Free Rakshasa Book I, Part #4: Shadowfall by Alica Knight

Prologue

    The Moon’s Shadow

    When I dreamt, I could see things that weren’t real. I saw a copy of a hill, around Canberra, one that I’d visited. The same place I awoke after my first transformation—one small hill, just like many others, crowned with a single tree. The grass was long and uncut, the air warm and sweet, free of the malaise and the heavy, stagnant pull of the city.
    I was not alone in my dream. Ishan Kari, the man I’d come to love in my dreams, would be with me. We would share our place, our private space, in the dream. This place, powerful and raw, reflected the state of our minds and our hearts. It was always so joyous and full of life when we were together, empty and incomplete when we were apart. Normally the land was primal and bathed in light; the sun, so bright I would almost had to squint, blasting its warm light into every corner of this false land.
    But sometimes it was not so. Sometimes the dream world, as were our hearts, was a colder and emptier place, without light and power.
    This was one of those times. Ishan’s words had filled this place with darkness, with doubt and despair. The wind carried a biting edge to it, a chill that went beyond the simple touch of autumn.
    “It’s possible that… it’s because when the moon covers the sun, I’m going to die.”
    The moment he said that I felt as though my heart were being crushed inside my chest. I couldn’t find words right away, and when they finally came they kind of tumbled out in a disorganised jumble and my mouth was working about two and a half sentences ahead of my brain.
    I wanted to know what he’d seen. I wanted to understand why he’d said that terrible, painful thing to me. But the dream world can sometimes be fickle, and before any kind of answer could come I found it fading away to nothing.
    I awoke on the couch at my apartment covered in goosebumps. The window to my balcony had been left open and the cold Canberra air had seeped its way in, stealing the heat from the apartment and dragging the temperature of the main living room down close to freezing.
    These things didn’t bother me since my transformation. Wiggling off the couch I dragged myself over to the corridor, ignoring the wind as it pushed my curtains around. Instead, I stepped into the corridor, moving down to my bedroom.
    Katelyn, my friend, slept in my bed covered in blankets. Despite the chill of the Canberra winter her body was caked in sweat and she shivered, ever so slightly, despite the thick coverings.
    She hadn’t woken up since we’d rescued her nearly two months ago. We fed her porridge and plenty of water and Ishan and I took turns changing her bedpan. We’d massage her legs and turn her over so that she didn’t develop pressure sores. We’d check her eyes and her nostrils to make sure they were not dry, indicating dehydration. Despite giving her the best care we could, she’d lost about fifteen kilos since we’d started caring for her, making her skinny, attractive body seem sickly and gaunt. She looked like one of those starving African children on TV. She needed to go to the hospital.
    I had begged, cajoled, pestered and threatened the coven with everything I could think of, but they couldn’t be reasoned with. Deep in my heart, I knew the reason.
    Were-tigers, called the Rakshasa, were independent and had only small clan structures. There was no overarching clan leaders, no grand rulers. Each clan lived how they wished and made their own rules. I had only recently discovered my heritage, so I was still learning all the finer points of our existence.
    But no matter what, simple survival dictated one simple rule that they all followed: the humans can never know of our existence.
    Katelyn had seen what we were. She had seen the Champawat Tiger in his natural state, seen his Rakshasa form. She knew I was one of them. No matter what happened, we couldn’t let her free.
    Her ultimate fate was not yet known, but at this stage I just