Page 50 of Angel of Water & Shadow

He scraped his back claws into the silt while his front claws cut the night with an audible whir. I flinched as the trail of air brushed my face and he sneered, no longer flashing straight, blindingly white veneers but teeth sharp as daggers.

A heavy boom crashed behind me, the water rushing to where I was sitting and stinging my hands—the surf break was closing in. It threatened to swoop me up and deliver me right into the enemy’s clutches. His hot breath was so close it caressed my neck. I needed a distraction, a way to get out from under him…

Armed with nothing but chipped turquoise nails and my own set of canines, sharp enough to tear the skin off an apple, not the skin off a throat, I dug my fingers into the sand. I threw a fistful in his face. He yelped and scratched his eyes, allowing me the seconds I needed to crab-walk out of his reach. I clambered to my feet, and knowing how ridiculous it looked, I put my dukes up.

Shoulders hunched, I readied myself for his imminent attack. He rose to full height, at least two feet taller than his human form, snarling, spitting, salivating at my fear. But I didn’t escape a demon just to die by his hands. I wouldn’t go down without a fight.

In a mirrored dance, we both tilted forward, but Chet didn’t strike. Eating time instead of me, he toyed with his prey, licking his chops, feasting on our little death game.

The rules were obvious: If I ran, he’d run faster. If I charged, he’d charge stronger. If I screamed, he’d scream louder. The odds were not in my favor.

A growl interrupted our choreography. Too busy trying to psych each other out, neither of us had noticed the other being enter our circumference.

Snared in its shadow, I couldn’t tell where this new werewolf’s true outline ended and where the darkness began. I stood my ground, for no other reason than I was rattled to my core. Unlike Chet, this newcomer wasn’t adorned with red tinted swirls and whorls across its chest. But they did have something feminine, like two little replicas of the moon, tucked beneath the ends of their overgrown neck hair. Breasts.

This werewolf had breasts.

They curved half-hidden beneath her silky mane, which flowed much fuller and longer with hints of bronze, brown, and gray. While I remained frozen in fear, like petrified prey, the she-wolf’s presence clearly didn’t faze my sandy-haired aggressor. He rolled his four sets of claws and made a snort—a sound of dismissal.

And then with a snarl, the werewolves became a swiping mass of claws and fur and teeth, nothing more than a spinning lump of fur, blurring into a single form.

I inched to sneak past, but their fight veered into my path, threatening to knock me down. If I fell again, chances were I wouldn’t make it back up. I retreated, the frigid water now up to my calves.

As the fighting began to detangle, I wondered what kind of death the winner would hand me. The iron hate in Chet’s eyes promised he’d go slow with all that immortal time he’d likely been granted. With the other werewolf it was harder to know, but I hoped it involved one swift killing blow. And there was always the off chance the ocean would take me. My knees shook against the force of the undertow pulling the sand out from under my feet.

With the losing werewolf pinned to the ground, the victor settled its icy gaze on me. I couldn’t quite let myself feel relieved that Chet had been defeated as she ground her incisors deep into his yellow collar—after all, those jaws would be tearing into me next.

The precision of her bite released the tremor I’d been trying so hard to hold in, knowing that once I unleashed it, it’d spread to the rest of my body and open the floodgates to the terror I’d been able to keep on lock—until now. All while those eyes, a piercing blue that I had seen before but at the moment couldn’t place, drove me towards the rising current. Water almost knocked me over and submerged my thighs, just like the anxiety that threatened to drown me, too.

Call it déjà vu, or had I been here twelve hours ago? Clawing at life’s final moments, searching for help in a pile of lost causes. Summoning another lightning bolt was laughable at this point. I’m pretty sure that had resulted from sheer luck, not some secret powers I had. It also helped that I’d had a wingman, one who casually packed a quiver and probably—no, definitely—would know what to do with a couple of hounds from hell.

My bottom lip, which now stung and tasted of blood, bore the brunt of my panic. I wiped my mouth on my sleeve. The werewolf’s nostrils flared wide, purposeful. Hungry at the scent of my blood. I was a goner. Tears fell and mixed with the salt water, searing the skin around my eyes. At first, I attempted to blink them away but then gave in to the burn and kept them shut.

I didn’t need to see what came next.

Cold pain lanced my fingers and toes. It spread through my veins to the rest of my body: the onset of hypothermia. I’d felt this before—and the memory came as frigid and fast as the rip current that’d carried me away from my mom when I was eight years old. Much too quickly I’d succumbed to the open water, my muscles leaden like anchors. And the cold…it wasn’t just the crisp ocean. It was the air above me, suddenly harsh and stormy even though it’d been the definition of picturesque. Familiar arms wrapped around me the second mine could no longer move. My mom and I should’ve both made it out—she’d pulled me far past the siloed flow of the current—but something had held her back.

A deafening roar collided with the crashing break, forcing me into the present—the shapeshifters had grown impatient, their thunderous roars an omen of death. It sounded like dozens more had joined them.

The one beautiful thing about this bitter end was that I didn’t need to imagine my sacred place, the ocean. I was already there, wrapped in its nippy cloak, its undulating fury an extension of my own. My numb hands dropped to my sides, extending out to meet the ocean’s spray, even though by now I couldn’t really feel it. I couldn’t really feel anything. Except anger.

Lots and lots of anger. So much hot, fiery anger it could have thawed me. I couldn’t get it out of my head: that I’d just waded there, dumbstruck, while the ocean flooded my mom’s throat and turned her cries to gargles. Why? Why didn’t I do anything? Then. Now. Ever.

When my eyes snapped open, I didn’t see werewolves. Instead, a surge of water flew past me.

I tripped backwards, expecting to be submerged by the tide, but landed in squishy damp sand. The mighty flow of the current muffled my gasp as the ocean parted around me without so much as a splash. The threat before me tumbled into the twisting tide. A wave, big as the beach itself, flooded the crescent clearing with the force and speed of a river overflowing, devouring everything in sight.

Except me.

Breathing hard, I eased to my feet and paced next to the towering element and looked up. Translucent at the top, it deepened in color with each descending layer, ending in a rich midnight blue at the bottom. It stretched high, but not as high as the cliffs. Six feet, maybe, at my back and my sides. Ahead, it sloped downwards, giving me a clear line of sight to the bluffs—like I was caught in the crest of the wave just before it would break and speed towards shore.

Shadowy figures waded through the surf. I couldn’t tell if they were werewolf or human.

My hand quivered as I reached for the water’s surface. It jolted back instead of flowing across my fingertips, like my touch was a magnet repelling it. I did it again and it receded.

It hit me then: these fluid walls weren’t here to keep me in, they were here to keep them out.

The water shuddered, a small wake of it slipping forward—this would only hold for so long. I needed to find a way out. I made a run for it.

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