11. Quin
The burden of Simon’s and Luc’s revelations are weighing heavily on us all, so I take one for the team and attempt to lighten the mood.
“Hey, Nick? Why don’t you tell Simon about that time my tiger scared the literal shit out of you while we were both shifted?”
Nick glares at me while Luc roars with laughter, and Simon just looks bemused. Confused, but bemused.
“Nick, dude, I don’t even know what kind of shifter you are. I’m guessing an Aves of some kind, based on your scent?”
Nick huffs at Simon’s legitimate question, rolling his eyes before opening Pandora’s box that is his animal.
“I’m an Altered duck shifter.”
Silence. Crickets. You could hear a pin drop.
“I… I’m sorry, I thought you just said you were an Altered duck? Like, a flapping, quacking, corkscrew dick, horny bastard duck? What kind of animal does an Altered duck become?” Simon’s eyes widen as the possibilities hit him.
“Oh, fuck me! Are you a dinosaur? Like a velociraptor or a T-Rex or something? I know a cassowary shifter, and everyone calls her a ‘prehistoric murder chicken in disguise.’ I mean, they’re not exactly wrong, Doris is a bad ass, so a duck shifter has to have some pretty gnarly ancestors. Oooh, or are you a phoenix? That could come in handy if you’re able to set shit on fire!”
Nick’s eyes bulge as Simon word-vomits his every thought, but it doesn’t take that long before he’s giggling as each suggestion becomes more outlandish.
“No, I’m not a T-Rex or a velociraptor, although they’d be pretty cool. Same with a phoenix, but alas, I’m not that fabulous. You got it partly correct, though. I’m some sort of prehistoric bird, and my beak has ‘teeth,’ kind of like a saw. O’Hare once told me what I was, and I’ve never forgotten. He called me a dasornis. It took me forever to figure out how to spell that. Anyway, my bird’s name is Boreas, because apparently he likes the North wind, although he’s happy enough to go by Bo most of the time. He’s actually pretty huge; his wingspan is a little over twenty feet across, although he’s also pretty light. Hollow bones and all that, yanno?”
Simon nods, completely enthralled with Nick’s description of Bo. It isn’t long before Nick is regaling him with stories of Bo’s antics, including the one I’d suggested.
“So there we were, all alone in that huge gym hall and finally getting to stretch out our wings for the first time in months. Bo isn’t always the most graceful when taking off, and he’s flapping away and doesn’t notice Quin and Luc sneaking in the door. Quin decides that his tiger needs to come out and play, and the next thing we know he’s barreling down the room at us, looking like he’s about to have dasornis tartare for dinner. Bo manages to get airborne, but he’s so stressed, frightened, and enraged that he just…”
Luc’s laughing so hard he’s crying, I’m shuddering over the memory of what happened next, and Nick looks utterly affronted by Bo’s past actions.
“What you’ve gotta remember,” Luc pants out between chortles, “is that Quin was leaping up and batting at Bo, mouth open in the goofiest smile you’ve ever seen on a tiger.”
“Yes,” Nick states primly, and then deals the death blow to my ego once more. “So Bo lined up, took aim, and loosed an epic shit straight down Quin’s gullet.”
Simon chokes on a snort, his face turning bright red as he coughs and hacks on his laughter.
“Y… you ate… you ate literal shit?” he guffaws, and I roll my eyes at them all. I don’t mind, though. It was worth the sacrifice to my pride to see them all so relaxed and happy. It reminds me of the good times with Aodhán. I miss him.
“Yes, and it was the last time I ever tried sneaking up on Nick or Bo again, although there have been plenty of other times we’ve played around together like that.”
I relax back into my beanbag as Simon continues to wiggle his way into our tight-knit little group, and for just a moment I’m able to forget about everything I’ve lost and lose myself in what I’ve gained.
I have a family.
***
I’m sure that we’re being lulled into a false sense of security with our new setup, and it’s working. It’s been a little over a week since Simon arrived here at Vieux Sang and heralded a change in circumstances for Luc, Nick, and me. During that time, we’ve been fed proper meals three times a day, have had healthy snacks stockpiled in our common area, and haven’t been taunted, beaten, or provoked by the guards. We haven’t even endured any torturous procedures. I know it means that Hell is coming for us, but for now, I’m happy. We all are.
Nick and Luc are so funny together. They spend every night with each other, but we all know that they haven’t done anything other than sleep. You can’t hide shit like that from shifter senses, especially in a place like this. Most of the time they’re the same as usual, bantering back and forth like the platonic soulmates they are, but occasionally they’ll get all shy and awkward, and Simon and I have to ignore the hints of arousal wafting from them. They’re navigating uncharted waters, progressing from a purely platonic relationship to one of sexual and romantic interest.
We’re all slouched in the bean bags waiting for our guards to arrive and escort us to breakfast. Nick is snuggled in Luc’s lap, still half asleep and cranky. Luc’s got his arms around Nick’s shoulders and is stroking his hair, and it’s such a sweet, tender moment that my heart aches for what it’s lost. Simon has his eyes closed, head tilted toward the ceiling, and he seems to be deep in thought.
The main door slams open, crashing against the thick walls of our quarters. Before any of us can move, darts embed themselves in our upper chests, pumping sedatives through our bloodstreams.
Nick succumbs first, going limp in Luc’s arms. Luc struggles sluggishly, but another dart to his neck puts an end to them and he collapses protectively over Nick’s prone body.
Adrenaline races through my system as I leap up, stumbling slightly at the dizziness that hits me. Simon has no such issue, and Tálstrom bursts out of him in fury. It’s the first time I’ve seen the lion, and Simon was right. Tálstrom is an absolute beast, feral with rage and hatred, and the dominance pouring from him almost sends me to my knees. It floors the shifter guards and panics the humans.
I leap forward to try to help, putting myself between the door and the bean bags, shielding Nick and Luc with my body. Tál is tearing the closest shifter guards to shreds, their blood and innards painting the walls and floor a deep crimson. One of the human guards is radioing for backup while the other two pull the whimpering shifters out of the room and away from the rampaging lion.
I dig deep, bringing my tiger forth, and roar out a challenge to the guards. They respond by firing more darts into Tálstrom’s and my hides, but something has changed. I can still feel the effects, but they’re no longer working as quickly or thoroughly as they have in the past. My movements are a bit more sluggish, but I’m still awake, still aware, still a fucking danger to anyone who wants to harm my family.
Tálstrom is peppered with quills, the tufted ends of the darts littering his body like porcupine spines, but his rage is too great. The combination of adrenaline and rage pouring through me is rapidly burning through the sedatives, so I can only imagine how they’re completely ineffective against the storm that is Tálstrom.
“Out of my way, you useless idiots!” O’Hare’s unmistakable voice bellows at the guards, and they part to let him through. He appears, more human guards at his back, and he sneers at Tál and me.
“Stand down, boys, before I have to put you down. You’ve already made things worse for Nick and Luc with your behavior. I don’t think you want to make things more dire now, do you?”
His threat shakes my resolve enough that I hesitate, and it’s enough to be our downfall. More darts rain down on us, these ones different from the last. Their contents burn with cold fire, smothering my tiger until I shift back to human form. My eyelids grow heavy and my movements sluggish despite my struggle to stay awake. The last thing I see is Tálstrom, still fighting despite being covered with darts, and O’Hare striding toward him with an expandable baton in his hand.
***
The painful throb of bruised and battered muscles rouses me from my drug-induced stupor, and I blink awake to find myself still on the floor of our quarters. I struggle to my hands and knees, panting from the exertion. My body doesn’t want to obey me, but I ignore its protests and crawl over to the nearest bean bag and flop down into its squishy depths. I take a moment to catch my breath, my eyes finally focusing on my surrounds.
Nick and Luc are missing, as is Simon. The main door has been left open for once, but I can’t hear anyone close by. Then again, my tiger is still out of it, so my senses are dulled.
I eventually recover enough to make it to my feet, and the first thing I do is check our individual rooms. There’s no sign of anybody, so I go back to my room and tug on a clean pair of scrubs. Covered once more, I approach the open doorway to the rest of the block and peer around the corner.
Our quarters are at the end of a corridor bereft of other doors, but at the opposite end the hallway opens to a larger space. I cautiously shuffle forward, heading toward the area, and the soft hush of voices reaches my ears as I get closer. I finally emerge into a large common area, with cushions and mats littering the floor, shelves filled with books and games lining the walls, and even a small kitchen area complete with an industrial fridge/freezer, a couple of microwaves, and cafeteria benches.
It doesn’t take long for silence to descend as first one, then more inmates notice my presence. There are about a dozen of them, some of them still children, and at my appearance they are ushered away protectively by some of the older ones. I don’t move, not wanting to startle anyone or make myself out to be any sort of threat to them.
A man steps forward, and he appears to be around the same age as me—twenty-seven. He’s about a head shorter than my own six feet in height, with hazel-green eyes, mid-length sandy brown hair, and skin that looks like it would tan, if only it was exposed to natural light. He’s trying to look calm and collected, but I can taste the anxiousness leaking from him, sharp and sour. It almost smothers the multitude of prey scents permeating the space. Looking around at the other shifters, I realize he’s the oldest among them, and he’s trying to protect them. From me.
My gaze lands on one of the younger children, and he can’t be more than six or seven years old. I curl my shoulders inward and tuck my chin into my chest, making myself appear smaller and less threatening. In another sign of submission, I drop my eyes to the feet of the protective shifter and tilt my neck to one side. I’ll happily follow this guy’s lead if it puts the others at ease.
“My name is Shane,” the shifter announces softly with an accent eerily similar to Luc’s, and he offers me his hand. I accept it, my own hand gentle as I shake his before dropping it back to my side.
“I’m Quin. I’m not going to hurt anyone, I promise. I might be a tiger shifter, but I’m a prisoner in here, just like all of you.”
Shane snorts and then gestures for me to follow him toward one of the benches.
“Oh, I don’t doubt that for a moment. We all heard the brawl this morning, although I made sure none of the littlies saw the mess that was left behind. Bastards made me and a couple of others clean up the blood, and we’re the ones who left your door open. I figured that you’re not about to rampage on those who are smaller and weaker than you, not with the way you protected the others.”
I relax a little and smile as one of the older children sidles up to me. He has the smooth, rich cocoa skin; black hair; and friendly, open features of someone from the Polynesian islands, and when I take a deep breath, I’m surprised at his briny scent. While aquatic shifters aren’t unusual in the slightest, they generally stay close to their preferred type of water. This little one appears to be an ocean dweller, and my stomach roils at the idea that they’re being tormented in such a manner.
“Hey, Ollie. What’s up, my little dude?” Shane asks the child, and Ollie beams up at me. He gesticulates with his hands, but I don’t understand what he’s saying. Shane saves me from embarrassment by translating, and it dawns on me that Ollie is using sign language to communicate.
“So, Ollie here wants to know what type of tiger you have. He’s only seen them in books or cartoons, and also wants to know if he can pet it. Ollie”—Shane frowns at the little guy sternly—“it’s not polite to ask another shifter if you can pet their animal side. Some of them might get upset if you ask them without getting to know them first.”
I can’t help but smile at the small shifter. He must be nearing his first change, and I understand his excitement.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind. But Shane’s right, Ollie, not all shifters will be like me. My tiger is a Siberian tiger, one of the biggest in the world. He’s a rusty orange color with a white belly and black stripes. He’s still a little sleepy from this morning, but I promise you that when it’s safe for him to come out and meet you, he’ll do so. And yes, you can pet him. He enjoys chin scratches and belly rubs, as long as you’re gentle.”
Ollie beams and trots away, and I stare after him wistfully.
“Thank you for being so gentle with him. Ollie struggles in here, and not just because of his animal. O’Hare removed his tongue and larynx to see if Ollie could regenerate them. His tongue grew back. His larynx didn’t. Thanks to one of the nicer, human guards, we’ve all learned how to sign so Ollie can communicate with us, since there’s nothing wrong with his hearing.”
My tiger snarls at the cruelty the little shifter has suffered, and all because of the megalomaniacal whims of a bunch of madmen.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what type of animal does Ollie have? Or, at least, what would he have had if he hadn’t come under the not-so-tender mercies of O’Hare and the rest of the sadists here at Vieux Sang?” I’m curious as to which species Ollie belongs to that is capable of regeneration. After all, the abilities of a species in the wild doesn’t always translate to their shifter brethren, and it’s something I’ve never heard of before.
“We… aren’t a hundred percent sure. We know he’s a cephalopod. Before he lost the ability to speak, he’d told us about his family group. They were a large Shoal of squid, octopi, and cuttlefish, and he became separated from them a couple of years ago. We’re all still kind of holding out hope that one day he can escape this place and return to them. How the kid can still smile after everything they’ve done to him… I just want him to have his happily ever after. I want that for all of us.”
I don’t say anything to that. I found my happily ever after when I escaped, and then lost it when I put my trust in the wrong people. I have little faith that I’ll ever get to experience it again.
I look around at the shifters quietly occupying themselves and find myself missing the company of my friends. I have no idea how long it’s been since O’Hare came and took them away, nor what he was planning for them. I voice my questions to Shane, and his answer chills me to my core.
“O’Hare said it was time to see how far he could push the red head and the little guy, whether they’d break or bend, whatever that means. He said the lion would be forced to watch every torment as punishment.”