Free Unholy War by David Hair

aid us, packleader!’ Huriya swatted the air dismissively. ‘She will slow us down; she will obstruct us. The injured are almost healed and the pack flies soon! Ready her, or she dies.’ She shot Cym a pitiless look, then turned to go.
    ‘Seeress!’ Zaqri grabbed her arm. ‘Let her and I catch you up. Two, three days and I swear she’ll be flying.’
    Huriya looked at his hand, then up at him. It seemed bizarre to Cym that this little woman, tiny as a child before the giant packleader, might have the greater authority, but he hurriedly removed his grip. ‘It demeans you in the eyes of your pack to be sniffing her nethers so obviously, Zaqri. She is magi: our oldest enemy. Treat her as such!’ She spun and stamped away.
    Zaqri bowed his head, then slowly rejoined Cym, his face grim. ‘Well?’ he snapped at Cym, ‘you heard her!’
    ‘Why are you helping me?’ she blurted. ‘I won’t betray my friends.’
    ‘I know that,’ he told her steadily. He frowned. ‘You are Rimoni. Once, so was I.’
    Cym glanced at him in surprise. Normally her people were dark-haired, not blond, and his voice had no hints of such ancestry. But it was true there were blond Rimoni in the north of the country, where mixed blood was not uncommon. It could be so. It didn’t feel like a complete reason though.
    He just wants the Scytale
. Nevertheless, she was resolved to live through this if she could. ‘Let’s try again,’ she said, already wincing at the thought of going through that horrible change all over again.
    But despite renewed determination, she got no further by the time she was exhausted and collapsed into her bed.
    At night Zaqri guarded her. Though he shared her bed, he did so chastely, in lion form, literally keeping the jackals from the door. Hessaz watched them both with bitter eyes, but Cym soon realised that she was not alone: all the women of the pack wanted Zaqri.
They are more beast than human
, she thought.
He is the alpha male and must have a mate
.
    When she dreamed it was of him, and she was a bird flitting about his giant jaws. A dozen times a night his teeth clamped on her fluttering wings; a dozen times a night she awoke with hammering heart to find a lion lying next to her, never sleeping, his eyes on the door.
    In some dreams he lowered himself onto her, his fur soft on her skin, his meaty breath hot on her neck: the lion and his lover. In her dream she welcomed it, but when she woke she could scarcely keep from vomiting at the notion.
    *
    Next day he made her strip to her underclothes, a humiliation, but he claimed he needed to see her body as she attempted the change. Not that Zaqri made her feel overly uncomfortable about it. He remained proper toward her, gave her no further reasons to hate him, not that any were needed. Her frustration grew through the day at her lack of tangible progress. The more she tried, the worse she got, and still the change wouldn’t come. Eventually she stormed away, screaming, ‘Just let me sleep! I’ll do it tomorrow!’
    Despite her mind-numbing exhaustion, she lay awake for hours, agonisingly conscious of his proximity; when she eventually slept, she dreamed of him and woke jaded, nowhere near ready for the day to come. Breakfast was a spicy meal similar to Ramita’s cooking, full of alien flavours and tongue-stinging bite.
    She threw some Rimoni words at Zaqri, to test his story, but he fielded them easily. ‘Northern barbarian,’ she sneered anyway. ‘You’re no Rimoni.’
    But none of that could put off the appointed moment. The pack wrecked Meiros’ lair and tipped most of the debris into the sea, then gathered on the roof. As she looked around she was met only by blank hatred.
    Calmness, girl
, Zaqri whispered in her mind.
You can do this, I know it. Shed your inhibitions as you shed your identity. Become the gull.
    ‘How’s she going to shapeshift fully clothed?’ someone laughed, and the pack tittered contemptuously. They were all naked as they