Changeling (Completed)

Day Forty-Six-and-Three-Quarters

Day Forty-Six-and-Three-Quarters

I smell burning flesh. Pain sears my left shoulder. Am I on fire? It wouldn't be the first time I've been burned at the stake as a witch. (Or the second time. Maybe I'm not so good at blending in as I thought.)

Blending in? Why did I think of that? Blinking, I look up into softly falling grey snowflakes against the backdrop of the clear blue sky. One of the flakes lands on my eyelashes. I try to blink it away, waiting for it to melt, but it continues to drift lazily away.

Ash. It's ash. I try to turn my head, to see what is happening, but my body refuses to move. Why can't I move?

As suddenly as the thought occurs to me, I'm propelled from the body. I float, just a few feet above the dainty, fragile-looking blond girl. I think... I think that's me, but there is something wrong with the thought.

Other bodies lay all around the blond girl. Many are groaning, trying to move, trying to escape the flames pouring from the monstrosity behind them.

A smile quirks at my lips. Monstrosity. Willa. The monster. Ronson.

Ronson. Oh, God have mercy. Shana tried to kill us all. Frantic, I claw back down to the body... to me. I wake up and gasp at the numb feeling in my limbs. "No, please," I whisper. "Please don't take me." I fight to move, just one limb, just one little bit. I wrench my right shoulder an inch and my spirit retreats immediately from the screaming pain. Once again, I'm spit from the body with the force of a torpedo.

I stare around me at the black tendrils. "Please don't," I beg soundlessly into the space between life and death that I hover inside. "Please let them live. Let me live. Please."

Tendrils of dark death curl around the body. I feel my spirit stutter. The abyss looms, the nether calls for me. "Please," I whisper. Stubbornly, I force my spirit into the body, so that I can at least beg out loud.

"Please spare them this," I gasp out from a mouth filled with blood. It's hopeless. My hearing is recovering, the ringing in my ears from the blast has faded enough that I can hear the screams of agony from my friends. "Please," my whisper is lost in the noise.

Grey fingers touch my heart. Death stares down at me. I can't tell you what he looks like. I can't remember his features, his face. I just know that he has eyes of the darkest slate and that they are not unkind.

He is looking at the Mark on my shoulder; the one that Ronson saved my life with before. Ronson. He isn't moving, isn't breathing. He took the brunt of the blast to save me.

One lone, grey finger touches the Mark. Ice blooms like an unfurling flower. It careens down my nerves from my shoulder to my fingertips, my chest, my legs, and toes. The ice crashes into my skull like the northern sea. I scream and my body jerks awake.

Gasping, scrambling to my feet, I see Benji stumbling toward me. "Innie," he grasps me to his chest, tears soaking his face. "Baby, I couldn't find you," his words are a howl of pain.

"Ronson," I whisper. The alpha, my lover, my mate, groans from behind me.

Benji crouches down next to his alpha as Ronson's eyes blink open. "Where are you hurt, Alpha?" he asks him.

Ronson just looks at Benji, bewilderment and pain lacing his expression. "Everywhere," he finally croaks, but he sits up.

Ronson struggles to his knees while I sink to my bottom on the ground. It's not possible, but as I look around I see all of my wolves stirring. Bodies that had no life just moments ago struggle to their feet.