She writes about vampires with complexes, insane witches, super heroes, post-apocalyptic warriors and samurai sword wielding women…all from a desk in a country town near Melbourne, Australia.
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Crescent RogueChapter One
I was running.
Placing one paw in front of the other, I hurdled over fallen logs, wove through russet-colored ferns, and dodged trickling streams. I was lightning across the landscape, darkness nipping at my heels. Wolves were leaping behind me, saliva flying from their snapping jaws as they gained on my sleek form.
Red fur flew as jagged teeth crunched around my hind leg, and I yelped, twisting and rolling. Forcing the will to escape through my body, my bones snapped, and my fur began to grow.
Then I was flying, my wings beating faster and faster until I broke through the forest canopy and into the night sky, leaving the wolves behind on the ground below. Before long, black shadows broke away from the darkness above and fell, darting past my beak and buffeting my small body.
Danger! It permeated every sense, and I knew they would kill me if I were caught.
I dove, spiraling and zigzagging across the sky, the shadows bubbling and bulging until they formed the shape of a hundred inky ravens. As they whipped past me, their beaks and claws tore at my fragile wings, pulling feathers free and drawing blood. A shrill peal of alarm pierced the air, my beak opening and snapping at my attackers.
They buffeted me from side to side, swarming and smothering until I closed my wings and dove. My neck extended, my body straightened, and I broke through the trees and collided with a branch. There was a shower of leaves as I tumbled, slamming into another bough, and then another before slamming onto the forest floor. I rolled, my bones snapping and changing, stars bursting through my vision and fire tearing through my body.
The world spun, tumbling over and over, and then I was flat on my face, coming to an ungraceful stop in a clearing. Covering my face with my arms, a strangled moan tore from my lips, but the ravens didn’t come. Peering at the sky, it was clear. The only thing that bore witness to the abrupt end to my flight was the thousands of stars twinkling down on me.
My hands curled through the undergrowth, dirt lodging under broken fingernails and leaf litter scratching against my palms. I was a man again, but how I knew was a mystery. The first thing I remembered was the four red paws of a fox and the white, speckled wings of a gyrfalcon. I was all three of those things, but I couldn’t remember why.
Ahead, I heard the constant sound of crashing water. It was falling from a great height, slamming into a pool below, and the hiss of the wet spray showering on the rocks was barely audible above the din. Beside me was the snarled trunk of an ancient hawthorn tree, its branches bowing over the edge of the clearing like an umbrella.
When I rolled over, everything hurt. From the tips of my toes to the very hair on my head, there was pain. Moaning, I was aware I was completely naked, my skin bare to the sky above…and I was bleeding from what felt like a thousand cuts. The ravens had almost torn me limb from limb, but why?
Why?
Rustling drew my attention to the edge of the clearing, and my head snapped up. I almost expected the wolf pack to step from the darkness, their silver eyes glowing, their jaws snapping and thirsting for the kill, but it wasn’t the wolves at all.
It was a woman. She was tall and slender, and her black hair was flecked with strands of silver. As she stepped into the moonlight, the air seemed to shimmer around her.
“Fanacht amach,” I said with a raspy voice, attempting to drag myself toward the hawthorn tree. It felt safe there, the branches beckoning me under their canopy. “Fanacht amach.” Stay Away.
“Are you all right?” the woman asked, taking another step closer.
“Cé hé mise?” I asked, my voice sounding strange to my ears. “Cé hé mise?” Who am I?
I curled up against the trunk of the hawthorn, shielding my nakedness from the strange woman. I beat my fists against my head, my memory full of darkness and pain. “Cé hé mise?”
“Irish,” the woman murmured to herself. To me, she asked, “Can you understand English? An bhfuil Béarla agat?”
Fisting my hands into my hair, I nodded. “Yes.”
“What’s your name?”
“Di…” I began, my tongue thickening in my mouth. No, that wasn’t right. “Di…” I tried again, but my mind filled with noise. “I don’t know.”
She smiled softly. “I’m Aileen,” she said. “It seems you’ve forgotten some things.”
I cowered against the tree as she edged closer, fearful this was another trick. The sky was full of shadows that had turned into ravens. Maybe the woman would raise her hand and finish what had begun with the wolves.
“I saw you fall,” she said, kneeling, her eyes never leaving me.
“I’m a man,” I muttered. “A bird… A fox…”
“You’re a shapeshifter.”
“A what?”
“A man who can change his shape into any animal of his choosing…provided he’s had contact with them,” she explained. “I saw a gyrfalcon fall from the sky, tumble through the forest, and then land in this very clearing as a man. There’s only one explanation for that.”
A shapeshifter. That was what I was. A fox, a gyrfalcon, and a man.
“Whatever was chasing you, they’ve gone now.” She pointed to the hawthorn. “The tree protected you.”
“The tree?” I glanced up, wincing as pain flared down my spine.
“It’s a hawthorn,” Aileen explained. “The
