The Clans: Queen of the Vahsi

By R.M. Davis

"I knew, I was the last of my kind, and because I was, I knew I would forever be alone. Amazing how one crazy morning...and one unbelievable girl, can quickly change every thing you thought you knew."

Twenty-five-year-old shapeshifter Dean Cain, thought he was the last of the Shaman. Until a mystical visit from long forgotten stranger, Jessica Davenport, reveals another possessing unbelievable elemental power, and three ancient clans all maneuvering for unparalleled prophesized gains.

Leaving the solitude of his Alaskan home, Dean must set out to find and protect the woman he has only just met, but known his entire life. Together they uncover ancient writings and secret rituals that jeopardize their lives, learning along the way of the torrid past that binds them, and the horrid truth the Vahsi Queen is willing to kill for to protect.

As the fight to stay alive intensifies, so too does Dean and Jessica’s passionate desire for one other. A fact that finds Dean facing a death sentence by the Shaman Council of Elders as he and Jess are thrown into dirty clan politics and hungry power plays. All while discovering amazing secrets about themselves, and horrifying ones about the Clan trying to kill them...and the shaman children of Anchorage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.M. Davis
• Release date: Feb 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463634783

R.M. Davis

My love for books, believe it or not, had nothing to do with the thrilling Hardy Boy stories I read as a kid. Neither did it come from the wonderful writings of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, which I still cherish to this day. No, I would have to say my passion for reading came from living in Alaska...land of perpetual night in the long winter months. When you grow up in a corner of the world that only allows 3 hours sunlight in the dead of winter you quickly find yourself looking for things to pass the snowy season. For me it was escaping, if only for a short time, in the pages of a good book Now that I am all growed up, I have enjoyed a wonderful life raising three daughters and have reaped the benefits of my joy for reading with a successful career as a writing and producer for television with ABC and PBS in Alaska. On November 18th, 2017 however, reading and writing stopped giving me joy, it did much, much more. . . It saved my life. At 10:30pm that night I suffered from a major stroke that nearly took my life, and left me in the hospital for the better part of a month. The next three months were the hardest of my life, as I had to learn to do everything all over again. I had to re-learn to talk, walk, eat, and hardest of all, learn to read and write. I was in my hospital bed one evening, several days after the stroke, watching my favorite college basketball team, the Duke Blue Devils, play. After the game, I recall this relentless urge to write to the team and let them know how special I thought they could be. Struggling to make my fingers work a keyboard, I spent two exhausting hours composing a simple three paragraph email. Writing that letter was harder then most could, or should, ever have been. Words that had once come easy were now distant shadows out of reach; fingers that used to play a keyboard like a piano were uncontrollable weights on the end of my hands. When I was finished the email was the absolute worst. . . and best thing I ever wrote. I sent the email, horrible mistakes and all, to the Duke Athletic Director, Kevin White, who kindly replied a few days later with words of encouragement and a promise to pass my message on to the team. Completing that letter proved to myself I wasn't done. I could still tell my stories. I could live. A year and a month later, I proudly completed my life-long dream of writing my first novel, The Clans - Queen of the Vahsi. I can honestly say this book has most certainly been a life-saver, because without it, I'm not sure If I would have made it back. These days, when I'm not avoiding the local bear population for rights to the best fishing hole, or cheering the Blue Devils on, I enjoy my days enthralled in the mystical world of urban fantasy. Currently I am working on the final edits of my second book, sequel novel The Clans - Sisters of the Pleiades. I am hopeful to finish the new book for readers soon and be released by spring of 2019, I will keep everyone updated. Until then, live life fully, and chase all your dreams fearlessly!

Book preview

The Clans

Queen of the Vahsi

By Author: R.M. Davis

Cover Art by Angeline Janeiro @ www.riobookcoverart.com ([e-mail])

THE CLANS

Queen of the Vahsi

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2019 by Richard M. Davis

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

To my three beautiful daughters who have kept my mind forever young, my soul flying free and my hair turning gray.

Chapter 1

October Mist

The exhilarating scent permeated the crisp October morning air. Savagely primal, the captivating fragrance shook the very foundation of my hungering spirit. Restless with anticipation, the power within me bellowed to be fulfilled, incited by the rich and unmistakable aroma of fear.

Our prey's heart pounded franticly, each desperate stride across the snow-dusted ground increased the life giving thump-thump for each of us to hear. His unsteady breath, forced and heavy. The early winter cold burned his lungs with each desperate gasp, resulting in a loud fear induced wheeze. Our victim was weakening.

Stride-for-stride I maintained my position, behind and to the right of my closest and trusted friend, patiently closing in on our prize. Our victim's scent growing stronger with each step as the distance between predator and prey tightened.

Billy and his friends could easily handle this kill on their own. Years of practice honed their great strength and precision teamwork. There was no real need for me to be here, no reason for me to witness the killing of this innocent who's only fault was being in the proverbial wrong place at the wrong time. I was simply along for the ride. . . and savored every minute of it!

The nearly invisible signal took only a few short yards of perilous sprinting to occur. Any random bystander, unfortunate enough to find themselves in the vicinity, would easily have missed the slight stumble in the young adolescent's pace. For us however, it was as noticeable and loud as mom's iron dinner bell.

Billy sounded off with a single, decisive order. The sound so abrasive and disruptive to the valley's usual quite forest, that the brown-haired youth we had been chasing for over a mile made one foolish and fatal mistake....he turned to look back.

The curious, quick rearward glance was slight; his speed slowing only slightly, but slightly was all the advantage Billy needed. Powerful legs pushed off hard, propelling Billy's body high into the air, looking down into the wide terror-filled eyes of his prey. Billy landed hard on the young male's back and bit deep into the soft neck tissue; the pulsating blood heated mouthwateringly from the long chase. The victim's screams echoed loudly throughout the snow sprinkled valley.

The overwhelming weight of the large Gray Wolf proved too much for the young caribou. The young bull's weakened legs collapsed, causing him and his attacker to spill hard to the ground. Tremendous strength, and the type grace that only comes with years of practice, helped Billy maintain his balance and iron-lock hold on the small bull's neck. The pack leader's teeth sinking even deeper to buy time for the help he knew was coming. Within seconds, the rest of the pack was at the caribou's throat and limbs, quickly putting an end to the time honored ritual handed down from generation to generation longer then history could recall.

I found a clearing near a stunted spruce tree to stand back and watched the wild wolves reap the well earned rewards of their long hunt. It had been a good kill, cleaner then most, and they deserved every bit of nourishment they could get. The approaching long Alaskan winter would be harsh as usual, and the pack would need every ounce of strength to survive. Besides, I had left-over meatloaf waiting for me back home.

A single gust of chilly October air tried futilely to cut through the warmth of my thick black-layered fur. The snow topped mountain peaks held back the real bite of winter but it was only a matter of time before the season-long snows would began to fall. The pack needed to enjoy this harvest, spirits only knew when they would eat again.

After getting his fill of the rich meat and allowing the rest of the pact to eat, Billy came over and dropped a large rip of meat at my feet, a ritual between us that had been going on for as long as we had hunted together. Just as I knew Billy would always offer, he knew I would never accept...I couldn't accept. The risk was too great..

An hour's gait down the familiar game trails carried me free of the dense tree line to the welcomed sight of a log cabin sitting peacefully on the far west end of a small quiet lake. Warmer morning mist hung elegantly over the still water while the loons paddled along their usual patrol, hunting for small fish. A mixture of Birch and Spruce trees grew tall throughout the untouched valley. The ancient forest standing guard peacefully as the lands only time keepers.

My pace quickened along the lake shore trail leading towards home, salivating at the thought of hot breakfast and a good cup of coffee. I marveled at the beauty of the thick mist from the lake gliding gracefully toward me in its gentle ballet across a watery stage – effortlessly drifting in the morning breeze.

Dirt and frost crushed loudly under all four paws as I skidded to a stop, frozen in place. My wolf eyes intently following the slow approaching vapors movement over the water. The fur on the back of my neck rose ridged in alarm. Mist moving across the lake on a cold October morning normally would have been a beautiful and peaceful pageantry. This mist, however, escalated both my wolf and sub-standard human senses to high alert. Not because it continued to eerily creep closer and closer giving me the willies, but because I suddenly realized. . . this mist was moving against the wind.

I backed away a couple of steps, my head lowering instinctively to a more aggressive stance. The white fog continued its gradual haunting head-on approach. My feet quickly took action moving a dozen strides to the right, allowing the oncoming brume to continue past. Instead, the unnatural mist shifted with me, growing thicker as it persisted toward me. I glanced back over my shoulder at the tree line contemplating a hasty retreat, a moment of ironic humor caused me to laugh inside. Isn't that exactly what the the young caribou did just a moment before its death?

Dean Cain, you really going to run like a scared rabbit...from fog?

My gaze returned to the unnatural whiteness, the mist rose and swirled together like a dazzling waterspout. I knew standing there like some absent-minded teenage victim in a B-rate horror movie was beyond dumb, and yet I found myself unable to move, absolutely mesmerized by its elegance.

My mind struggled to understand what my eyes were watching. The strange cloud wondrously shaping itself right in front of me, like soft clay molded by masterful hands. My eyes widened in shock, realizing for the first time exactly what I was seeing...or more exactly...who I was seeing.

The small cloud finished its transformation from vapor and light into corporeal soft white silk flowing majestically over long beautiful arms and legs. Delicate chestnut-brown hair formed gracefully over alluring slender shoulders. The last of the mist draped elegantly over the woman like the final brush strokes of a masterpiece being applied to its canvas, leaving a beautiful woman in an off-white dress elegantly standing before me.

Sounds of the tranquil valley faded to nothing; the cold morning breeze simply stopped; and time froze for several eternal seconds. Her head, bowed as if in solemn prayer, slowly rose revealing a radiant, angelic face that captured my breath and held it tightly. In disbelief I stared into the woman's sparkling blue-green eyes – the same beautiful ocean-hued eyes that had saved my humanity so many years ago. Her eyes had not changed, in fact everything about her was. . . well, not the same, but just as breathtaking as before. There was something different, however, something more. Like a word stuck on the tip of my tongue, I struggled to grasp the fact that she was. . .

Older...

The whispered sound of my own voice startled me, breaking me from the daze. In my astonishment of seeing her, I had transformed from my wolf form back to human without knowing it. Had I ever done that before? Didn't it usually take all my focus to shift?

I gazed back at the angelic form that magically stood before me. Her eyes stared at me, with a mixture of fascination and. . . fear?

The shock of what I'd just witnessed faded, allowing me to realize that the woman's face mirrored the exact same looks of caution, wonder and disbelief I was certain she was seeing from me – her beautiful eyes looking me over from head to. . .

The cold October breeze returned, sending an unexpected chill down my body. I glancing down, following the woman's gaze, comprehending for the first time that I now stood completely human – completely naked.

Oh crap! I darted behind a small nearby bush and bent down awkwardly. Um. . . Sorry I usually have better control over that.

Most guys say that the first time. The mysterious woman jabbed with a polite smile before looked away shyly.

Y-you understand me? I babbled. You hear me?

She nodded hesitantly. Yes, I can hear you. Her voice was soft and gentle. The simple words spoken with such ease, once again leaving me utterly entranced.

Who are you? How did you do this? I quizzed, still half crouching behind my now- favorite bush in the world.

A look of bewilderment spread across the young woman's face. Her eyes skirting between me and everywhere else, searching for answers

Why are you here? I asked, trying to simplify the questions.

Her eyes suddenly widened, recalling something both vitally important and extremely unpleasant. I. . . I need help, I think.

You think? The question froze in my throat.

Silently, small portions of the mysterious woman's image began to peal away, disappearing into the crisp morning air, reminding me of yellow fall-time leaves blowing off the surrounding birch trees.

Wait! I screamed, able to find my voice again. Don't go!

The mist that had given her such beautiful life, gently began to take her away again; portions of her slowly shifting back to fog and vapor before fading away for good.

Help me! Please! The collapsing vision begged, crystallized tears starting to flow down her soft, fading cheeks.

Who are you? I shouted helplessly, standing up straight and losing cover of the bramble shield that was my last cover of modesty. Where can I find you? My questions faded away with the last of the mist. Helplessly watching her body, hair, and finally her tender face dissipate in the gentle breeze.

Damn it! The shout echoed over the otherwise quiet valley.

For the second time in my life I found myself alone and in shock from a mystical visit from a mysteriously beautiful woman with absolutely no idea who she was, or where she came from. And just as before, the only thing I had left to show for it all, was a mixture of irrepressible feeling... joy and sorrow entangled with O.M.G. and W.T.F. I found myself both captivated by her and absolutely infuriated with her all at the same time. The same glaring wonder and bewilderment I had experienced 10 years ago. . . with one exception.

You left me freezing my ass off this time, thank you very much! My tantrum echoing in frustration throughout the cold empty wilderness I was left standing in.

Reluctantly, my bare feet began the prickly task of getting to the cabin, each gradual step bringing me closer toward the warmth and hopeful normality of home. Climbing the pair of log steps leading to the front porch of the cabin, I glanced back at the calm lake, devoid of both magical mist and the amazing young woman that twice now had left me asking the one question that truly mattered... Am I going insane?

Chapter 2

Haunting Memories

A blue flannel shirt and a pair of heavy tan cargo pants fought off the morning chill as the next half hour found me constantly glancing out through the front window at the peaceful, illusion-free, lakeshore.

My mind raced uncontrollably, struggling for answers to the unbelievable arcane occurrence I was still having trouble believing. No obvious solutions, or in-obvious ones for that matter, seemed to explain my morning ghostly visit, leaving me with the only real recourse left to me...comfort food.

For some people comfort is an old warm blanket, for others it's a good therapists, for me however, it has always been mouth-watering, toe curling, better then sex comfort food...well at least two out of three anyway. What I needed right now was the kind of comfort that only comes from home cooked, not-so-good for you cuisine, that warms your soul, puts a smile on your face...and satisfies better than a blanket and costs far less than any therapist.

Leftover meatloaf made with bacon, onions, fresh herbs and grated parmesan, fought off the ravenous hunger, putting a hush to my spirit and stomach's incessant gripping – along with several eggs, a few slices of rye, and a hot cup of life-preserving, shake the cobwebs from your head, black coffee. All of which was enough to help me start to feel...well almost human.

The image of Jessica appearing in the mist, however, still remained vividly etched in my mind. Like some lucid dream. But she hadn't been a dream...had she? Jessica had to be real, I struggled to convinced myself as I looking out the front door at the deserted lakeshore where she had stood, or better yet floated.

Which means she had to have been real the first time. I convinced myself.

The first time. Over the years I'd rationalized that our first meeting had been nothing more than a confused 14 year-old boy's fantasy, some puberty induced Technicolor delusion. A small part of me, however, always suspected it had been too real, too vivid, to have been just a dream. Now the question, among many, that badgered me was, what could I do about it? She needed help, but help with what?

The world around me began to calm as I started to accept the truth of what had happened earlier that morning, I could feel myself relax. The emotions within subsiding with each sip of coffee, leaving a peaceful ease in which to think rationally for the first time. I had many questions and very few answers. In truth, I had only one answer, 'U.A.A. student Jessica Davenport'. That, however, was a pretty big clue all on its own, wasn't it? I had her name and knew her face, that was a start, and a lot more than I'd had ten years ago. I also had 'The Lab!', the last thing Jessica had said. Was The Lab a governmental testing facility?

My mind shifted gears, thinking of the attack on Jessica. She had called them Changers. Was she talking about shapeshifters? A surge of guilty excitement rushed through me. Was it possible I wasn't alone, that there were others like me? If so, why were they after her? Were they trying to kill her?

A numbing thought surged though my mind, What if she was dead ?

No, I replied thoughtfully, she isn't dead. For a reason I couldn't explain, I was certain she was alive, for now anyways...and for now that was good enough.

Like most topics in my life, I found the list of things I knew greatly overshadowed by the list of things I didn't. For example, how did she appear to me to begin with? Was it shaman magic or something completely different? Neither my mother or father had ever mentioned anything about this kind of power. I had no clue what was going on, and without my parents, I had no one to ask.

Both of my parents had been shamans and their powers had never been kept a secret from me. It had been as natural as any other aspect of growing up. My mother had been a wonderful healer, who knew every plant in the forest and how to use them to cure and heal. Her real power, however, had been the ability to heal without the use of medicine.

A nasty fall down a steep embankment broke my leg during the summer of my eighth season. The sound of the leg snapping accompanied the worst pain I'd ever felt in my life. Within minutes my mother was there, wearing the same forest green coat with the wolf head clasp that she always wore, her golden hair shimmering in the warm afternoon sun.

Shhhh, it'll be alright sweetheart.

She gently pulled up my pant leg and ran her soft hands over my awkwardly bent shin. A cringe of pain and fresh set of tears rewarding her efforts.

Dean, honey, look at me. I looked up from the leg back into her gentle eyes. This is going to hurt for just a moment and then I promise it is going to feel much, much better sweetheart.

I nodded, closed my eyes and waited. I could feel her hands as she placed one on my ankle, and the other on the back of my knee. I screamed out, feeling a quick, hard pull and hearing the small click of my leg being set back in place. Then the most amazing thing happened.

My mother's hands began to slide up and down my leg, a warm and soothing caress beginning to flow over me. I opened my eyes, and saw for the first time, a white healing glow emanating from her. The warmth appeared to be flowing out of her hands like pure sunshine being channeled directly into my leg. Within a minute the pain was completely gone and my leg was as good as ever.

I grew up witnessing my parent's abilities on a daily bases as naturally as other kids watched their parents cook or work on the family car. I, however, had no powers of my own – unable to heal like my mother or shape-shift like my father. By the time I was fourteen I had reluctantly accepted the fact that I would never be anything like my parents. Then, two things happened: the first was puberty. Prior to my fourteenth birthday I went through a huge growing spurt, gaining almost a foot in height and nearly forty pounds in bulk in a single year; the second thing happened on the night of a full moon – the night I changed for the first time.

My mother explained to me later that a shaman's powers were the most potent during the full moon, the time when our energy was the most focused. It was on that night that I felt the power of the elements for the first time.

I woke in my bed listening to the call of a loon on the lake as the full moon rose over the mountains. Lying there, I realized I could hear, better then ever before, the sound of the water softly rippling along the shore. I could sense the fire downstairs still crackling the last of its embers. I could smell the damp earth from the rain that had fallen earlier that evening. Everything was clearer than I'd ever seen, louder than I had ever heard. I threw the covers off me and stumbled out of bed, my heart pounding in my chest. Everything around me steadily grew more intense. I no longer just heard the water from the lake anymore; I could taste it in my mouth. I didn't just hear the embers crackling downstairs from the fireplace; I could feel their heat penetrating my skin. The damp earth wasn't just some random smell; I could actually feel it under my feet. The air seemed to thicken around me, weighting heavy in my lungs. I realized I didn't just sense the elements around me, my body was actually calling to them – beckoning each one to become a part of me.

My sight was the first thing to alter during the change. The moon now lit everything in brilliant splendor. I glanced out my window to see the loon that had been calling from the other side of the lake, and could make out each feather. For the first time, I was seeing everything. Objects that had gone unnoticed around me for years were now visible in fantastic detail.

I shed my shirt, trying to escape the heat that seemed to be coming in waves from everywhere. With excitement and fear coursing through me, I realized what was happening. My mother had taught me this; it was in the ancient lore. For the first time I was shifting forms. Joy filled my soul and I surrendered completely to the passion of it, letting the elements pour into me: earth, air, water, and fire all flowing into the spirit within me. I let the powers of nature take me, surrendering to my shaman spirit – knowing its magnificent form even before the transformation.

I fell to all fours and felt the changes begin, my muscles growing stronger. I felt my shoulders recent and my head lean forward. Black thick hair grew over my entire body. My right hand reached out for the desk chair to steady myself and I saw instead a large black paw. Startled, I quickly drew my arm back, knocking the chair over loudly. My body stumbled to the left, quickly planting my other arm out to steady myself. The paw slipped out quickly, as if landing on ice, sending out the back-chilling sound of my sharp claws scratching across the hard wood floor. Both front legs suddenly gave way sliding out sideways from under me, causing my jaw to hit the floor with a hard thud.

The bedroom door flew open and cracked loudly against the wall, giving entry to my father who suddenly froze in place with a shocked look on his face. My mother's head slowly peeked around the edge of the door frame, her eyes blinking in wonderment. The tense, ridged posture of my father quickly relaxed, allowing a broad smile to form as he and my mother both began to laugh. I wasn't sure what I had expected from either of them at that moment, but yucking it up at my expense, wasn't at the top of my list.

It's not funny! I snapped sharply, a series of loud barks jumping out in place of the words. The noise startled me, as if coming from some stray rather than from me, which only seemed to incite my parents' laughter even more.

Well it's about time, Volchonok. My father finally managed to say, smiling down at me proudly. I was beginning to worry, son.

I tried again to stand, struggling to get my front paws under me. Whose bright idea was it to have hardwood floors up here anyways? I thought to myself.

After several failed attempts I finally managed to straighten my legs and stand up wobbly on all fours. I looked up at my parents and smiled, feeling a long wet tongue fall out of my mouth. My mother raised a hand and tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle as her eyes focused on something behind me. I turned my head just in time to see the last of my ripped pajama pants fall away, revealing a large black bushy tail. I stared in amazement as I quickly worked out how to wag it. Well I might not be able to walk, but at least I can control that, I thought.

The thick black tail slammed into a glass on the bedside table, spilling the water everywhere before falling to the floor and shattering. I quickly looked back at my mother and apologized, another loud bark resonating through the room.

You look beautiful sweetheart, my mother said proudly as my father smiled and slid his arm around her.

Opening the cabin front door, I stood at the entrance watching the calmness of my world. The stillness of the wilderness helping calm my own inner turmoil. Do I stay here and do nothing and live my life asking 'What if', or do I make the trip all the way to Anchorage on what might very well be an epic wild goose chase?

Dean, you don't even know this girl, what the hell are you thinking? I asked no one in particular. The fingers on my left hand absently traced the five deep weathered groove marks that tarnished the cabin door's entryway.

The truth was, I did know her, for the past ten years to be exact. I'd spent a decade of my life waiting to find her, ever since the day she saved my life. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath, my spirit remembering.

The sun that summer had set blistering records, pushing the thermometer into the mid-90's – heat which might have been normal in most places, but in Alaska was rare. I spent almost every day that summer out running. It had been over a year since my first changing, and I now bathed in the joy that came with being able to run as a wolf in the wild. The world seemed to open like a book to me, able to travel for miles without ever getting tired. The only rule my parents had placed was to stay clear of other predators, especially humans.

Like most July afternoons, the day found me exploring the far end of the valley and playing my favorite wolf game, tag with the rabbits. A large thundercloud rolled in over the mountains, the first in months. I lifted my nose and caught the scent of the rain that was coming, and knew it was time to head home.

Beating the weather home was easy, making the eight mile run back in record time. I shifted and grabbed the clothes I had left on a large rock near the vegetable garden. After getting dressed I pulled a couple of carrots, rubbed most of the rich soil off and headed toward the cabin, knowing I would be rewarded with a disapproving look from my mother for the dirt seasoned orange snack I was nibbling on.

It wasn't unusual for the front door to be left open. The summer heat had been unbearable and any small breeze was a godsend. Approaching closer, however, I could see that the door hadn't been left open, it was completely smashed in, awkwardly hanging by one of the black iron hinges.

Mom. . . Dad? I called out, mindlessly dropping the carrots, and stepping up cautiously onto the small porch. I looked closely at what remained of the front door, my fingertips slowly tracing the five enormous claw marks dug deep into the hard wood of the door frame and along the outside wall.

MOM! DAD! I stood perfectly still focusing intently for any sound of my parents' whereabouts, answered only by the unsettling silence.

Stepping inside, my world began to move in numbing slow motion, every detail burning into my memory but remaining unreal to me. My mother's oils and herbs lay busted and littered across the kitchen floor, her books and figurines pulled from the shelves. Without thought, I turned and slowly passed through the living room to the hall that led to my parent's bedroom. Every chair appeared to have been knocked over, every picture smashed. Numbly, I walked barefooted over the broken glass on the floor, leaving tiny pools of blood in my wake.

My daze became surreal as I crossed the threshold of my parents bedroom. My mother's body lay awkwardly on the bed, her head and neck tilted unnaturally. Long gold strands of hair lay softly across her face. One arm hung off to the side as if reaching toward the grey mass of fur that lay on the floor. My father, still in his spirit wolf form, lay dead, his fur matted with blood from rips and tears across his body – the same deep gouges that marred the broken front door.

This isn't real, I whispered.

This isn't real! I screamed.

I turned and ran back down the hall, ripping off my clothes, and shifted without thinking, faster than I ever had before. I leaped out the shattered front door into the pouring rain that had finally caught up to me, landing heavily on all fours and sliding to a stop across the mud. I stood for a moment breathing heavily, the rain dripping off my black fur. I looked back toward the shattered door, then gazed forward into the quiet serenity of the forest. My mind was turned off, unable, unwilling to think. The only voice I could hear, the only one I wanted to hear was my spirit, and it was screaming at me.

"Run!"

Without thought or care, I sprinted deep into the woods. Farther and faster than ever before, I ran, trying desperately to out distance the nightmare I was in. After hours, my strength gave out, my body collapsing in the storm. The rain had soaked through my fur and I had