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Those two years in the fighting pits were the longest I’d ever spent away from the element that’s always called to my soul. When I realized Lost Moon was on the coast, I was excited to be going back to the ocean, where I belonged.
I never imagined the sea could be anything but a source of strength for me. I’m not one of those arrogant assholes who doesn’t realize Mother Ocean hands out bitch slaps as often as hugs. I respect the ocean, fear it when necessary, and am one of the strongest swimmers I know.
The thought that I might die by drowning never crossed my mind.
But now, as pain explodes across the side of my neck, flowing down to electrify my left front paw, I realize how stupid I’ve been. I should have remembered that I’m not actually half fish, the way my friends always teased growing up, and that land predators don’t always stay on land.
My muzzle drops and saltwater floods in, but this time there’s no baby porpoise or wonder to blame. It’s the pure agony of the powerful jaws shaking me back and forth as we sink beneath the waves that has me trying to breathe six feet under.
Teeth dig into the scruff of my neck, but there’s nothing I can do to fight back. Writhing for my freedom only shoves the fangs deeper, tearing holes in my already ravaged flesh.
Giving up on twisting free, I swipe frantically at the water with my paws, doing my best to reverse our trajectory. If I can get back to the surface, I can spit out the seawater, suck in a breath, and at least have a shot of turning the tables. I paddle as hard as I can, but it’s no use.
The wolf on me is massive. Even if my left foot weren’t paralyzed by pain, there’s not much chance I’d be able to pull us both through the water without a floatation device. My only hope it to shift and pray my transformation dislodges my attacker’s fangs long enough for me to get a human arm around his neck and squeeze.
If I shift, I’ll be kicked out of Lost Moon for violating the terms of the trial.
But if I don’t, I’m going to die.
I can feel my heart thumping harder, but slower, and an increasingly urgent burning in my lungs. I have about thirty seconds left to fight for my life, and I’d better make the most of it.
If not, Juliet will have to watch my body wash up on shore this afternoon, along with the usual seaweed and pretty shells.
Juliet…
I can’t leave her alone here, in this refuge that isn’t a refuge, with enemies everywhere and her murderous father still on the loose and unpunished for his sins. She won’t survive without me. If this piece of shit kills me, he’ll be taking out both of us, and I’m not about to let that happen.
