Free Black Beast by Nenia Campbell Page A

later that evening, she would find that the wax, too, had a grayish tinge.
     
    Cramps were beginning to pinch her flanks. She ignored them, focusing all her attention on the ground beneath her feet and any unpleasant surprises it might bring. She would not be surprised again. The witch had allowed a lull in his attacks, leading her to believe she was safe on one of the steeper hillsides. And then, halfway down, it metamorphosed into a subzero hell. She had slipped and fallen, and been gouged at by the sharp rocks waiting below. Both her knees had been ripped open. They still hadn't quite healed. She was lucky her head hadn't split, too, like a rotten melon.
     
    Catherine had never faced an adversary so deadly. The poem by Robert Frost came to mind.
Fire and Ice.
They'd been discussing it in English two weeks before. Except if the witch had his way with her, she doubted she'd have the luxury of perishing twice.
     
    She was shivering by the time she made it to the bus station, and not just from cold. She was muddy and her jeans were stained with blood. It was dark, though, and she had arranged her flannel shirt to hide the worst of the damage.
     
    People stared at her. She could smell their unease as the desire to do good warred with the inherent fear for one's own safety. They imagined that they could see something about her. Something wild, dangerous.
     
    It made them afraid enough that none of them bothered to ask if she was all right or in need of any help. Catherine had the sinking feeling that if the witch showed up at that moment to finish her off not a one of them would have rushed to her defense.
     
    There was a deep, booming rumble that seemed to shake the ground. At first Catherine thought it was the witch, but then she saw the white light whip across the sky, and for a second everything was lit up as brightly as day. A few seconds later, there was another rumble. The lightning chaser came faster this time, and left purple splotches dancing playfully before her eyes.
     
    Catherine rubbed at her arms. The hairs were standing straight up, reacting to the electricity in the air. She could smell ozone, hot and acrid. It reminded her chillingly of the witch's scent. Her pulse spiked at the memory. Why had he let her escape?
     
    He had quoted all the textbook slurs at her, brought the requisite silver. But he knew more than just the basics. He had known exactly how to intimidate her, and had tried to exert dominance over her, which suggested a more in-depth study of her kind.
     
    The witch should have known, then, that shape-shifters were notorious for harboring grudges that could span decades, hunting down offenders with the single-mindedness of a predator, tracking them across entire continents, even. What he had done to her was a grave offense; shifters had embarked on vendettas with far less provocation.
     
    It hadn't been a show of mercy on his part, either. No, he had been toying with her, like a cat with a wounded mouse—and he had enjoyed it, too. Catherine knew; she could smell his obvious pleasure, how it had bordered on the sexual. It had her feel ill.
     
    If the witch had been hunting her for sport that explained the stalling, but not why he had taken such great pains not to harm her. If he had only been trying to capture her, to dominate her, subjugation would have been simple. He was larger, and without her powers she was easy prey. He could have done worse, she admitted.
     
    Cruelty, then? That seemed closer than the other options, at least, but still wasn't quite right.
     
    She was glad when the bus pulled up to the curb. She handed the driver her crumpled, soaking fare and slunk towards the back of the bus. The rocking motions of the vehicle as it rolled over the bumpy road helped disguise the trembling in her legs. Even so, she had to cling tightly to the steel support rail to keep from sliding right off her seat. She was shaking so badly.
     
    For the first time in her life, she felt like