Heavy boots thump against hard-packed dirt, a scraping sound accompanying it. The hiss of dirt being kicked and the grind of something like a foot or heel dragged across ground meets my ears. A man growls, uttering curses under his breath while he struggles with whatever it is. He grunts, and I take by the sound of pain and the further groans that whoever it is struck something vulnerable.

Despite the circumstances, my lips twitch. Good for them.

The jingoist and his captive approach directly from behind, leaving me unable to look through the few rotten knotholes along the sides of the wagon. I attempt to see through the rear of the jail wagon, but they repaired all holes around the door to keep me from exploiting the rotting wood as I did before, leaving me blind as a dragon bat from this angle.

My lips twitch as I sit back to conserve my strength. All I can do is listen and wait. There is The Thing, The Beast, inside me... but I cannot. For the very reason I haven't released it in a long time. Last time, the only time I used it willingly, it killed someone I was trying to protect. And I promised myself... death is not the answer for me. Not anymore. And all The Beast stands for is death. It yearns for it.

But will I release it to save my family?

Would that be worth the cost?

The door bangs open. I hop back, barely quick enough to avoid being smashed into the wall. My eyes widen as a young woman is shoved in. That's not what I thought it would be. I move to stand in front of her without conscientious thought.

I snarl, the torchlight catching my eyes. I feel my wolf flash, reflecting the light in the darkness of my prison to help my vision. I can see as if it were the light of day, even if the colors are muted. My lips pull up further, exposing distended canines. One guard, the younger man who's a few years my senior, releases the contents of his bladder with a hiss.

The second one, a bear of a jingoist and just as hairy, doesn't appear much better off. His eyes are wide and his hand shudders on the hilt of his sword.

Something in my soul takes perverse pleasure in snapping my teeth and rumbling a growl just to watch them flinch. I clap my hands, an evil grin crossing my face as they both jump back; I swear the boy would've wet his pants again if his bladder wasn't already empty.

What? I said I won't kill, not that I'm a saint.

They wave trembling silver swords to keep us in, then pull it shut with a resounding bang that echoes in my ears.

Eh, fun's over. That's sad, my internal voice comments.

The young lady shoves past me to get at the door. She beats against it with all her strength, even as the silver strips away her wolf. She slowly slides to the floor, leaning her forehead against the wood with a sob.

“My baby. Oh please, Great Father. Not her!”

I gently grasp her shoulder. She gasps, wide eyes glancing up to meet mine. My heart clenches at the fear there, and I abruptly back up and put my hands behind my back, trying to contain my anger so it doesn't fill the cage with palpable waves she can scent.

“Who has your pup?” I jolt to keep upright when the wagon moves. The horses clip-clop along the road, pulling the wagon with weary steps.

Wide silver eyes, sparkling in the moonlight, capture mine. Her high cheekbones frame a pert, slightly crooked nose and lips that tremble with emotion. Disheveled hair flows freely along her back and makes the paleness of her skin stand out in stark contrast.

Ahh, man. What am I supposed to do with a crying girl? I might've been taught to kill in a thousand ways, but they didn't offer an elective on 'How to Comfort Emotional Beings'. It just wasn't a part of assassin training.

The scent of copper hangs in the air, drawing my gaze to her shoulder. Dark, glistening liquid that smells of blood coats her shoulder and the hand she uses to put pressure on the wound. A large gash on her forehead is swollen and bleeding. Her silver eyes, sparkling with tears, slowly transition from fear to hope as she finds a kindred spirit in another trapped and fallen Shifter.

“The townsfolk. Neighbors... my friends. They.. they...” Long silken strands of darkest black swish back and forth as she shakes her head in denial. She covers her face with her hands as sobs wrack her frame.

A rage the likes of which I have only experienced one other time eclipses my will to keep the cage inside locked as tight as the cage I'm in. I don't have the willpower to contain it after the helpless fury of seeing my family ripped from me to become slaves and cattle for monsters—and at this point, I’m not even sure I want to.

I embrace the pain, embrace the anger, and something seethes inside me.

All the ones who have captured, tortured, and killed innocents for the heady call of false power. The things I have done. The deep, resounding sorrow of this young mother being torn from her pup. It resonates with a memory I have long since buried deep beneath my bones in a place hidden from all, even myself. Especially myself.

I have nothing save The Beast inside chomping against its bit. I am nothing except the black pit inside begging for release. The longing to be free, for good to triumph, for the darkness that invades to be crushed; it beats against the cage I raised to keep the darkness in check.

Her words are the straw that broke the dragon's wings.

The wolf side of me whimpers, tail drooping as The Beast emerges in a black storm of broken pieces.

Something cracks in my soul. My deepest being sings as a wall within is ripped open, and my rage roars from me in a palpable wave.

I gather the woman in my arms as the wagon seems to suck towards us before exploding outward. She trembles in my grip, body stiff as rock between my arms. She doesn't appreciate this impromptu embrace, but I can't say I do either. My body flinches with every brush of fabric, awaiting a cold metal knife shoved between my ribs and into my heart.

I hate I must hold her without first having her permission, but if I don't, she would be dead for certain... and I would be tempted to give myself over to the Master's just for the end to come quickly. Or not so quickly if they wished to play.

Every death takes what little good is left in the black pit where my soul used to be.

Just as quickly as the black cloud emerged from the fragmented cage of my soul, it returns, sinking back into my skin with a soft sigh of contentment. It's quite pleased with itself and my loosening of its bonds, which does not bode well for me. A part of me almost wishes for the detachment of the killer I once was to overwhelm me again. And yet, I'm left with memories of my family that would not have been comparable had the numbness eclipsed me. Although it hurts, I can't choose apathy over my family. Not yet. Funny how when I was numb, all I wanted was to feel. Now that I feel... a part of me just wants to be numb once more.

Slowly, my eyes open as dust settles. My mouth gapes at the carnage. Fragments of jagged metal and splintered boards lie in a morbid sphere around me. The moon illuminates a village dirt street only about three or four horse lengths wide. The walls closest to us have gouges out of the grey stone, as if a giant took a spoon and scooped it out.

A jingoist lies broken only a short distance from where we sit in the remains of what was once a wagon. My eyes do not linger there. Even if I have dealt death multiple times... it has never become easier for me. There's a reason I swore not to kill. And yet, here I am. Again.

Two large black horses lay at odd angles just beyond the jingoist.

My heart clenches in my chest. I must be the monster this country fears. What other word for this is there?

Question this later. Right now, get out of here. For once, my subconscious is actually... helpful.

The silver in the air burns my lungs. If I don't get us out of here soon, we'll die from an allergic suffocation. Wouldn't that be a right fine way to go?

I cough from the cloud of debris even now clogging the air.

The woman's eyes are closed. Her body hangs limp in my arms. I gently grasp her under the arms and then bend to catch her legs, cradling her bridal style. When she doesn’t move, fear pounds through my heart and makes it hurt.

Did I kill her?

She flinches when I cough and spit. Her eyes flutter open.

Cool relief sinks into my veins. At least one life is not on my conscience.

“No, save Shasta... first,” she says through a hoarse throat, coughing in spasms and hacking up stuff that would remind any human of a severe case of a cold.

I can’t just leave her here, not like she's asking.

"Please, save my baby," she asks. Her voice and eyes beg of me to save her loved one.

“I will,” I affirm. My voice comes out gruff with emotion. Did my mother care this much for me, or was she glad to be rid of her Kursk abomination?

I rip the cleanest strip of fabric from my dirty and battered tunic and stuff it into the knife wound in her shoulder. She moans in pain. As long as there is no silver in the wound preventing healing, she will recover so long as she doesn’t bleed out. Especially beneath the healing of the moonlight even now embracing her in a silvery glow. I tear another strip from my tunic to wrap around the make-do poultice to keep it in place.

I make my way to the young man as quickly as my aching body will allow. There are still angry shouts in the distance, hungry for violence. Hopefully, none will come to investigate the... implosion.

I grab the man's sword and boot knife. His cloak, a deep purple, is stained with darker shades that reek of copper. The waft of ammonia still clinging to him tells exactly who this is. I close his unseeing eyes, his pale face stuck in a rictus of shock and pain, even in death. I wish there had been another way. Even if he was my enemy—I wonder if he had a wife, children, parents, or siblings that will mourn.

Focus, I remind myself. There are more important things at the moment. I cannot help the dead, but the still living are another matter.

A horse groans, making something smart at the back of my eyes. It would be easier had they died quickly and cleanly. Nothing deserves the pain I know is even now cloaking the animal. An innocent creature. A creature bearing of such a burden as to embrace another's will and pull loads. He most especially does not deserve this.

I walk to the animal, his wild eyes rolling as he tries to rise onto a broken foreleg. He moans again, snorting in fear as I calmly approach.

I squat down beside him. I bow my head, rubbing circles on his cheek.

"Forgive me," I whisper.

It takes every last dreg of willpower to do the only thing I can for him. A quick death is easier than many days of painful healing.

Tears patter on his now silent nostrils.

Get up. Move on. You have no time for this. It was just a horse.

I know. And I am just a dog, I respond to the inner cynicism. But it still takes me another moment before I can find the strength to rise.

The other guard is around here somewhere, alive. I must move.

I stash the woman in an alleyway as far from the crash as I can, leaving her the knife. I raise my head as a cloying scent clogs my nostrils.

“Smoke. Make haste!” the woman whispers.

I nod. “I’ll save her.”

I sprint away before she can say anything more. Before I can say anything more. Shouldn’t have promised. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But too late now. I’ll do everything I can to keep it.

Stupid is as stupid does.

Shut up.

It's not healthy to talk to yourself.

Then stop talking to me!

I'm not the one who started this.

...

There are so many things wrong with this conversation, I finally respond.

Yeah. I'm out. Have fun, stupid.

Idiot.

Don't call yourself an idiot. Not healthy.

But... you...

Go. Save the girl.

Fine.