The change began. He stretched a neck brought suddenly thick, corded with inhuman muscle and scaled smooth as glass. The feel of him shifting beneath her was disturbing in many ways. It was unfamiliar. It was wild. His back widened, giving her better purchase, and he tipped forward with the whole of her weight against his changing bones. Scales were shades of violet and deep blue, gold and robin’s egg, with great swaths of amber-shade over backbone and joint. His hands became great clawed paws, violet and violent, and the emergence of multiple eyes came with nightmarish golden glow.

  And there was no fear.

  I am safe, she thought. I am safe, the way I am breathing. Soon there was no man beneath her at all, but a great maned and scaled cat that seemed made of shadows, but also of light. He gleamed in the dimness, the multitude of formerly dreaded eyes glowing at the end of fleshed tendrils. She should have been terrified. She could not be, not at all. She clung to his back with her legs, wrapping them as far around his bulk as she could manage, and when her fingers found his mane, she received a soft growl of what might be approval.

  And then they were off.

  Two more of the great cats joined them, appearing out of the shadows as they crossed the temple’s threshold. They paced beside the Shadow, far more bestial than Hawk had expected, given the elegance of the creature beneath her. She observed them both, identical in every way, as the Shadow’s pace swallowed distance, claw by claw. Down he went, down the spire, down deeper into Holia where even gods were eaten alive, and his cats stayed with him apace. They were missing his intelligence, she realized. The care and concern she could read even in his alien eyes. These were empty constructs; she sat astride the only real Shadowbeast in the world.

  And what a ride it was. They left the safety of the spire, now. Reached the burned out, embered soil where once there had been white-leafed trees and star-shaped moss. Ashes flew up behind them, clouds that could both conceal their flight, and betray it. But there seemed to be no other creature here, save for the burnt out trees. She could imagine faces in them, knothole eyes with red light burning deep, deep at their core. Wood-toothed maws with ashen tongues. They’d been stripped of their foliage, of their glory, of their life, and now could only reflect Argon’s consuming passions. It felt abominable. It felt like a rape.

  The Shadow did not falter. His speed rivaled that of Earthside machinery, and soon the temple was just the glowing spire behind them, receding back into the darkness. Silence reigned, save for breaths and growls of effort, and claws digging into the raw and violated ground.

  And then the first of the Ember-creatures joined them.

  It was a half-dozen mice, that first time. They blew past them without stopping. She caught the smallest glimpse of them, their burned out eyes and blackened limbs. Her grip tightened on Shadow, because that couldn’t be good. And sure enough, as the tiny dead things passed from view, one of the burned-out Fleet Hares lept over the first and nearest hill—little more than a blot in the darkness, crossed by a fearsome thing of glowing embers—followed by three more. And they were fast. Nearly as fast as Shadow and his cats.

  It was clear that Shadow had been expecting this. As the four burned creatures began to run beside them, the two cats that he had constructed peeled off from their group and clashed with the creatures, stopping their run before it properly started. Shadow kept running. He did not look back. Every pace, every footfall, came purposeful and fleet. Another two cats were formed from the darkness, their eyes glowing, phosphorescent photophores on their body giving them a ghastly, skeletal shape in the dark. Guard refreshed, they ran on.

  They’re not real, she told herself. They were constructs. Only the “cat” beneath her counted. She clung to him. His pace ate the distance between them and the goal. Faster here, slower there. Now they were in unburnt woods, and Hawk allowed herself to relax, just a tad.

  And then the next set of burning beasts came out of the mute white forest with zero warning.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  They were dog-shaped, or maybe wolf-shaped. She could not call these embodiments of fire anything more descriptive. Their heads were burned to the point of skeletonization, with flame dripping like blood from between fire-ravaged teeth. They were not as large as the Shadow and his cats, but they outnumbered the constructs three to one. Then four to one, then five, as more and more of the destroyed creatures came over the hill.

  The Shadow finally slowed his pace, allowing his constructs to overtake him. The beasts were immediately attacked, blackened fangs penetrating scale and flesh. Hawk, screaming, gripped Shadow’s mane in a double-fist, pulled her head down, and trusted despite the sickening drop in the pit of her stomach.

  He dodged around his own cats, only to be greeted by a half-dozen more of the destroyed wolves. All trace of dog-ness had fallen away, save for the shape of skull and of teeth. Shadow roared and obliterated two of the creatures with one great paw.

  And one of the survivors danced out of his reach, then leapt in to bite Hawk.

  Dead, blackened teeth sank deep into the solid muscle of her calf. There was a terrible ripping sound as the beast shook its head, and that was when Hawk’s voice found its own scream, completely independent of thought or deed. Disassociation, She thought, in the strange space her mind had suddenly created. Because there was pain, enormous pain, and she could not stop herself from screaming. But it was all remote, like the obliteration of mars.

  You have to hold on, now, She told her failing body. You have to hold onto the Shadow and let him take you to safety. You cannot let go. Do not let go. Whatever you do, do not let go. Somehow her hands found the strength to heed the commands of her remote mind, and her grip clenched twice as hard on the thick furred mane. She was still screaming. It felt as if her entire leg were on fire. Then the wolf released and she made the dreadful error of looking at what it left behind.

  Red she saw. Mostly red. Her blood dripping down her leg and across his body. But not as much as she had feared. It was cauterized and smoking, patches of skin browned to leather or blackened entirely from the heat of her attacker’s bite. Oh, wow, she thought, her mind still exo-planet distant from this horror. She’d screamed so hard she was now choking on her own bile.

  The Shadow did not pause now. He ran, and if she’d thought his speed had been incredible before, now it was breathtaking. He dodged the wolves, though they raked him over with their embered teeth and glowing, burning claws. And now he ran as if his life—or hers—depended on him putting as much space between the attackers and himself as he could.

  Slowly the disassociation faded back into reality, the parts of her being resynchronizing as it were. Now she was gagging against the pain, feeling too much of it to even manage a scream. She could maybe have repressed these expressions of agony, but she was using all her focus, all her being, to keep from sliding off onto the ground.

  ***

  He ran until they were clear of the beats. Hawk was not sure how long it took; time had collapsed once more, it seemed. Her perception of it was drawn out like taffy. The pain was bad. It seemed to get worse every second. Once, and only once, did she risk a backwards glance. This was when the wolves still had them apace, and their blackened teeth were still near enough to frighten. Her calf seemed more burnt, more damaged, and there were already threatening streaks of red running from the wound.

  Blood poisoning, she thought. So this is how I’m going to die.

  But then, as if at some signal she did not understand, he slowed and stopped, and shifted back to human far faster than he had shifted to the great cat. He set the bundle of his own armor, which he had carried this whole time, and caught her in his arms just as her own strength gave out.

  “Stay here, Hawk,” He said. “Stay with me.”

  “I got bit,” She managed. Her vocabulary seemed to be retreating into small words and little vowels. She felt like a child. She felt like a fire being consumed by itself, her life and Argon’s flame doing battle, and she was going to lose. She gagged against the pain, and the screams that would soon follow.

  “I know. I felt the power of it. Listen to me. I will heal you, but it will not be pleasant—”

  “Dying is pleasant,” She whispered, and began to shiver from cold. Or else from the rising fever.

  Naked, he pulled her against him, until her head rested on his shoulder and her wounded leg was in his lap. It was still oozing, and now the burnt skin and blisters seemed to fully encompass her leg. “This is the true power of Argon. What his fire burns, he can inhabit. Even the smallest burn is enough. He is trying to consume you, body and soul.”

  “Sounds about right,” Hawk muttered. She was dizzy with something. She hoped it was sepsis. There were other, darker, hotter things that could be inhabiting her flesh now.

  “Cling to me. It’s easier when you do,” He said.

  Oh, he might as well have asked her to breathe. She embraced him as his hands closed over the wound. The pain was incredible. It went white beyond words. It unstrung every joint and left her as little more than quivering jelly in his arms. Which wasn’t fair; she wanted to be here in pleasure, not pain.