Falling is an interesting thing. It can simultaneously be one of the most empowering and helpless feelings imaginable.

When you're in control of the fall, running, jumping, climbing. You feel free, powerful. That lurch in the stomach, the world zipping by as you run. It's wonderful. Then there's the other kind of falling.

The kind that fills your heart with overwhelming, and completely helpless fear. A strict reminder that gravity is not a master that can be disobeyed for any significant length of time.

Your stomach lurches, your eyes close, and your certain somethings going to crack with the sudden stop. As I fell through the opening, it was the second kind of falling.

I had just enough time to yell and think about how I was at a horrible angle. My head pointed down before I hit something with far more give than concrete. Something that let out a surprised snarl as I crashed down on it.

I was a little stunned from the impact, but whatever I'd landed on had absorbed most of it, and I was able to roll away on reflex. I climbed to my feet, glancing at my surroundings. They were almost an exact replica of the other side, save for the open door at one end that led to a long hallway. I turned my attention to the other person in the room with me.

The man was slowly climbing to his feet, and he looked mad as hell. He was somewhere in his early thirties, with shaggy blond hair and a round face.

His body was short and lean, like that of a professional gymnast. And his dark suit was obviously tailored to fit him.

As I watched, he took off his suit coat and stood at his full height, which was only a few inches taller than me.

He glared at me with brown eyes that were flaked with gold.

"That. Hurt." He said with a growl in his voice that was almost inhuman. Both of us were tense, ready to move. Then a frustrated screech tore through the air.

It was different from the sound of metal tearing. This sound obviously came from a creature, albeit one that sounded like it belonged in a nightmare. The high-pitched screech went on for several long seconds before tapering off.

The man's face, which was a light brown in color, had paled to be several shades lighter. "Cheryl's too cautious. She won't come through here even though she could." The man's voice still held a growl to it, but it was laced with fear. And he sounded like he was reassuring himself more than anything. I glanced at the water for a second before returning my gaze to

the man. Was the thing scared of thumper? I doubted thumper could tear through steel. If this thing was a predator though those actions made sense, most predators wanted to avoid injury and would only go after something they knew they could take.

Most things didn't act like a wolverine or a grizzly bear.

The man stared at me, and I stared back. His eyes widened, and I tensed further. I was ready for anything if he charged I would-- the man threw his head back and started to laugh. Okay, I wasn't quite ready for that. He wasn't faking it either. It was a deep, rich belly laugh that bounced off the walls with genuine mirth.

I decided to back up a few steps, the motion caught the man's attention, and his chuckles began to die down. "You. We're looking for you. You're the bait!" He was laughing still; it was starting to creep me out. "I was going to go looking for you once I finished my smoke." I glanced down and saw the cigarette on the floor, faint wisps of smoke still trailing from one end. I thought I had smelled something foul. But it was hard to pick out one rancid smelling thing when I was covered in muck.

The man continued, and I brought my attention back to him. "I was the next man for the job after the crazy bitch failed to bring you in. Hell, Trenton was so mad he actually gave her a mark. Not that hed ever actually go through with it." The man trailed off again. "I guess today is just my lucky day. I didn't even need to lift a finger to catch you."

This was officially not good. I considered pointing out that he hadn't caught me just yet, but you don't give people one-liners like that. It's just bad form. I had a feeling this guy wasn't human. The snarls in his voice were just a little to Bestial, and the flakes of gold in his eyes had grown in number. "So, what now, you bring me in. And I get killed?" I was fairly sure that was his plan, but if he was talking, he wasn't acting. The man shrugged in a somewhat apologetic gesture. "Them's the breaks kid, I don't enjoy killing the weak, but I don't call the shots here." I was once again surprised by the sincerity. So far, two out of the three would-be kidnappers had expressed that they wouldn't be doing this if it was up to them.

Their sentiment was all nice and well, but it wouldn't save me. But it was still a little surprising. The world was brutal. The supernatural world even more so. I found it slightly perplexing that a group that was fine with torturing ghosts found kidnapping distasteful. Then again, they don't have to agree with everything their boss does. Hell, they probably only cared if they got paid. I knew better than anyone how easy it was for people to block out or ignore the things they didn't want to face.

Sure, your husband could be cheating on you. All the signs are there. You could ask him or tail him. But then you would know one way or another. And things would become real. And real things cause a lot of trouble and heartache. I had more than a few memories like that. More than a few that ignored red flags and behavior that were a lot worse than just cheating. Maybe if they told me that they didn't want to kidnap me, then it wouldn't be their fault. That they wouldn't be responsible for what happened, it was their boss that was twisting their arm, not them. Of course, that wasn't how it worked, but people can convince themselves of a lot of crazy things if accepting the truth is harder.

"Are we going to do this the hard way? Or will you save yourself some pain, and me some effort, and just give up." I stared at the man, considering. Not his offer, but what I should do next. I suspected that he wasn't human. If I unveiled my sight, I could confirm that, but that would be like sticking my hand in a fire to tell if it's hot. He would likely have me on the ground and hogtied before I finished recovering.

The golden eyes and snarling had narrowed my list

slightly. And well, there were plenty of spooks with golden eyes and the ability to snarl. Some were far more common than others. For example, I doubted he was a dragon I human form, even though that could fit the list. Dragons were rare, and one wouldn't be working as a lackey in a gang. Someone working as a member of a gang, and he mentioned that he didn't enjoy killing the weak. That narrowed the list further. I had a good guess, and there was a way to confirm it... but if I was right, then I would be confirming it by sending him into a rage. Eh, what the hell, he was already going to try and kidnap me.

I gave the man my best obnoxious grin and replied,

"wanting me to give up? You must be quite the lazy hunter. Makes sense; I don't feel any authority from you. And you're not the alpha of your own group. Why would I give up when facing someone as pathetic as you?" My voice was conversational as if I was stating facts that I didn't have any particular interest in. The man's eyes changed like a switch had been flipped. They became solid gold, and his skin rippled slightly like something was moving beneath it. At the same time, a guttural snarl started to bubble up from the man's throat. It wasn't a sound a human could make. It was far too deep and savage for that.

The man's reaction confirmed my guess. He was Were-Kin. Were-Kin was the incredibly loose term used to describe any spook that naturally transformed from human to something beastly. There were a lot of Were-Kin. If you viewed them as a whole, then they made up a surprisingly large percentage of spooks. Of course, in reality, the Were-Kin were not united people, hell the Were-Kin didn't consider themselves a people at all. And most other spooks didn't consider them one either. It was just the catchall term.

There were quite a few things the man in front of me could be, but the most likely one was a wolf. Werewolves were not uncommon. In fact, they were by far the most common of the Were-Kin. Werewolves were strong, fast, durable, and could heal from almost any non-silver inflicted injury given time. They grew weaker or stronger, depending on the phases of the moon. But even at their weakest, the average werewolf could take ten men in unarmed combat, hell they could do it even if the men had guns. And that was while in their human form. A werewolf could tear through a small town by themselves. Their instincts shifted with the moon as well. And despite the wolf in their name, werewolves were not like normal wolves. Their instincts were far more savage and brutal. And while most werewolves could be stable and balanced people, all of them had to practice self-control on a regular basis. Well, a lot of normal people need to practice self-control on a regular basis, but werewolves had to do it to prevent them from ripping their mouthy neighbors' throat out. As a byproduct, werewolves had a strange culture that was huge on honor and responsibility. That honor might not make any sense to most people, but it's how they were.

And insulting a werewolf's ability, leadership, and presence. It was a great way to get yourself killed. However, it was also a great way to find if somebody was a werewolf.

Blondie was about thirty seconds away from tearing me to pieces. In fact, I would bet the only reason he hadn't already was because he didn't want to kill me, but to capture me. And he was trying to maintain enough self-control to do that without breaking my neck.

Another ripple traveled through him, and I heard his knees pop and crack. They shifted inward slightly as if he had just hyperextended them. I winced. I had only seen a werewolf transform once before, and it hadn't been a pleasant experience. The man snarled, and his knees popped back into place with a sickening crunch. He stared at me, his golden eyes furious. "You know. I couldn't give a shit about most of the people who work here." The man's voice was laced with a growl that was far too deep for human vocal cords. "Randy, though, he was actually worth the air he breathed. I'm under no illusions, brat. We

are trying to kill you. You're trying to survive. But if Randy had any other choice, he would've left already, but his cousin has particularly strange views on family. And thanks to you, Randy got his third Mark. You're indirectly responsible for my friend's death!" I stared at the man, trying to wrap my head around his words. His friend's death? Why the hell was his friend dead. He was talking about Mr. Ward's, wasn't he?

Blondie threw his head back and let out a throat tearing scream. His knees crunched back, inverting themselves. I could see the skin of his legs dance and writhe, pressing against his pants. My brain switched from trying to figure out just what the hell was wrong with these people, to figuring out how the hell I was going to escape from a full-grown werewolf who had a bone to pick with me.

He was faster, stronger, and, no doubt, fresher. Even if he had spent the last few hours sprinting, he would still have more stamina than me. I tried to think of my options, but they weren't promising. He was losing control of himself and shifting, and it seemed like he was trying to resist the change. Another scream tore from his throat as thick blond hair burst from his hand, sprouting up through his pores. At the same time, other sections of skin on his hand seemed to shrink away, exposing muscle, before they pulsed back. If he regained

control of himself and stopped the change, he could come at me at any second. If he finished the change, he would turn into a killing machine that could run me down in seconds and kill me anyway.

It would be almost impossible to hide from him, too; werewolves had supernaturally good senses. I could try and bolt now and hope to find more heavy steel doors, as strong as a werewolf was, I doubted he would be able to break through three wrist-thick steel bars. Of course, that was assuming there was another door like that. And even if there was, that I could find it and get to it before he ran me down. I could try and attack him, but I didn't have any silver. Anything less than a mortal injury would heal in seconds. And even a mortal wound like a bullet to the head would only take slightly longer to heal. He couldn't keep that healing up forever, it did cost energy, but I doubted I could deal enough damage to wear him down before he closed the distance.

The shotgun felt heavy as it hung from the strap. That might be able to do it. But I had no guarantee he wouldn't grab me before I had the shotgun out of its case. My mind flicked through my options with the speed of thought that only having your life threatened could give you. Staying and fighting wasn't an option; running by itself wasn't an option. Maybe if he had a bit of a handicap, though...

I reached into my jacket and pulled out my handgun. I saw his golden eyes widen, and he grew even tenser. Before he could even lift his foot, I emptied the mag into his inverted knees. Blood sprayed from his legs, and he went down with a whimper. I turned and ran like hell. I passed through the doorway I had noticed before, entering the long hallway at a dead sprint. Now that I was in the room, I could see that the walls were lined every few dozen feet with large tanks, only a little bit smaller than thumpers. And plenty of those tanks were occupied. Mostly by crabs and the weird shrimp-like creatures whose names I couldn't remember, but there was the odd lobster or two, but they weren't nearly as big as the ones I'd seen in the main room.

A narrow catwalk lined each side of the ceiling, which would give access to the top of the tanks. About 30 feet from me, the hall turned right. I was almost to that turn when I heard footsteps pounding behind me. How had he recovered so fast? That many bullets to the legs should take minutes to heal while he was in human form. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder. What I saw made my eyes widen involuntarily. The man was still at least fifteen feet behind me, but blood was spraying from his legs with every step. He hadn't let himself heal. The psychopath was sprinting on broken knees and gaining on me! I slowed down just enough to round the corner. The werewolf either didn't react in time or blood was making his footing treacherous, because he slid straight into the wall and bounced off it. I gained a bit of ground. I should consider myself lucky he hadn't finished transforming; he would have run me down in three seconds flat.

The corner led to another hallway that was mostly a match for the previous one. Save for a detail I noticed against one wall--a ladder leading up to the catwalk. A crazy plan occurred to me, one that might get me killed. From behind me, I could hear the werewolf picking up speed. My plan might get me killed, but I couldn't outrun Wolfie forever.

I pumped my legs for all they were worth, gaining an extra burst of speed. I flew up the ladder, it was only around 12 feet tall, and I felt it as much as I heard it when Blondie slammed into it. I glanced down. The man started to scale the ladder. His bright golden eyes fixated on me with a disturbing intensity. He slipped, his blood-covered feet having trouble gaining a grip on the metal rungs. I started running down the catwalk, back in the direction I had come.

As I ran, I reloaded my gun, which was harder than it

sounded. I had to try three times to get the magazine lined up, and even then, only after I slowed my pace slightly. If I lived through this, I was going to practice reloading until I could do it in my sleep.

My feet pounded down on the catwalk, causing it to shake and sway under my weight. With every gasped breath, I tasted salt and fish. I had just reached the corner when the whole catwalk began to shake hard enough to make me stumble. I didn't need to glance over my shoulder to know that Blondie had made it up the ladder. It had taken longer than I thought it would, and I had gained precious seconds. I kept running, questioning the sanity of my plan as I did. Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration. To call it, a plan would suggest that I had thought through the details. In reality, I was grasping at straws. But stupid things suddenly seemed very appealing when you don't have any other options.

The extra shaking stopped, which finally caused me to glance over my shoulder. I couldn't see the werewolf. Well, that was probably bad. Had he given up? I doubted it. He didn't exactly strike me as the quitting type. And besides, he had outright stated that he held me partially responsible for his friend's death. He hadn't given up. The fact that Mr.

Wards was dead, and by the hands of his own boss by the sound of it, still baffled me.

It didn't make any sense. Now wasn't the time to ponder that question though, the question I needed to be asking myself was, where Blondie was going to come at me from. From below? I glanced down and saw that I had reached my destination. I stopped, still looking around for the werewolf. Tension began to build up my shoulders. I couldn't see him. Did I have time to get the shotgun out before he came? I might not but getting it out was something productive. And doing something productive was a way to counter the fear that was beginning to build in my gut. I pulled the case from my back and crouched down. It had five latches that I had to twist and then flip to unlatch.

Running from the man had been tense, scary, but also exciting. It was easy to ignore the worst of my fear while I was being proactive. But just sitting, waiting, not knowing when something out of the dark forests might come stalking. My breath sped up, and my fingers fumbled with the first latch. I cursed, and finally got it undone. That fear was something primal, something deeper than reason. It was the fear born from knowing that you are not on the top of the food chain, knowing that things older and stronger than you were out there. And hungry.

I had made it to the third latch when the werewolf rounded the corner at a dead sprint. It wasn't like how he'd run earlier. It wasn't a pain-filled stumble, fueled by superhuman strength and rage. It was a graceful, horrifying display of speed that looked wholly unnatural coming from a human body. He rushed down the catwalk faster than an Olympic sprinter. I cursed and stood up, throwing the case back over my shoulder. He had waited for his legs to heal! I had absolutely no chance of outrunning him now, and he might just ignore anything that wasn't a bullet to the head. With my more favorable options gone, I sucked in a deep breath and went with the stupid option.

I crouched down, which caused the man to respond on instinct, slowing in preparation to either catch my lounge or put on a burst of speed when I tried to retreat. So, he was totally unprepared when I did neither of those things and instead jumped to the left, sailing straight over the railing and towards the tanks below.

As I fell through the air for the second time in less than ten minutes, I considered that I might have a problem. Far too many of my plans seem to revolve around me descending from high places at speed. I heard Blondie snarl, then I hit the water, and my mind blanked for a second. It was cold, as cold as thumper's tank had been, albeit a lot cleaner. In fact, as I opened my eyes and started desperately swimming in the direction, I hoped was the surface, I could see my surroundings in crystal clarity. Well, for about two seconds. Then my eyes began to burn because I had them open in saltwater.

A heartbeat later, a second splash sounded from behind me. He had taken the bait! I had been banking on the fact that Blondie's predatory instincts would be in full swing. The moon was closer to full than not, which would make him stronger, but would also increase his monster-like urges and instincts. After being injured and already furious, he wasn't thinking too straight. Combine that with being on the chase? I doubted he had hesitated more than a heartbeat before leaping after me.

My head cleared from the disorientation, and through my stinging vision, I realized that the bubbles caused by my splash were going sideways. Well, no. I was going sideways instead of up. I corrected my course and breached the surface, taking in a deep breath of salty air. The tank was about the size of a small gas station, with most of it being water. However, one side of the tank was lined with a rock wall that stuck out a few feet from the water. I swam over to it and pulled myself up and started running. I heard Blondie breach the water behind me. I drew my nineteen eleven and emptied the magazine at him. His pained curse told me that at least one of the shots had hit. I had barely turned to take the shots, and I immediately returned to running along the rock shelf. I started to take the shotgun case from my shoulder, hoping to open it before a furious werewolf reached me.

I was too slow. He hit me like a runaway train--a solid impact across my entire upper body. I was flung forward, air whistling through my ears. I hit the ground. The wind already knocked from my lungs by the force of Blondie's hit. I was lucky and landed on a part of the rock wall that was covered in more water than the rest. That stopped me from breaking anything, but it didn't make it a pleasant experience. I flopped around, trying to suck in a breath. So far, everything was going according to plan. I propped myself up slightly, still unable to get a breath, and saw Blondie marching towards me.

He looks pissed, a helpful part of my brain pointed out. It wasn't wrong, though. The man looked angry enough to chew straight through the rocks we were standing on, well, laying on in my case. The man also didn't look entirely human anymore. His face was just a little bit longer. His jaw jutted forward just a little bit more than it should have. And I noted with sick fascination that his fingertips had morphed into black claws. He started to say something, but I didn't listen. God, I hated having the wind knocked out of me. Regardless of how many times it happened, it always sucked. My brain was so busy panicking over my lack of oxygen that I couldn't even summon up the effort to be afraid of the furious werewolf.

It seemed he was aware of that fact as well because his face grew redder, and spit started to fly from his mouth. He gave my leg a sharp kick, but he had held the blow almost entirely. I could tell because it merely made my shin explode with pain, instead of literally exploding. I reminded myself once again that the plan was technically still on track. My lungs finally caught like an engine, and roared to life, sucking in a mouth full of wonderful air. With my need for oxygen satisfied, my brain finally started up again, and the man's words began to register.

"I wanted to be a lawyer! And now I'm stuck doing this!" I blinked, had I missed something? Hit my head or passed out from lack of oxygen? "It's your fault! Yours and the people like you who were too weak to stop Trenton from doing what he wants!" The man was almost purple with rage, and it seemed he had checked out from the hotel sanity some time ago. I was fairly certain there was a word for what was happening to him, werewolves could kind of lose it when it got close to the full moon, especially if they're under extra stress. The man continued to rant at me about things that were completely unrelated to the situation. He was on a tangent about his failed law career when my attention shifted to something behind him.

My plan was a simple one in practice. I had no practical way to kill or subdue a werewolf. They outclassed me in pretty much every field. I wasn't a heavy hitter. Sure, I had a lot of power around ghosts. But in the grand scheme of things I was a very small, if tasty, fish in a very, very big ocean. So, I would do the time-tested method for getting something done that you don't want to, or can't, do yourself. Get someone else to do your dirty work for you.

The thing that climbed out of a hole in the rock wall was roughly the size of a horse, but at least two or three times wider than one. Like the others I had seen in the main room, it's overlapping chitinous shell was an explosion of colors. And its many legs were disturbingly quiet as it pulled itself up onto the rocks. It's two orb-like eyes stared hatefully at Blondie's back, and its large bulky claws reflected the light from above like a polished crimson mirror. I had no idea if this thing could take a werewolf, I hoped it could distract him long enough for me to get away at the very least. But judging from the way the thing was looking at us, it was certainly going to try. Blondie cut off mid-rant, and turned, following my gaze.

I expected him to tense up at seeing such a big creature, maybe begin to change forms. What I hadn't expected, not in a million years, was for the fully-grown werewolf to let out a terrified scream and began to scramble backward. He made it two steps before the thing moved. It's long body bunched for a moment. Then it lunged forward. Blondie exploded. His entire upper body blasted apart like he'd been struck with two cannonballs. And a sound like a loud gunshot echoed through the air. The creature's gore covered claws stayed extended for a few seconds before slowly retracting back into that mantis-like position. My brain stuttered for a second. I was covered in gore. Blood and meat, and other squishy things that I didn't want to think about. "What the fa–," I cut off as the creature lunged forward again. Pummeling Blondie's legs as they began to topple. Once again, that sound like a gunshot, and the creature's claws were extended forward.

Both strikes had happened faster than I could process. One second the creature's boxing glove-like claws were held close to its body. The next, they were covered in gore. The site finally knocked loose something in my brain, and I remembered the name of the creature in front of me. A mantis shrimp. I assumed it was called that because of how it held its claws in front of it like a mantis. I also remembered it's less scientific, but much more memorable, name. Bullet shrimp, it was called that for a self-evident reason.

The bullet shrimp turned its giant eyes towards me, and I realized with sudden clarity that I was in deep shit. I had traded in getting captured and then killed for getting killed immediately. Success? I moved slowly, hoping that if I didn't make any sudden movements, the thing wouldn't attack me immediately. It retracted its arms again and kept staring at me. I grabbed hold of the shotgun case and started unlatching it. My hands were shaking, which halted my progress somewhat, but I got two of the remaining three latches undone before the thing started to move again. Its bulky body moved far more gracefully than something its size should, gliding over the rocks towards me.

It had covered half the distance between us when I realized I wasn't getting the shotgun out before it finished closing the rest of the remaining space. I needed a distraction, my pistol? It was empty, and I doubted I could reload it before the bullet shrimp reached me. Could I throw a rock? Wait a minute. I had to resist the urge to facepalm as I realized I had been ignoring an excellent tool for distraction. I reached inside and undid my veil. My aura spooled out around me, and the mantis shrimp paused, noticing the shift.

Animals were often more in tune with the supernatural world than people; their senses better at picking up changes in an area. While it hesitated for a second, I manipulated my aura, stretching it out to my left in a long arch. I wasn't used to practicing with motions like this but forcing my aura close to me for years had given me a decent amount of skill at brute forcing it into doing what I wanted. I curved it as much as I could, which admittedly wasn't that much. But it was enough that when I covered the mantis shrimp's side with my aura, it came from the left, and not from straight ahead.

The bullet shrimp wasn't a ghost, so my aura wouldn't have much power over it. Sure, it would calm its emotions, but I had a feeling all that would accomplish in the situation was ensure that the bullet shrimp was calm when it blew me apart. No, I wasn't expecting the calming effect of my aura to do much. But non-supernatural predators had come at me before because of my aura. So, I was betting that the bullet shrimp would react to it as well. My bet paid off; the sudden feeling of my aura caused the bullet shrimp to turn in that direction. I undid the last latch, popping open the case. I pulled the shotgun out. It was already loaded and pumped the action.

The distinctive sound caused the shrimp to turn back towards me. The gun was heavy, but terror made that fact irrelevant. I aimed, and the bullet shrimp started to lunge.

I pulled the trigger. The gun roared and kicked. The slug caved the mantis shrimps head in, like a bat through a watermelon. Its body thrashed, and I panicked, pumping and firing two more times. The small tank roared with noise, and the mantis shrimp stilled. Its entire head had been destroyed, the massive slugs tearing through the creature with terrifying ease. My ears rang with the noise of it, and my shoulder felt tender. I just stared at the thing's corpse for a minute, taking deep breaths. Then the smell hit me. I had been too focused on not dying to register it before, but the tank smelled like a slaughterhouse, or more accurately, I smelled like a slaughterhouse. I was covered in gore. I felt my gorge begin to rise up, but I fought it down. I climbed to my feet, my legs shaking slightly, then walked over to the edge of the outcropping. I jumped into the water, cleaning off the blood and filth before it could crust. I made sure to scrub at my face and my fingernails. Blood could get caked there and might give you away – I froze as I climbed out of the water. Those thoughts had come from a ghost I had encountered years ago. A mass murderer, and a damn crafty one. I took a deep breath and remembered my goal, the boss, the soul cage, John's request. I didn't have time for a mental breakdown.

With my resolve strengthened, albeit with slightly shoddy supports, I reloaded my sidearm. Walking over to a section of the glass above the water, I put a few bullets through it.

Weakening it enough for me to swing the shotgun case through it. Then carefully climbed through. I never wanted to see a bullet shrimp again. As I thought of the bullet shrimp, my mind tried to flick back to the sight of Blondie's gory remains, but I wrestled it back, the goal, Alder. The goal. I shook my head and backed away from the tank. I needed to get moving. I couldn't afford to stop and rest. My mind felt like a shark focused on a task. If I didn't keep moving towards it, I was going to sink. With that cheery thought guiding me, I started to walk back down the hall, deeper into the dragons Leier.

I thank you for reading! It never falls to bring a smile to my face.