes were more violent than normal. She made sure I wouldn’t be a danger to anyone.”
After a few moments of silence, Marissa asked,
“What breed are you, anyway?”
“I’m a weretiger,” Dan replied, simply.
“Jesus!” Marissa exclaimed, gasping, “The full moon’s only one week away! You sure you’re gonna be able to handle this with all the stress you’ve been under?”
“I’ve seen a few full moons, Marissa, maybe even more than you,” Dan pointed out, “I think I know how to handle myself.”
“I’m two hundred and seventy seven years old,” Marissa said, looking him in the eye, “but that’s not the point. I wasn’t referring to the bloodlust.”
“Neither was I."
"Dan, this is serious! If that necklace is the only thing that gives you control, you could do some serious damage."
"Believe me, Marissa, I know, probably even better than you. You don't even want to know what happened the first time I Changed. I went through Hell to get that necklace to stop anything like that from ever happening again. But, if it's gone, it's gone, and worrying about it isn't going to help me get through this. I'll look everywhere I can think to look but if it doesn't turn up, we'll all just have to put our heads together and think of a plan b."
Silence reigned for a few moments and then Marissa finally spoke up again.
“Alright, but if you need any kind of help, you let me know,” she said, "and we'll damn sure do everything we can to find that necklace."
Dan smiled, stunned but pleased. It was known that weretigers suffered from insanely strong mating urges as well as bloodlust during the full moon and for Marissa to offer to help with such a thing indicated just how much she already trusted him.
“Thanks,” he said quietly.
“Don’t mention it,” the woman said, as they finally pulled into the driveway of the butcher shop.
The owner was only too happy to sell to them, eagerly taking the money that Marissa proffered up. His place was clean, efficient, and very well kept. He was even so solicitous as to offer a small pasture out back where they could enjoy their meal. Marissa thanked him and took him up on the offer, paying him an extra tip for his kindness. In no time at all, Marissa and Dan were leading their impromptu meals into a wide pasture surrounded by trees, both their eyes straying towards the moon. Quickly, they both shed their clothes, heedless of the fact that they did not really even know each other and let themselves open up to the animal within them.
Dan watched in total awe, as Marissa transformed. Black scales, tinged with acid yellows and greens, all ranging from the dullest, darkest gray to the deepest, glossiest true black, began forming slowly, inch by inch, over her body, almost as if they had simply seeped to the surface of her skin from somewhere deep within. Marissa’s long nails, which Dan had noticed were unnaturally sharp looking before, now seemed to elongate into small, harsh, black spears right in front of the elf’s eyes. Marissa let out a howl of triumph, which ended by transforming into a guttural roar that nothing her size that possessed human vocal chords should ever have been able to utter. The sound was loud, deep, and commanding, sending the cows nervously jerking on their reins, where they had been tethered to a tree. Luckily, Dan had enough sense to get out of the way, as the gooey liquid that all lycans sprayed when they Changed showered the entire area. The stuff was a warm, thick, viscous substance that had a tendency to congeal quickly and Danthias had no wish to get it all over himself, his hair especially.
The woman began to slowly grow, her body rushing to catch up with the size of the roar coming from her throat. Marissa’s eyes ceased to be human, fading to an alien yellowish gold, and her pupils dialated, becoming diamond shaped slits, reptilian and odd in her still somewhat human visage. Her shoulders hunched with the weight of the beast trying to emerge from her small, slender body and Marissa went down on all fours, grunting and sweating with effort, as her body’s temperature fluxuated madly between reptilian coolness and fever hot. Danthias could hear bones breaking and reforming, things stretching that should never have been there in the first place. A tail slowly formed, gaining scales and spikes, as it grew in size and weight. Marissa’s mouth opened, as she roared again, and Dan could see the large, forked tongue that now inhabited her jaws and watched as her hair seemed to flow back within her and disappear, as her body finished rearranging itself.
In the end what stood before Danthias was a forty foot tall monster right out of a story or legend. Marissa’s ears were like small, black, wing-like membranes, fanning out from the side of her head and immense, wickedly curved horns sprouted immediately below them, dull gray spires that curved around towards her long, tapered snout. Two large fangs the color of dirty ivory protruded from each of her jaws, the sheer size of them being almost that of a short sword. Her claws were like spears, stabbing out from her strong, bulky legs and her wings, a crowning glory of pale gray membrane and black bone, rested gently at her side, after ripping their way out of her back. Her nostrils flared and Dan could see just a slight bit of acidic saliva coating one of her fangs, the one protruding down, as she readied to watch Dan. Her tail, which was now some ten to thirteen feet long trailed out behind her, ending in wicked spikes nearly the size of a grown man. Dan hated to think of what would happen if she decided to actually whap somebody with that thing.
Seeing that Marissa was looking at him expectantly, Dan quickly went into his own Change. While nowhere near as dramatic as Marissa’s, it had a similar effect. It was as if the tiger melted out of him, his silver hair pouring out over his body to become silver striping, as black fur seemed to pour out from within his very pores. Dan opened his mouth and let out a feral roar of exaltation, as his teeth began to elongate and that painful-as-torture, yet sweet-as-sex, feeling of the Change enveloped him. The elf felt and heard every bone in his body snap and stretch, remodeling themselves into his new form. Somewhere inside him, it was as if the tiger was surging forward, triumphant that it was at least being unleashed after so many days of stress. All Dan’s anger, frustration, and longing had been calling to the animal for some time and now it could finally give in and take over.
To Dan, it always felt like the tiger just emerged from him, slipped out of its home within his psyche, his very pores, to manifest itself on his physical body for a time. Crouching on all fours, Danthias stretched out his arms and legs, watching as they became the hunter’s sleek but deadly black paws. The elf lashed his tail and flicked his sensitive ears, not minding as they and his jaws all finished rearranging themselves. His senses as an elf were already dramatically heightened but being a lycan had made it all worse. It was as if in this form he could actually hear grass growing, feel and hear every individual blade of grass moving with the wind. It was a heady experience on the best of days and Dan fought to regulate the sensory input to a speed that his mind was capable of sustaining without going insane. Finally, the black tiger with his eerie, diamond pupiled silver eyes and silver stripes regarded the dragon that was now Marissa.
The first few seconds were tense. Dan knew who Marissa was but the tiger did not know this alien reptilian female and it took every sane impulse control that Dan had not to growl and to keep his hair from standing up on end. Then, the natural scent of the dragon, complete with pheromones that would draw any nearby draconic males, washed over the tiger and Danthias remembered. The scent was odd but it triggered a sensory memory in the animal’s unconscious that quickly connected that scent to the concept of “friend.” As soon as that connection was made, Dan knew that it was Marissa’s scent and knew that his friend was still there and, more importantly, the tiger knew and slowly eased down from his agitated state.
There were no words needed between the dragon and the tiger. The animals simply nodded at one another, then turned to their now frantic meals. The cows had begun getting more and more agitated as the lycans had transformed. Something in their bovine subconscious minds had told them that there was imminent danger and, as the two relatively harmless humans became deadly predators, scent change and all, the animals simply freaked. Unfortunately, the noise they made while attempting to flee brought the attention of the very hungry predators in front of them. It was over quickly. A quick snap of the jaw, a bit of pressure, and the hysterical animals knew fear no longer.
The two lycanthropes ate silently, bonding quietly, side by side, as they shared a meal and the horror and curse of their mutual conditions with a sympathetic friend.

3.

The entire city of Branneth seemed to have emptied into the Town Square the night that Lady Anya de Wynter was arrested for the murder of her husband, Lord Percival Weatherton. The death of the young lord was an overnight sensation, as was the arrest and subsequent trial of his beautiful wife. Everyone jostled to be first in line to watch as the Lady was brought in and gaped in awe as she rode between several of the town guard. Her face was set in a steely, determined glare but it did nothing to deter her beauty.
Anya’s unusual eyes remained cold and impassive, defying all attempts to read her. Looking into those orbs was like seeing the heart of winter. They were a purple so dark that the color of the iris could barely be discerned from that of the pupil. Deep blue flecks punctuated the Lady’s emotions like jagged icicles falling from a roof, and those emotions were not happy ones. A storm began to roll in from the east, fast and unexpected and, while the people seemed to shrink from it, from the chill wind that seemed to cut right to the bone of all who stood there that night, Anya de Wynter did not. She simply sat there, like an immovable statue.
Her hair was like a soft, silken curtain of night, black as a raven’s wing, with color dancing through it in waves of deep purple and midnight blue, depending on where and how the light hit it. The hair hung down past Anya’s hips in careless, straight elegance, held back only by a slim, obsidian hairpiece that was neither coronet, nor crown, nor headdress, yet combined the best aspects of all three. The amethyst jewels which studded the hairpiece caught the moonlight as she moved, making her appear to be crowned by little, dark stars. The dark strands whipped about her, giving only fleeting glances of her perfect face.
Lightning flashed, casting wan light on her skin, which was as pale as falling snow and softer, smoother, than even the most delicate and unblemished material. Anya was as pale, as translucent, as the moonlight dancing in her hair. Any artist would have paid good money to use this woman as a model. Her lips were wine dark and ruby red, as if someone had permanently painted them with glittering, crimson jewels and her lashes were long and dark. She had high, delicate cheekbones and an intriguing, aristocratic nose. Lady de Wynter was not busty but her figure was no less worthy of note, still flawlessly shaped, and she had impeccable taste. Despite her unnatural height, six foot four, she was still very slender, delicate, and statuesque in form with long, graceful legs and a perfect swan neck.
Somehow her black velvet mourning gown just seemed to only accentuate her pale skin and each of her stunning features to their maximum effect. Well did Lady de Wynter know this, know it, and plan on it. She had dressed very purposefully this evening and was determined to make every bit of effort worth it. The men riding beside her were all in gleaming armor, faces drawn and serious. Anya simply acted as if they were an honor guard to escort her to her proper place. She ignored them and all the stares going on around her as they made their way down the main street of Branneth.
It did not take them long to reach their destination.
The Hall of Lords was nearly as silent as a tomb. Lady de Wynter had never thought to hear it echo the way it did, as she walked towards the courtroom, the armed escort leading her. Now, she was left facing the exalted halls of the one building she had surely thought never to enter as an accused. The clicking of her heeled shoes seemed particularly loud, setting every nerve on edge.
“Bad enough they arrest me at my own house in front of all my people, but now they parade me here in front of the whole town and walk me right in front of the judges like a common criminal,” the Lady thought bitterly, wondering just how she could make these crude fools pay when she was free.
It was true that she had expected to be called to court sooner or later. The circumstances of her late husband’s death had been just too suspicious for her not to be questioned at least once. What she had not anticipated was her enemies taking advantage of this opportunity to try and bring her down, once and for all.
“A bold move on their part, but foolish,” she thought coolly, “My lawyer will tear all their accusations to shreds and then I’ll make them all sorry; They won’t soon forget what a huge mistake it is to cross me in my own home.”
Taking a moment to calm herself, the Lady noted how pretty the building was. Everything had been made out of white marble veined with pure gold. The colonnades and pillars that supported the roof were carved with many ornate, delicate frescoes. All around her were murals of the gods and goddesses of justice and many of their stories decorated the walls, which soared up almost as high as those of a cathedral, some forty or fifty feet into the air. The wooden double doors that lead to the main courtroom were every bit as elegant as the courthouse, veined with gold and ornately carved. They depicted Maat in her role as goddess of justice, blindfolded and seated on an ivory throne, with a scale in her right hand a feather in her left. By her feet lounged a jackal, symbol of the god, Anubis, the deity responsible for weighing the soul for purity and innocence. To the right of the goddess, standing near the scales, was the goddess Athena, her owl on her shoulders, in full armor and carrying her shield. By that goddess’s feet lounged an animal barely recognizable as Ammut, the great animal that awaits to swallow the souls of the guilty and wicked.
The symbolism was clear, though Athena was from a different pantheon than the others depicted. Those who passed through the doors would be judged. The innocent would be freed and the guilty would find justice served, either in this world or in the afterlife. It did little to lift Anya’s mood.
“Like I’ll really get any true justice in this town,” she thought sourly, “Good thing I’m rich; I can actually afford it.”
The men on either side of her moved in front of her and opened the doors for her, bowing slightly as they let her pass through them first. It was an empty courtesy but Anya milked it for all it was worth and took the opportunity to stand up tall and straight. She knew she cut an impressive figure and was prepared to use every inch of it to her advantage. She straightened the front of her simple, black velvet gown and primly strode through the entrance to the courthouse.
Inside, the main court chamber was not unlike most courtrooms. Pews made of deep mahogany ran the whole length of the large room, flanking the center aisle, almost like those in a church. At the front of the pews, a large area had been blocked off with a wooden railing and gate. Two tables with chairs, one on either side, had been set in this area and the judge’s podium rose in front of it, high and terrifying in its own way. To the right, the jury box stood, the twelve seats somehow more imposing than the judge’s bench. Above, rows and rows of seats adorned a balcony that over-looked the entire room, the seats of the High Counsel of Branneth, the Counsel of Lords. Anya knew for a fact you could hear everything said below from up there. She had sat there enough times herself.
At the moment, however, the courtroom before her was empty. As Lady de Wynter and her small escort approached, she glanced up and saw them. The Lords of the Council had come and were slowly filing into the courtroom. One in particular approached the edge of the balcony, looking down with a smug smile on his face.
Anya stopped and looked up at him, holding her head high. Her eyes darkened and her voice was a contemptuous whip across the courtroom, reaching all the way up to the balcony.
“Lord Karsis, I should’ve known you’d be the one to accuse me,” she said, “These gentlemen fairly reeked of your “tender mercies” when they came to collect me.”
“Now, now, Lady Weatherton,” the man replied, knowing full well the name would rankle her, “I’m sure they were the soul of courtesy. They were told to treat you with all the dignity your station deserves and to make sure that your arrest was done in as delicate a manner as possible to preserve your reputation.”
“You wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to run, you mean,” Anya snapped.
“I didn’t think you’d run. You are a woman of honor, if nothing else,” Karsis replied, “but, after what you’ve done, one likes to be sure.”
“And what, pray tell, have I done?’ Anya demanded icily, not taking her eyes from his.
“It’s the judges’ duty to inform you of the proceedings. You already know what you’re charged with. I just hope you have good council, Milady,” the man said, snarling out the title as if it were an insult, “You’ll be needing it.”
“So will you, when I’m done with you,” Anya thought, allowing one of her cold smiles to appear on her face.
Out loud, she merely said,
“Just be careful who you choose to make an enemy of, Karsis. You need powerful allies and it would be foolish to alienate someone who might otherwise oblige.”
Without another word, Anya turned towards the defendant’s table, taking care not to hurry. She could feel the eyes of the other nobles on her, cold and accusing. They had never liked her and now they thought to see her dead. It would be enough to anger or frighten anyone but Lady de Wynter merely took her seat and waited. Her attorney would be there soon enough.
“When I’m through with this fiasco,” she thought, “I’ll make them all pay.”
Revenge was a thought satisfying enough to warm even Anya de Wynter’s cold heart and she focused on the reality of it as the judges entered. It was only a matter of time.