Mad, Bad & Dangerous

She’d broken Bael’s heart and destroyed perhaps forever her own chance of happiness. Not to mention ever having sex again. And for what? To prove her own independence? To make a damn point?

You never learn, Kett Almet, she cursed herself as rough rocks tore at her paws. Ever stop to think maybe you’re the one cursing yourself?

When are you going to stop fighting?

For a long moment she paused, tired and hurt, resting on her haunches on a rare piece of flat ground. Maybe she should give in, go back to Bael, explain and apologize and settle down to…what? Not ordinariness. Life with Bael might be infuriating, maddening and humiliating, but it would also be exciting, passionate and stimulating. It would be…fun.

Maybe-

Something whined past her ear, too fast and too straight to be an insect. Instinct had her on the ground instantly, her feline ears twitching and swiveling, her head whipping around to see where it might have come from.

She didn’t see the shapes at first, but she heard the voices.

“A lion? Up here?”

Hell. She knew this had been the wrong shape. Too conspicuous.

The hunter’s voice was oddly familiar, although she couldn’t place why. She tried to scent him, but then heard the bark of half a dozen dogs, hunting hounds, their scents coming sharp on the wind. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied she’d have noticed them before. Dammit!

She ducked and changed into a gryphon, a quick shift, changing only half her body, claws and wings and beak-

A second shot zipped toward her, so close it ruffled her feathers, and she leapt into the air.

“A gryphon!”

“Hiding with a lion? Not likely!”

“It’s the shapeshifter! We found it!”

Panicked, Kett darted, trying to gain speed, but while a gryphon was graceful and swift in the air, takeoff was a problem. Should have gone for an eagle, she thought as she darted under a hail of crossbow bolts.

One ripped into her flank, making her falter, and she lost height. The hunters whooped-why are they looking for a shapeshifter? Who are they?-and the dogs bayed. They were close, their scents strong in her nostrils, their claws scrabbling on the bare rocks below her. Kett flapped desperately, pain swamping her, twisting away from the dogs.

She didn’t see the scrawny tree in her path until it was too late, and its branches slammed into her ribs, scraping through the fur and feathers. She fell, breathless, into the tiny, rocky gully from which the sorry tree grew.

The dogs yelped in excitement and raced over, snapping and swiping at her, trying to reach into the crack in the rock that both protected and trapped her.

“Sir!” someone yelled. It was a man in hunting gear, his face twisted by an ugly scar running from temple to jaw. “Lord Albhar!”

Kett’s gut twisted, because she recognized this man. She’d given him that scar.

These people were Federacion.

A dog lunged at Kett, snarling, spittle flying at her, and she snarled back, snapping with a beak that was turning into a mouth. She needed to get airborne again, and if she could just get away from these dogs-

“Are you sure?” asked a male voice, out of breath and elderly.

“It can’t hold its shape, sir, look! It’s definitely changing! Either it’s the shapeshifter or it’s Nasc.”

“Well, either will do,” said the voice she supposed to be Lord Albhar’s, and she looked up to see a bearded man staring down at her from behind the dogs, a cruel light in his eyes. He took out a scryer from a pouch on his belt, and while the dogs whined and scraped at her with their paws, he calmly concentrated on the little rock.

“Bael,” he said. “Where are you, dear boy?”

***

Determined not to turn into the sort of Mage who destroyed things just because he could-determined not to turn into Striker-Bael kept his murderous rage confined to the reaches of ordinary hunting. All right, so there’d be a few villagers feasting extraordinarily well on the dead creatures he’d left behind-some of them ready-roasted-but at least he wasn’t running around murdering people, and that had to be something.

He was in split forms when his scryer buzzed. Var, loping along as a hunting hound, trotted over as Bael answered the scryer. He’d have been a better hunting companion if he’d been able to fly, but a vicious brawl with a surprisingly violent wolf had left him with a rip across the back that would have been agony with wings. Bael himself wasn’t faring hugely better, his ribs aching from getting too close to the death throes of a stag with giant antlers.

He was tired, aching and bruised, but the fights had made him feel a whole lot better.

“Bael,” Albhar greeted him, looking oddly excited. Bael felt a twinge of unease, as inexplicable as the knowledge he’d felt for certain earlier. Was this part of his long-elusive Mage power? Did it only manifest once he’d found-and lost-his mate?

No, she was never your mate, she was never-

“Where are you, dear boy?”

“Not sure. Galatea, Iberia maybe. Somewhere around the border.”

“Ah, such a shame you’re not closer. You’ll never guess what we’ve just found.”

“A cure for the common cold?” Bael muttered, not really caring.

“Much better. We’ve found the shapeshifter who killed your mother.”

Bael stilled. Here was a creature he could vent his rage on. Legitimately.

But did the shapeshifter really kill her? asked his conscience. What if it really was the kelf?

Which is more likely? he challenged, and got no answer.

Besides, he really wanted to destroy something.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice sounding distant.

“Oh, quite sure,” Albhar said. “It’s tried to change its shape already, but we caught it anyway. The dogs are trying to take chunks out of it now. No, drop! Leave! Leave! Good dog. We need it alive.”

“Do you?” Bael asked. “Shame. I feel like killing something.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, it will be dead by the end of the-no! I said leave! LEAVE!” Albhar strode forward, and the scryer’s picture wobbled as the old man bent forward and grabbed a dog, hurling it bodily out of the way. Bael heard the creature whine and whimper as it hit the rocks. “Hells, it’s taken a chunk out of the thing’s shoulder. Won’t bleed to death, will it, do you think?”

He seemed to be addressing someone else-one of the knights stationed at the Vyiskagrad castle, Bael supposed. He really ought to keep track of how many knights he had, and where. But not right now.

“No sir, shouldn’t think so,” the knight was saying.

“We need its blood. Needs to be flowing.”

“Oh, we can keep it alive that long, sir. Not until the new moon, isn’t it? Still need the second creature, don’t you?”

“A second creature?” Bael asked, frowning. “There’s more than one shapeshifter?”

“Well, of course, boy,” Albhar said, turning the scryer back to his face. “There can’t be only one creature in all the Realms that can change its shape!”

Some of the knights chuckled. Var nudged Bael’s thigh with his nose.

“You never mentioned a second-” Bael began, but Albhar cut him off.

“Don’t you worry about it, boy.”

“Don’t call me boy,” Bael snapped.