I don't consider the consequences of revealing my demonic form: I only know that something is wrong with Elliot and that if someone doesn't stop him, Ian is going to die.
I transform on reflex—power rippling through my body as I change—and I sense that my form is bigger and more complete than it has been so far.
The wings on my back are heavy and the ivory horns that spiral from my forehead are long and sharp enough to be considered weapons—as are the two-inch claws tipping my fingers and the fangs on which I accidentally cut my bottom lip, tasting blood.
My hair falls like a black silk banner spread in the breeze, and judging by how my vision sharpens and the colors shift, I know the pupils of my now blood-red eyes are long slits like those of a cat.
There's no mistaking me for an angel now.
All this happens in mere seconds, as Elliot barrels towards Ian with ground-shaking force. Without thinking, I leap and land in his path, dropping into a fighter's stance and letting out an ear-splitting, demonic shriek as I spread my wings high over my back.
Solidifying my belief that there's something wrong with him, Elliot doesn't even blink. He continues his charge, clearly intending to tear right through me on his way to what he really wants, which is Ian.
Fortunately for me, I'm more than a pretty, if currently demonic, face. Samasa's memories of ancient, Celestial battles fill my mind—of the graceful death-dance of the Ainasya, and the lethal power of his true form.
I leap as Elliot's huge bear-Shape charges, spreading my wings to catch the air, and then folding them to drop directly on him, landing a heavy blow to the back of his neck.
He crashes to the ground, but it isn't enough to stop him. Regaining his feet, he turns to bellow at me, spit flying from his gaping maw, beady eyes bloodshot with rage.
While Ian's bear-Shape is almost cute—his red fur soft and long, his face more gentle than frightening—Elliot's is anything but. Even when he hadn't been trying to kill us, there'd been something brutal and dangerous about him; his long, square face wasn't anywhere near 'cute', rather bringing to mind the crunch of bone and the rip of tearing flesh.
As he prepares to charge once more, I ready myself, confident my quick reflexes can match his brute strength.
But then he turns away from me and faces Ian once more.
We form a triangle—the three of us—and as Elliot launches himself towards Ian, I don't think I can get between them in time.
I do the next best thing, rushing forward on a collision course, wings beating the air to give me momentum, and crash headlong into Elliot's side, throwing my shoulder against his ribs even as his claws swipe the air in front of Ian's chest—close enough that I hear the fabric of his shirt tear.
Something cracks—one of Elliot's ribs, I think—and the air bursts from his bear's lungs in a rush of breath as he slams to the ground beneath me. Before he can raise himself again, I interlace my fingers to form a joined fist and deal a swift, hard blow to the back of his thick, furry head.
He collapses, unconscious, and then slowly Shifts before my eyes, resuming his natural shape, sandy hair splayed in disarray around his face and a thin stream of blood leaking from his nose. I lift myself to my knees and turn him over, intending to check that he isn't badly injured, when the crack of a rifle makes me freeze, the whistle of a bullet singing past my pointed ear.
I look up to see Maria Walker aiming the long-muzzled weapon at me, ready to take another shot. From the look on her face, I don't think she meant to miss.
For a moment, time seems to freeze, and then I hear Ian shout.
"Maria! Please don't shoot! It's Sam! It's just Sam—he's not hurting him, he's—"
I snarl as Maria swings the weapon around towards Ian, aiming down the barrel at the center of his chest.
"Explain!" she snaps, voice cutting the air like a whip.
Behind her, I see the rest of the Walkers, their faces displaying a mixed range of emotions, from fear and anger to astonished curiosity. The last is mostly Cass, whose small pixie-like face is a picture of amazed interest.
"Sam is...a kind of Shifter," Ian says, hands spread wide in desperate supplication. "Elliot attacked us—me, specifically. Sam was just defending me. He didn't hurt him...right?" He turns to me, blue eyes begging me to confirm what he says.
When I speak, the voice that comes out doesn't sound like my own. It's familiar, but it no longer belongs to me. It's Samasa's voice—the voice of an Ainasya—rich and deep, smooth as molten chocolate and sharp as blood-dark wine.
"He will live," I say.
Maria looks between us, the rifle now aimed at me again, and her expression is no less hostile and confused.
"Elliot wouldn't do something like that," she says, and Inez, standing at her side, nods.
"He was not himself," I reply. "I think his actions...were not his own."
"Possessed?" Maria asks sharply.
I hesitate. "Not in the usual sense, no."
"What then?"
"I...do not know."
Suddenly, I'm exhausted, my energy sapped as completely as if someone had punched a hole in the bottom of a bucket full of water and let it drain dry. I'm still on my knees, wings folded tight against my back, but I fall forward, catching myself on my hands, claws scoring the earth.
"Sam!" Ian shouts and—ignoring Maria's order to remain where he is—comes to my side. Fortunately, Maria restrains herself and doesn't shoot him. "Sam? What's wrong? Are you hurt?" he asks.
"No. Just...very tired," I say, breath lisping past my long teeth. "I think...I need to sleep."
He kneels, pulling me into his lap. I lay on my side, wings falling open as my body goes limp, my only motion the rustle of gold feathers stirred in the breeze.
"Sam?" Ian touches my face and brushes aside long black strands of loose hair. His own face is drawn with lines of concern, auburn brows pinched, and blue eyes sharp with worry and fear. "You'll be okay, right?"
"Mm-hmm," I nod, a very slight motion, and the most I can manage right now.
"Alright," he pulls me closer, "I got you—I got you, Sam. I'll keep you safe."
I laugh internally at that; I'm too far gone to laugh aloud. Not because I don't believe him—but because I do. I may have just saved him from Elliot's Bizarro act, but I don't doubt that he'll keep his word.
We may be surrounded by a family of Shifters with dark secrets, and a Slayer-not-Slayer who already tried to kill us once, but somehow, even as my consciousness fades, I'm not worried.
As he said, Ian's got me, and he'll keep me safe.
~✫~
"When can I go home?" I ask, as the tall, pale man leads me down a flight of stairs to the room in which I'm to reside for the duration of my stay.
He turns dark eyes on me—hollow voids in his corpse-white face. "When you are cured," he says.
His voice is deep and carries the authority of age, though he doesn't look that old.
His hair is long and white, but his face is scarcely lined. He looks like someone I'd cast as the lead in 'Son of Saruman,' or , 'The Adventures of Young Saruman,' if anyone was dumb enough to produce such a thing.
We reach a heavy wood door with an array of locks and latches, some heavy, some strangely delicate. Oddly, though, they're all on the outside.
He opens it and waves me through.
I hesitate.
The interior is dark, and I'm afraid of the dark.
"Actually, um...can I call my mom now?" I ask. "You said I could call her any time, right? Can I call her now?"
"I'm afraid not. There are certain...rules, you see. I—"
"Karin!" another voice interrupts, shouting down from the top of the narrow stairway. "Pax got the mark! You want it now, or in the circle?"
The man stills, then turns slowly, almost as though he stands on a small, rotating dais. "Have him take it to my study," he says. "I will examine it there."
When he turns back to me, I can't help smiling.
"You're name is Karen?" I ask.
"Karin," he corrects, pronouncing the first part like 'car,' with a long, open A. "And you... Your last name is Asato, is it not? Tell me...what was your father's given name?"
"Takeshi," I say, suddenly less amused.
"What of yourself?" he asks. "Is 'Sam,' truly the only name your father saw fit to bless you with?"
"Ryuko," I answer, frowning. "My middle name is Ryuko."
"Ah, an 'abandoned child,'" he laughs. "How fitting."
"What?" I ask, confused.
He sets a long, spidery hand to my chest and gives me a light push, forcing me into the dark interior of the unknown space beyond the door.
"Forget your 'mother,' little boy," he says. "She will not answer your calls. She was happy to be rid of you for... Well, I am all that you have, now. And I am your only hope of escaping the dark."
He shuts the door, locking me in.
I scream and throw myself against the unyielding, unseen wall.
I've been terrified of the dark for as long as I can remember, and my fear is not irrational.
Because in the shadows, the demons wait.
~✫~
I awake from my nightmare memory with a start, but it seems like something of the bad dream has followed me.
Wherever I am, it's completely, utterly dark.
My confusion escalates to alarm when I try to move, and realize that my wrists are locked above my head in some sort of cuffs, the thick metal cold in its tight clasp against my skin.
I cast about, my eyes sightless in the total lack of light, aware only of a hard surface beneath my knees and the rattle and strain of the chains that pull at my arms.
"Ian?" I call, my voice once more the light tenor of my more human self.
To my relief, Ian answers me, though his voice is muffled, somewhat distant, and coming from somewhere above.
"Sam!? Let me see him, goddamn it!" he demands. "Please—he's not dangerous! He's—he's just a goddamn kid, for fuck's sake!"
"No—not until we're sure," Maria says in her gruff, Kate-Hepburn drawl. "Until then, he stays here."
"Ian?" I call again. "What's happening? Wh—where am I?"
He doesn't answer, but I hear mingled voices raised in argument, too many to tell who is saying what.
I cling to the sound as an anchor, because beyond that, there is only the unknown—the unseen in the pressing dark.
Then, I hear something else—something moving—like a shuffling step through a layer of dry leaves.
I stare blindly into the black void before my eyes, and then something touches me, and I scream.