Shadowglass

My stomach shriveled. Not good.

Andy skipped over the counter with a sharp wingbeat and landed in a crouch on the floor. Dust danced around him, streaked with sunlight from the thin chicken-wired skylights above. “Any exit back there? I don’t taste anything.”

At last my muscles jerked into action. I stuffed my diamonds in my bag and flung my head about, hair flying in my face, looking for a loft, a trapdoor, a crack—any way we could get out.

No windows. Shelves, unbroken carpet, brick pillars and a heating pipe, ceiling fading into darkness. I scrabbled at the edge of a patch of linoleum and uncovered only concrete. My heart jittered. “Nope, there’s nothing.”

But he’d already launched himself at the ceiling with a slam of silvery wings. He gripped the window’s edge with steely fingers and slammed his palm into the ragged chicken wire. Zap.

Static flickered. The wire glowed, dripping, burning to nothing under his fingers, and he smashed his elbow through the skylight with a grimace, showering the floor with dusty glass shards and a few drops of silvery blood. “Come on.”

Urgency flickered in my veins, yelling at me to move. But infatuation tugged my mouth into a dopey grin, my heart sloshing with delight. Gosh. I felt like Lois Lane. He really was the coolest guy I knew.

“Apples, will you just get up here?” He swung on the jagged window frame from one bulging night-blue arm, scissoring his wings lightly to take his weight, and reached down for me, quicksilver sliding down his muscled forearm.

My heart sighed, fascinated. I could look at him all day when he was like this, all purpose and orders and rampant boy energy. I hopped over the counter and fluttered upward, reaching into the sun for his bloody hand.

“Give me my mirror, you fairy shitsmear.”

A shiver ripped up my spine at that cold, smooth voice, and unwilling I looked down.

Slate-gray suit, narrow pale face, hat tilted over shiny snake-green eyes. Chris flashed me white teeth, and pointed at me with his brass-topped black cane. “And give me your skanky girlfriend, too. I like her.”

Rude fucking gangsters. Anger fired beneath my skin, mirror-bright and dangerous. I battled the raw urge to swoop down there and chew his pointy little nose off, and fluttered higher.

But a high-pitched screech tore at my ears, and sharp fingers snaked around my ankle and yanked.

Air jammed beneath my wings, stalling. I squealed, and kicked at the grinning banshee who clung to my ankle with painted nails. My flip-flops flew off and thudded into the shelving, and my toe connected with her cheek, claws ripping in.

She just yowled and grabbed her other hand higher on my calf. Climbing. Dragging me slowly downward, out of Andy’s reach.

“Apples, come on!” Andy's fingertips stretched for mine, and I scrabbled for his hand, but it slipped away.

My heart squelched dread into my throat, and my stolen metal courage failed.

I thrashed my weak wings harder and flailed my legs to get her off me, my pulse racing. But she just pulled harder, her magical shriek chilling my bones.

“I can’t reach!” Desperation thrust fresh sparks into my muscles, and I strained with aching wings and stretched with all my strength toward Andy’s searching hand. I willed my bones to lengthen, but I couldn’t reach.

“Appolonnia!” Andy let go of the window and dived for me, but too late.

My wing joints hyperextended with a sick crunch. Agony speared my shoulder blades, and with a final sick judder, my wings buckled and I fell.

My knees thudded into the carpet, burning. Shock jarred through my bones, rattling my skull, and my jaw cracked together, my teeth crunching millimeters from my tongue. I yelped with my mouth shut, strangled, and Andy darted up and away, cursing in a rain of rusty glitter.

Chill stabbed into my veins. Suddenly, I felt wretchedly alone.

The banshee crowed like a rooster, and rubbed her lavender-scented hair in mine, sniffing me like prey. “Here she is, boss.”

“Thank you, Ashley (Ash Costello).” Chris strode forward, tossing his cane from hand to narrow hand and stared at me, snake-green eyes glinting cold. He didn’t blink. Not at all.

I swallowed, too-familiar dread icing my blood. I’d heard bad things about this Chris. Nasty, fairyslashing things.

I forced my eyes to stay open, water spilling onto my cheeks. Deep inside I burned to snark at him, spit in his face, but childish terror squeezed my throat closed, and all I could think was, Please, don’t let him slash me. I can cope with nasty tricks or beatings or even a rape, especially from a human-sized guy like him when it won’t kill me. Just don’t let him cut my wings off.

“Pretty one, aren’t you?” Chris licked thin lips and reached for my face.

I recoiled, flapping my sore wings to jerk myself away. But Ashley jammed her knee into my back, jolting me upright. She yanked twin handfuls of my hair and forced me rigid, and I flung my head back and forth until my scalp stung and tore, but I couldn’t get away.

My eyes crossed as Chris' hand came closer. Alarm punched hard into my diaphragm, and I nearly retched. He’d rip my tongue out. Break my teeth. Tear my nose open. Scratch my eyeballs until they bled. Make me suck him off.

But Chris just touched a cold fingertip to my lips, as if he hushed me. Unwilling, I inhaled the stink of rotting leather and cigarettes.

Andy hissed, clinging to the ceiling like a spider, his blood plinking faster onto the carpet. “Get your grubby hands off her. Last chance.”

I hadn’t realized he was still there, and foolish gratitude wiped my skin with wet warmth. He could have been miles away by now. Still, no way would he risk himself for me. I was still screwed.

“Taken. Now come the fuck down and give me my mirror, if you don’t wanna see this.” Chris grinned, and at that surreal sight, icy terror crackled up my spine. I struggled, but I could do nothing.

Wet black webs squelched out between his fingers and slithered over my lips.

Disgust wormed under my skin. Chris forced a blackened finger between my lips, dragging scaly skin over my gums, scratching at my teeth with his horrible salty claw, forcing between them to find my tongue. Cold, smooth like a snake’s skin, the sickening tang of salt and moldering meat.

Sour bile burned my throat, bubbling up into my mouth. I choked and tried to bite, but Ashley purred and yanked my head back, forcing my jaw open. Chris shoved his fingers in harder. His webs stretched my lips until they tore, my own mango-sweet blood sliding into my mouth. His scales scraped my palate, scrabbling for my tonsils, and I gagged a flood of saliva and bile, helpless tears scorching my eyes.

He didn’t laugh or smile. He wasn’t enjoying my misery. Just doing what was necessary, cold and determined and without hesitation. I almost preferred rape to this. He was just a man, even if he was some kind of weird lizard underneath, and men were satiable. I’d swallow his hard-on and he’d like it and in a few minutes it’d all be over.

But this? This could last a very long time.

Hot downdraft rushed, parting my hair, and suddenly my mouth stung empty and the world gleamed cobalt with the shadow of iron and blood.

Claws dragged over my jaw. My skin ripped, pain sparkling like frost. Copper tingled my tongue. Chris hissed and stumbled, the cane flipping from his hand.

I tried to scramble up, Ashley’s fingers still ripping my hair. My belly ring and the zip on my dress yanked taut in abrupt magnetic flux, and Ashley screeched like a wounded bird, blood splattering from her face. Suddenly I was free, spitting and choking on bile like I’d just vomited something very yucky.

A burning wet hand grasped my forearm and yanked me aloft.

Gratitude and worship washed me in equally warm measure, beautiful like a custard shake in a bubble bath. Embarrassing, to be rescued like a silly girl. But wonderful. My fingers didn’t make it all the way around Andy’s wrist, but I held on so hard, my claws dug in practically to the bone. His rainbow metal bangle cut into my palm, and incongruous oddness struck me. Wasn’t that on his other arm before? You notice the stupidest things in a crisis. Instinctively I flew, my overstretched wings aching.

Below, blades scissored. Razor steel zinged. A dark shape whispered wickedly past my wing tip.

I jerked away, singed. The knife thumped hilt-first into the ceiling and bounced uselessly to the floor. Hah. Too slow, banshee. We win.

Curses fired up at us like poisoned artillery, and we ducked past still-melting chicken wire and the skylight’s jagged edge into warm, bright, welcoming sun.

Fuck.” Chris Cerulli snakes to his feet in fury and swipes his cane up from the carpet, glowing green venom splattering from his claws.

Ashley retches on her knees. Broken glass crunches under her palms, her pretty nails torn. Blood streams from her torn eyebrow, her lip, her ripped earlobe. “Sorry. I missed. Let me after them—”

She’s already stumbling to her feet, fetching her fallen knives, dragging back bloody black and red hair, heading for the stairs. Chris grabs her elbow, fighting his voice calm even though rage and frustration blacken his heart. “No. They’re gone. You won’t find them. It’s okay. We’ll make another ambush. Peace, Ash.”

She curses, blood and spit flecking. Blood trickles into her eye, from her nose, down the corner of her mouth. Damn magnet-ass fairy ripped her fucking piercings out.

Angry black spines erupt from Chris’ forehead. He lets her go and squelches them back inside with an effort, jamming his hat back on so she won’t see.

There’s one, fallen, a tiny iron ring caked in dust and blood. Chris plucks it from glass shards, and his cold blood pulses warm at the sight, the ragged rosy edges of her skin.

Once he was Angelo’s foil, his protector, the one who cleaned up all the blood and bodies and dragged Angelo back from the brink of chaos when things got out of hand. Now Angelo’s dead because Chris wasn’t there, and he’s got Ashley. Pretty Ashley, who worships him with those lying ruby eyes.

Whose candy scent waters his mouth slyly when he’s not expecting it.

Whose lovely bleeding face swells his veins with cold-burning rage.

Suddenly he wants to slip the ring into his mouth, suck it clean for her, taste her insides on the warm iron. Bright self-hatred sweetens his fury. Like she’d want it back after he’d done that.

“Here.” Chris tosses the ring at her and stalks over to the dead spriggan, snapping his webs in and out in frustration. Good thing he already hates that thieving ironfairy. It means he can enjoy this ice-fresh loathing without it having anything to do with her.

The smug blue bastard stole Chris’ mirror. No other reason Chris’d want to rip those soft gray eyeballs out and swallow them whole. Certainly not a few bruises on his girl’s face.

Not that she’s his girl.

He squats, leaning on his cane. The body’s not stiff yet, and one scrawny red arm tumbles to the carpet. Chris flares his nostrils at foul spriggan sweat and stale beer. “One good thing from this. A dead Cruz rat.”

Ashley folds herself beside him, her slender thighs smooth in tight leather. She scrapes up some blood and sniffs it, her torn nostril dripping. “Thought you said that blue prick was a thief.”

Lick that sugary banshee blood from her lip. Swallow her kiss. Taste her sweat.

Chris tightens his lips and concentrates on the corpse’s slashed throat. “He is.”

“So why not come at night when no one’s around, master? Why’d he do this?”

Stab wound, short and sharp, a single neat slash right to left.

Blood mostly on the carpet, a fat green stain, only residual splashing on the corpse. Curiosity thickens Chris’ aroused senses. “Didn’t die in a fight.”

“What?”

“He was already on the floor, Ashley. Did you hear what the fairy slut said, as we came up the stairs?”

“Some shit.” She shrugs. Her magical hearing is better than his. She just doesn’t listen.

“Some shit like ‘we don’t have the mirror’?” Chris drops his cane and crawls forward to sniff the corpse’s throat. Blood, spit, a trace of oil. That’s all. The evidence is too distant for his human senses, and his sinuses sparkle, itching to flower.

He doesn’t dare glance at Ashley. Just slides his neck out and lets the scales sprout.

Let her look. It’s the truth, after all.

Vertebrae mutate in his neck, and his muscles stretch with a splurt of adrenaline. Keratin plates burst from his skin, warm black pigment spreading like blood. His vision dims. Colours die.

Sounds fade, blotted out by a sparkling new world of scent and vibration. Electric cycles buzzing the air with static, tiny rhythmic shudders deep in the building’s steel-webbed foundations, the flicker of insects and dust in myriad starlight shades. His lips scale over, his mouth dries, his tongue sprouts forks between serrated fangs that slide from his gums like blades. Venom swells his palate.

The scales itch to slide down his body, to cover him. Heat flushes his balls, twitching his cock to hardness, and he grits shrinking teeth and resists, his skin crawling with need beneath nuisance clothes. Grunt. Slither. Swallow. But not all the way. Not everything, not in front of her.

He gasps with the effort of holding back, and slithers forward on misshapen serpent elbows to the body. His fins scrape on the carpet, and his skin vibrates, tingling. The spriggan’s skin is rough and cool on his scales, and he rubs his neck along the corpse’s chest with delight. His mouth opens, and he inhales, his tongue forks flickering right and left.

Sensory juices tingle his palate. A kernel of heat, slowly dying in the spriggan’s heart. The rapid cycle of the lightbulb above, the breeze as Ashley shifts her fragrant hips, some distant footsteps vibrating the floor. The rich stink of dead spriggan blood, acrid with shock.

Chris slithers over sharp ribs, a curved collarbone, ripe spriggan muscles sharp with sweat and bristles. Wrist tendons, a cold slimy palm wet with blood. And underneath, almost too faint to detect, the sweet dusty taste of flowers.

Memory stabs bright into Chris’ quivering sinuses, and he grins with mobile jaws, his control stretching. Jinxx’s aberration. Jake, he called himself, dressed in a handsome human body but, like Chris, something quite different underneath. Jinxx was too angry to realize anyone watched, not the least a wicked snakeshifter with an enhanced sense of taste.

Triumph swells his warming veins, and he wants to slide naked on dead skin, warm his scales slowly with friction and failing body heat, pretend Angelo’s still alive and Ashley’s just a naughty knifegirl with whipcord thighs and everything’s how it was before.

But not with Ashley watching.

With a hiss and a sigh he withdraws, and once he’s pulled back inside his clammy, tight human skin, he’s left with only a parched mouth, a raging thirst in his throat, and an aching hard-on.
And Ashley staring at him, her bloody lips quivering in disgust or loathing. Or interest.

Tingles erupt in starved arteries, and Chris grips his cane and stalks to his bloodless feet. “Get up. We’ve an angel to chase.”

Notes

I think I'm being way too nice to you guys with all these updates...maybe i could just leave the story here for another month or so....
What do you think. Haha

Stay Weird Baby Bats
- Grimm :)