Black Beast (6 page)

He ran his grubby fingers over the books—
marking his territory
, she thought—and finally looked away.

The submissive gesture was at odds with his body language. The desire to dominate warred with an inherent sense of inadequacy.

“I'm not really much of a reader,” he told the table.

The silence stretched on. An expectant air hung over the bookstore as if someone—or something—was waiting for a cue that had yet to be delivered.

Then Chase said, “You're in my biology class.”

Not
your
class
, said Predator.

Two shades were watching. She felt the bite of her sharpened fingernails as they dug into her palms; they had partially morphed back into claws. The way Chase kept distracting her wasn't helping.

She could smell his nervousness: sharp and sour, with the tang of sweat. Not even Predator wanted to eat him; he was redolent of spoiled meat. This wouldn't be the first time someone had tried to make off with one of the more expensive books.

“You're not doing so well in that class, right?”

What business of that was of his?

“If you need some help studying—” he paused, deviously “—you could, uh,
ask
.”

All the shades were paying very close attention now, waiting for her response. Something crucial hung in the balance here, and Catherine had no idea what it was.

She whirled around, so she was facing the
READ
poster Myrna had mounted behind the desk. She put two tentative fingers up to her mouth and felt the incisors sharpening, becoming as curved and cruel as sabers. Her eyes were blurry, too, the colors changing spectrum and hue.
Shit
. She ran her tongue over her teeth.

Slowly, Catherine counted to ten. She focused on the mental image of her human self. It was the only way to reverse the Change. Long brown hair. Hazel eyes. Swarthy skin that hinted at some unknown exotic heritage. An intense expression people usually mistook for anger. Her mind, however, remained uncooperative, buzzing with fear of discovery. The image rippled, distorted by panic. Her breath came in shorter bursts.

Focus
, she urged herself.
Focus
.

Fingers closed around her arm, tight and unrelenting. Her shoulders rose instinctively as she spun around, dislodging the hand even as she put herself out of reach.

Oh no
.

She clapped her hands over her face, trying to hide as much of it as she could. The First Rule. She had broken the First Rule. She was going to be sent to the Keep.

Over the wall of her hands, Catherine stared at Chase in horror. He stared back with limpid eyes. Not the eyes of someone who had just seen a monster.
Did he not…?

She hardly dared let herself hope.

I must have Changed back in the nick of time. Any later, and he could have—he would have—

Doomed her to a life of persecution and exile with a single act of unpardonable selfishness?

The cool relief froze and hardened into jagged crystals of anger. The Council had spies everywhere. Her entire family could have been prosecuted for her crime. And to keep him silent, to protect herself and her family, Catherine would have had to break the oath she had made to herself so long ago, when she heard the tales of the atrocities committed by her kind: that she would never hunt a human—ever.

All because the little shithead wanted to get lucky.

She drew herself up to her full height. “Don't ever touch me.”

“W-what?” Chase looked bewildered, hurt. He waited, but no apology or explanation was forthcoming. This clearly wasn't how he had expected the situation to go. “I—I was trying to help,” he protested.

“I don't need your damn help.”

He winced at that. She was too angry to care.

“Not now—and not with biology. My grades are absolutely none of your fucking business. None. Understand?”

“I—I'm sorry.” He looked down at his tattered sneakers for a moment. She saw his hands clench. When he lifted his eyes, there was a flush of anger in his sallow cheeks. “What is your problem, anyway?”

“You.”

It was a good thing her human boss was not present.

“Why?” he demanded.

“Because I don't like you,” she said simply.

Chase flinched but after that he stopped trying to talk to her, and Catherine stopped pretending she was busy. What guilt she felt at speaking to him so cruelly was eclipsed by her conviction that he had participated in something terrible, too terrible to put into words.

She picked up one of the books she'd been dotting and began to flip through it. She was just beginning to get into the storyline when she heard a soft gasp, followed immediately by the covert sounds of someone trying very hard to be noticed. But Catherine—she noticed.

She set the book face-down and headed towards the stacks. Her footsteps didn't make a sound as she slouched into a distinctive walk that would look frighteningly predatory to any human observer.

Chase never saw her coming. Not until her shadow fell over him, and he uttered a shrill, girlish shriek of surprise. An angry blush immediately flooded his cheeks.

He snapped the book he was reading shut and glared at her as he got to his feet. “I found something I want.”

His voice was resentful, but Catherine could smell his unease; it flooded off him, the way other animals exuded ink or pheromones in times of distress. She wondered at it, and felt a little sick to her stomach as she realized that he could be holding a book of pornography for all she knew.

She stared at him without saying anything. His face reddened further. “These too,” he added, grabbing an armful of books from the nearest shelf. He didn't even look at the titles, and had grabbed a rather bawdy assortment of harlequin romance novels. All of them featured busty heroines spilling out of their Medieval gowns to be passionately embraced by men who looked like Fabio with a codpiece.

But she only felt the faintest stirrings of amusement, and even that quickly faded. Because she hadn't taken her eyes of the book in Chase's hands since he slammed it shut. A black, misty haze enveloped the covers. Curls of it clung to her fingers as she picked it up and began to leaf through it. The pages were thick as parchment and felt expensive.
Why is it glowing like this?

She yanked her hand away with more force than strictly necessary, shaking her wrist. The black particles still clung to her fingers for a moment before dissipating like vapor. They reacted to her the way magic did, almost, but she had never seen magic like this.

Black magic?

Some Otherkind—witches, usually—argued that there was no such thing as black magic outside of philosophy, and that to call magic evil was to subscribe to outmoded, plebeian beliefs.

Others believed that black magic existed, but that it was a completely separate entity from the magic performed by the witches. They believed it was an alchemical transformation wrought in defiance of the natural order, forced, twisted, unpredictable. Lethal.

Catherine had never cared much for the debate. Shape-shifters believed most things having to do with magic were bad. It was a learned fear, and with good reason. Witches abused their abilities, bending their given elements to their will without a care for the effects it had on the surrounding environments and those with the misfortune to be in it.

Looking at this book's dark, distorted aura made Catherine think that such distinctions might be crucial after all. However dangerous witches were, there was something inherently menacing about the way these particles had reacted to her.

“What shelf did you get this from?” she asked slowly.

“How-to.” Chase jerked a thumb at the shelf behind him. “How much is it? Ten? Twenty?”

Probably twice that at least. The book looked old. And Catherine found she didn't want to sell it to him. Just looking at the book made Predator and Prey shift in unease. The two of them were rarely in agreement; when they were, it usually boded trouble.

“There's no price sticker,” she said. “I'll have to check with my boss. She does prices.” Catherine set the book aside. Under the desk. “You still want the rest?”

He was still staring at her hand, the one the book had been in only moments before. She waved it to get his attention. His eyes had a glazed, unfocused look.

“Paperbacks are fifty cents apiece.” She gestured at the pile. “Three-fifty is your total. If you still want them.” Her tone dared him to tell her he didn't.

Chase looked lost as he parted with his money. He seemed to be trying to figure out how the crumpled bills had gotten out of his wallet and into his hand. Her unease deepened as she placed them the appropriate sections of the register. “You'll, uh, call me, right?”

Catherine handed him his change, which he shoved into his pocket without counting.

“When she prices the book, you'll call me?”

Silently, Catherine weighed the pros and cons of telling him to fuck off. “Do you have a number where you can be reached?” she asked at last.