Page 32 of Muzzled

Tightening her grip on her purse, she nodded and watched as he disappeared into the bathroom, the door left open a few inches. “You have ten seconds.”

“I only need five,” he called out to her, his voice stronger than he was feeling.

He’d never shifted for someone who didn’t know what he was, and the vulnerability creeping through his veins was unnerving. Centuries of hiding, of keeping secret what he was, had his palms sweating as he dropped his jeans and boxers to the floor.

He was prepared for the scream as he nudged the bathroom door open with his muzzle.

He wasn’t prepared for the weight of Micah’s purse bouncing off the side of his head.

*

Had she beenasked moments ago if she was a fighter, a flier, or a freezer, Micah would’ve known the answer in a heartbeat.

She was a fighter.

She stood her ground against challenges. Embraced them, even. She’d held her own on the festival circuit for years, clawing her way up the hierarchy of artists until she was on top, the one who other artists sought out for advice and befriended for cred of their own. Her life was lived unapologetically and without regret, the following of her passion leading her far off the well-worn path of white picket fences and marriage and nine-to-five jobs, which crushed souls and devoured hope.

But one look at the enormous black beast which exited Ryan’s motel bathroom awoke something dormant inside her, a battle between logic, instinct and intuition.

Logic told her this was impossible, that her eyes weren’t seeing what they were looking at.

But logic was the weakest contender in the fight.

Instinct sent her purse slamming across the muzzle of the huge dog, the impact knocking his massive head into the wooden doorframe.

Intuition sent her feet running from the room.

Some part of her knew this dog. Feared it.

She tore down the hallway, blinded by the visions crashing through her. There was perfect clarity in the snapshots filling her mind, as though she had real memories of being attacked. Of being mauled. Of being dragged into darkness.

Fur brushed her arm and she came to a swaying halt, shaking her head to rid herself of the images pounding through her as the dog overtook her easily, blocking her exit and bowing his head.

Her breathing was ragged, her heartbeat pounding in her ears as she backed away, her eyes darting between the exit and the motel room. She extended one hand in front of her. “Back,” she warned, a death grip on her purse. “Stay. Back.”

With a low growl, the animal lowered himself to the floor and laid his head on his paws, looking up at her with familiar brown and amber eyes and stilling her retreat.

Intuition continued to scream inside her, telling her this beast would destroy her, would be her death. Instinct shifted, reaching toward the dog as though remembering Ryan kept the nightmares and darkness at bay.

Logic had questions.

They remained in a standoff for a few minutes, both watching the other warily until she spoke.

“Okay,” she whispered, backing toward his room where a shoe was wedged between the door and the frame, the small detail a reminder Ryan, with all his meticulous planning, was inside that animal somewhere. “Okay. You’ve proven your point. You…I…you go in there and…” She waved her hand at him. “No more this. Go in and…be not this.”

He rose slowly, slinking along the wall as he padded into his room and into the bathroom. She could hear the rustling of fabric followed by the sound of water running while she stood motionless against the exit door, the war inside her keeping her feet still but her hand on the knob.

“I’m coming out,” he said softly. “If you could refrain from hitting me with that purse again, I’d appreciate it.”

He turned his back to her as he exited the bathroom and walked over to the small fridge. “Water?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled two out and set one on the edge of the dresser for her. He winced when the motel phone’s shrill ring pierced the air.

Keeping his movements slow, he answered it, watching her carefully as he spun a story about his girlfriend finding a spider in the bathroom and apologizing for the screams. After assurances it wouldn’t happen again, he hung up and sat on the edge of the bed. “I think maybe you should lead the discussion now.”

She blinked and swallowed, her eyes moving between his face and the paintings on the second bed. “How are you connected to the thing I’ve been seeing? The shade?”

Leaning forward with his hands in view, he picked up her most recent painting. “My brothers and I are hellhounds. I go by Ryan, but Orion is my birth name. Alexandros and Boreus are the twins. We can exist separately, or we can unify to create Cerberus. On our own, we can track the Pirithous line, but it requires a complete unification to pull one into the underworld.”

“And the shade?”

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