Chapter 1

The pattering of his feet was echoed only by the rapid-fire pattering of his heart. This body was not meant to run so hard and fast, and for a moment he imagined the tiny organ bursting into a bloody mess, ripping at its seams, incapable of standing the strain. It had happened to horses before, or so he’d heard, so perhaps it could happen to him. It would have made him frightened if he’d had adrenaline to spare.

But there was further to run yet, and no time to rest.

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The pounding of her feet was echoed by the pounding in her heart and head. With only a thin and increasingly torn covering of sock material protecting each foot, every slap against the pavement jarred her body and scraped at skin that was soft, devoid of calluses. The act of breathing had ceased to become simple, and now every inhale-exhale choked out of a dry throat. Her thoughts had fallen apart into a thousand formless splinters, as effective as an actual migraine in blocking all attempts at rational planning.

All she could do was run, and follow the insistent, unrelenting tug on her arm. The person pulling had her gripped tightly, and each forward rock of their bodies caused the fingers to stretch her skin painfully, but either they didn’t notice or simply didn’t care. If she faltered at all, they yanked even harder, so she put what little of her concentration she could scrounge together into keeping up.

They turned a corner sharply and she staggered, pulled off-balance by this unexpected change of direction. The grip hardened, keeping her barely upright even as it continued dragging her along. At this rate she was certain her arm would have a blue-black bracelet of bruises by the next morning. A problem, she realised, because her dress shirt was only a three-quarter length and the audience would be able to see them all too clearly.

This sparked a different memory, and her free hand clenched its fingers automatically, feeling the absence of worn leather.

“Wait,” she gasped, stumbling as she tried to slow. “My violin.”

Dark eyes spared her a glance, and she caught a glimpse of a slim eyebrow raised in what might have been puzzlement, or just incredulity, before they looked to the front again, silently dismissing her words. No patience was shown for her feeble resistance either, the answering yank nearly jerking her off her feet again.

The one memory had sent the rest tumbling down through her mind, breaking a little of the numbness that had kept everything locked in place so far. Her breath hitched, falling out of rhythm with the percussion beat of footfalls. Oh God it was all over, everything was over...

She didn’t quite manage to stifle the shriek as a figure darted out of a side street, but instead cut it off half-way; the squeal of prey ended when teeth found their mark in vocal chords.

“Shut up,” the stranger hissed, casting a look over their—his—shoulder as he fell into stride alongside the one with the grip on her arm. “We’re good. Hurry up.”

“Right,” was the breathless, snarled response. “’Cause we’re just dawdling along.”

The new arrival continued as though the words hadn’t registered. “Won’t take ‘em long to realise I was just fucking with them.”

“They all follow you?”

“Yeah. Dumb fuckers.”

It was as though she wasn’t there, or was instead nothing more than a heavy suitcase to be hauled along behind. Perhaps in another time she would have been resentful, but then this wouldn’t be happening in another time. In another time she wouldn’t have been forced to stand at her bedroom window, staring down the five floors to the busy street below, heart jumping every time the fist rammed into the door. Wouldn’t have to kick off her shoes half-heartedly, throat tightening as the voices rose. Wouldn’t have to slam the window back as they shouldered their way into the house despite the protests of her brothers, wouldn’t have to launch herself out as the bedroom door swung open, wouldn’t have to-

They turned again, and this time the wrench on her arm was enough to make her cry out softly. This earned her a glance from both, even if it was little more than an appraisal.

“Jesus Bichari, don’t kill her.”

“She’s in shock, gimme a break. You alright?”

It took her a moment to realise the last bit was for her, and another moment to formulate a response. “My violin.”

The man cocked his head. “What?”

“Told you, shock. Only things she’s said so far have been about some fiddle.”

“Violin,” she muttered, the tiniest flicker of indignation stirring.

“Yeah, yeah. Same difference.”

Talking took breath that none of them could really spare, and they lapsed back into silence. There had been people on the streets, but now there were less. They must have ducked off the main roads. She didn’t know. She hadn’t really been paying attention. The only constants were the grip, the aching feet, the weary lungs.

They stopped so suddenly that she tripped, and only a hasty grab at a nearby wall stopped her from ploughing into the figures in front of her. Her arm was released at last, and she tucked in against her body, hunching over slightly as she sucked desperately at the air. The others were breathing hard as well, but their eyes were bright and alert, scanning the street around them. Without the jerky motion of running to distort her view, she got her first good look at the both of them. Male and female, she realised. He was tall, Caucasian, hair a little longer and shaggier than most men’s. She had her hair braided close against her scalp, all dark hair and eyes and skin.

“It’s clear,” murmured the male. “Dunno how long though, so quick.”

The woman, Bichari, was reaching for her again, but she drew back. “Wait-”

This drew an annoyed growl from the man. “I swear, you go on about that violin again...”

“Where are you taking me?” she persisted. It sounded like a line out of a cliché kidnapping flick, but then they had bundled her straight off the street. In the breath before the panicked shouts began, they’d swooped in and shunted her trembling form away.

Bichari flicked those near-black eyes first at the man, muting his grumbles, then at her. “Do you want to go with the feds? I won’t be forcing you to come if you don’t want to. But you stay on the street, they will pick you up.”

She knew what that meant. They all did.

“And if I go with you?” she whispered.

White teeth flashed in a slim grin. “No promises.”

She didn’t know if it was just her imagination, but she fancied she could hear the high wail of sirens in the distance. The shaking had eased, but sporadic shivers still prickled her skin. Ian and Gareth – what of them? They had tried to stall the officers, and all knew there were severe punishments if you were found harbouring one of them. One like her. A shapeshifter.

“Where?”

The male outstretched an arm, giving his wrist a little flick that turned the movement into a flourish. She looked where he was pointing. Across the road, to the gutter, and to the heavy grate set in the cement. “Down.”