Blood.
Hazy red clouds, the pitch of confusion, powdered ebony pupils. Shrieking roars pounded fragile eardrums and a sense of spine-tingling numbness cascaded from muscled shoulders down to sinewy calves.
Bang.
Intense pain erupted in her shoulder muscle, causing the beast to roar and its captive to howl in pain.
Running.
The beast ran and ran, mind racing and muscles shuddering. Its captive screamed at it to stop, for the pain to stop, but the beast launched itself on.
Fire.
They were trapped, the beast and its captive, the beast snarling and its captive staring fearfully at the flames twisting their way to the sky.
Guns.
The beast hissed at the potent smell of silver wafting from the guns' barrels. Men surrounded them, shouting muffled commands and warnings. The beast's eyes flared, instincts screaming to protect its captive at any cost. But it was surrounded.
Roars.
The beast howled as its clan slashed and stomped on the men, disarming and dismembering alike.
Murder.
The beast's captive sobbed to herself as the beast's claws ripped through the man in its path, and watched it rip the hand back out. Her hand. Stained with blood.
Elizabeth gasped, jerking up into a sitting position, sweat pouring down her face. She wiped a clammy hand across her pale forehead and took a few shuddering breaths to calm herself. Groaning, she lied back.
Sighing, she stared at her ceiling, cobalt eyes tracing the spiny, white patterns with little interest. Sitting up and resting her weight onto her elbows, she brought her hands up in front of her to examine. On the surface, they were clean, pale, and smooth, but on the inside, she knew they were drenched in blood – and not her own.
Letting out a shuddering breath, she recalled the horrified look on the man's face before she thrust her clawed hand straight through his gut. It was horrible to think about, the way his face had contorted in pain, his spine snapping with a sickening crack. The beast in her had been unsatisfied with only his blood but, to her relief, her family had already killed the others.
Her father justified murder without blinking, no remorse. They were trying to kill you. Kill or be killed. Elizabeth had not bothered pointing out that the men had only attacked her because the clan had been killing them. It would not have made any difference.
"Elizabeth," Her father's deep voice resonated up the stairs and into her room. "Come here." Elizabeth rolled from the bed and landed gracefully on the balls of her feet. Rising, she draped her thin cloak over her shoulder and followed her father's voice to the study. The room, like the rest of the house, was made of wood and smelled deeply of pine. The walls were littered with shelves containing a myriad of leather-bound books on innumerable subjects. The hard-wood floors were bare except for a thick, maroon rug made of the skins of local Yukah. Atop the rug sat a beautifully-made mahogany desk, and atop the desk sat her father. Hands interlaced, he stared at her critically with deep golden eyes. Three young males, Shane, Ryan, and Dan stood around him, dutifully awaiting orders.
"Daughter," Her father greeted, curtly. Elizabeth nodded her head in a respectful gesture.
"Father," She returned, fighting to keep her face straight and void of emotion. Her father leaned
back in his chair and continued.
"The happenings at last night's hunt are never to be repeated. Is that clear?" Elizabeth frowned.
"But father, I – "
"But nothing," Her father retorted icily. "Your hesitation last night nearly cost Mike dearly." Ryan's amber eyes flashed at the mention of his brother. Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue, but her father silenced her with an open palm.
"Do not interrupt me, Elizabeth." He continued. "One more issue. 'But' is a word for excuses, used by lesser beings. I wish to never hear it again in my presence. Understood?" Elizabeth's face was smooth and controlled.
"Perfectly," She replied. Her father grunted and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. When she was out of sight, he turned to the boys.
"Follow her."
