Page 9 of Stealing Embers

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

Aroar 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.

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