Page 63 of Changelings
“I am mantii.”
Leaping across the distance, he held Dermott down by the neck and clamped his fangs on the man’s right hand. The tool fell out of his grip, and Dermott shrieked and writhed as Balar bit down. He didn’t stop when he felt bone. Oh, no. He crushed Dermott’s hand, all the fine little bones splintering against his teeth.
Before he completely severed the hand, he spat it out then licked at the blood on his lips as Dermott watched in horror.
“I am vengeance.”
Faster than the man could see, Balar bit down on his other leg, making matching wounds on both calves. Dermott’s own corona of teeth marks.
He shook his head, ensuring the wounds went deep.
Dermott screamed and begged, but Balar didn’t care. Stepping on the man’s heaving chest, he lowered his great head to level his gaze with Dermott’s. The trapper shuddered as Balar’s bloody breath wafted over him.
Histurukgorged on the fear and pain radiating from the trapper. Only when it was satisfied did it give Balar’sdulurcontrol back.
As Dermott gaped in shock, Balar shifted to his two-legged form.
Holding the man by the throat, he said, “I amhers. You were warned, Dermott. You could have stayed away. But now you pay for your petty evils.”
“Wait, wait—can’t we—no—no no no—ack!”
Balar shifted back to his beast in the span of a moment and took Dermott by the neck. Firmly enough to hold onto and draw blood but not enough to crush and kill. Yet.
Predatory gratification sluiced through him; just as the lion held the gazelle, there was no greater rush for a predator than feeling the racing pulse of their prey between their teeth. It’d take but a squeeze and a little patience; he didn’t even have to crush Dermott’s throat, he could let the man suffocate. A prolonged death.
It was nothing less than he deserved.
But Imogen wouldn’t like it. That was all that saved Dermott’s life.
Instead, Balar leapt into the air with his prey, Dermott choking and scrabbling for purchase. Balar considered dropping him as he flew over the forest, but no, Dermott could be of use.
The lights of Granach lit up the dusky horizon, many still milling about in the last vestiges of daylight. The town square was full of villagers, spilling out of pubs and hurrying along home to supper.
In their midst, a man fell from the sky.
Dermott screamed during his short fall, landing in a heap and cloud of dust. Villagers gasped and shouted, pointing out Balar as he swooped down to land on the steps of the stone well at the center of the square. He let all see histuruk, ensuring that the memory of what he could be would live in their minds for a long time yet.
More and more people gathered in the square, come to see the strange, extraordinary sight, yet no one moved to help Dermott. The man managed to roll onto his back, but other than struggling for each shallow breath, he didn’t dare move.
Finally, Balar shifted into hisdulurform, drawing another gasp from the crowd.
“It’s Balar!”
“No, it couldn’t be. That beast?”
“Didn’t you know they could shift? Like the dragons.”
“Who did he drop?”
Spitting out the last of Dermott’s blood, Balar declared, “This man has trespassed upon Imogen Ahearn’s land. He’s violated her safety and caused her harm. She lays even now unconscious with fever.”
The crowd murmured, some shaking their heads, as they looked between Balar and the crumpled Dermott.
“In her stead, I have taken recompense. Flesh for flesh. As her mate, it’s my due.”
More murmurs, a few calls and questions, but Balar ignored them.
“Such is the fate of anyone who’d harm Imogen. Know this—she is my mate. She is under my protection. An insult to her is aninsult to me.”
