200 West Street

DEON

Donna should be waiting for me outside GoldFae Sacks as per our very passionate exchange, which was about a minute ago, and lasted almost half that time. Thirty seconds I will forever cherish.

"Get lost," she said.

It was a little tricky for me, with Fay flung over my shoulder like a bag of potatoes, a phone against my ear, freighted with all sorts of goods, but still, anything went to keep the conversation going, so I said, "Darling, you bring your hot ass down to the lobby and wait for me there."

"Building's on fire! I'm rushing down the emergency stairs!" I wasn't expecting that line. Fear sank deep in me.

Still is.

Anyway, with my nerves at their highest, I lost my subtlety. "Wait for me outside, at a safe perimeter where I can see you. If you're not around the area, I'll spank you until the middle of fucking next month."

"Listen, ass—" Battery died right there. And it's been a misery fest ever since.

The sky has turned black, darkness rolling from the rooftops.

My nostrils are filled with the smell of revolution, blood. And it has begun breeding distant screams. These are relentless, echoing louder as a thick fog that reeks of charcoal swallows me. It can. I'm coming in hard, like a tidal wave, pushing against thickening winds, every thrust rougher than the previous.

The city's done.

Quicker than a match, the spark of protests turned into a national blaze in less than two weeks. Mass phenomena. Herding movements, whatever it's called, Fidr should've seen it coming. New Orc was disintegrating, and she kept throwing fuel, putting justice on the edge of a knife. And now, it's an 'every monster for himself' state of anarchy. I can only hope Fidr goes down with New Orc. Maybe she'll require my assistance in keeping her head pressed against the embers. And I'll be there for it.

GoldFae Sacks is in view, and I suck in a breath to find the structure far from empty. It's buzzing with cries, panic-stricken people rushing out of its exit gates. The lower I fly, the more I wanna fly back up.

My lungs. No need to ask me how they're doing. They are working fine. Full max capacity, as a matter of fact. What did Donna say? Ah, yes. I'm a full-grown wolf. Something about this thought makes me feel like I'm cracking open.

Flames, explosions, or screams, it doesn't matter where it's coming from. The winds bring in chuffs of hot air roaring in my ears. I can't cover my eyes from the ash pelting down on me. Wish I could since I'm blinded by this crap.

My eyes drift to a silent face covered in soot. More than sleeping, Fay looks lifeless, her wand casually resting on her. It amazes me that such peace lies in my arms amid such turmoil. You can blame it on stress, gliding motions lulling her, whatever. But I won't chuckle at it. Nobody likes tough days.

I tip one wing up and twirl on its axis, taking a panoramic look around. My gaze settles on the Fae Light Tower opposite Donna's scorching building. Taking its clock at face value, the time should be ten past eight, and commuter rush hour should be over, yet traffic clogs the streets. I'm guessing everyone thought curfew was for the others. I mean, look at us.

Or... maybe some of them got a little red envelope in their letterbox and are feeling a little rebellious. In all likelihood, half of the population hasn't heard of the curfew. Because what's a day for people to turn around? Anyway, now they are served live. Angry bastards with guns and sticks resembling cattle rods are free flowing from military trucks every few hundred feet.

The thought of Donna has me wincing inwardly. I have to locate her fast.

Problem is, it's hard to find a good spot. I don't know where to land or if I should even land at all.

At rooftop level–still evaluating my options here–an interesting scene catches my eye. On the left of the GoldFae Sacks building, a little down the street, minotaurs wearing black leather jackets are pulling semi-automatic M-guns out of the trunks of their cars. They say curiosity killed the cat, but luckily, I'm not one. I rocket down and, like a cocoon, cloak ourselves with red leather, shielding us from the building's flames. I latch out my wings, the thumb grazing Fidr's monumental statue the vehicles are stationed under. It's just a peek.

My grip on Fayra is unbreakable, my body joints vulcanizing to the symbol I recognize. Well, would you look at that... Embroidered on one of the bull's sleeves is an emblem: a tree goddess holding a glowing stone in her hands—the Revolutionary Monster Brigade.

Up to this point, I'd been riding a sky with a twinge of–well-padded–fear, but now it's as if epinephrine, caffeine, and anxiety had a threesome and just slungshot their baby into my bloodstream. No matter how much I appreciate this view, a 'hallelujah' not far off my lips, these big boys are bound to cause a bloodbath...

A thoughtful dragotaur shouts, "Hey! You should get the hell out of here!" Clearly, he doesn't have his mate in the area because I'd bet he'd be singing a different tune if it were the case.

"Leave her alone!" My head dips down to the sound of this cry, and I see a soldier beating a naga woman unconscious in the middle of the road. Around them, I go in circles. Her satyr colleague is grabbed by his tie and flung atop her. This is fucked. I'm loaded, arms full...

Bang!

A gasp escapes me, two seconds short of hinging my nails into Fay.

Donna. I've got to find Donna!

I pour down like hard rain, my chest on a 100-mile-per-hour treadmill as a patch of confusion grows before me. You got it, Deon, nothing but a good old riot mixed with fire evacuation sirens, fright, and a zest of frantic chaos to get the blood pumping.

I hover over the crowd, Tyke's hammer dangerously grazing heads. And then, wolf ears come into view, two chocolate-colored ones. There she is, trying to navigate among the trolls, nagas, and other tentacle-limbed runners. Okay, Deon. Grab the babe and make a speedy exit.

"Donna!" I shout, soon realizing I sound like a desperate screaming fan, pants wet for their idol.

My call seems to have little effect on Donna. She can't hear me. Of course, she can't, idiot!

I find a clear spot to land, a narrow one, right there, behind the bus stop shelter. I'm hating it, the sting of acid fumes ripping tears from the corner of my eyes.

"The fuck?!" Blood leaves my face. I'm staggering in my flight, close to dropping. I thrash, adrenaline taking over. Wings in distress, they bash aimlessly, hardly holding me up. Someone grabbed my tail. Tyke's hammer! I swiftly turn and growl, "Fucking drop it." My tail coils ever harder around Tyke's insanely heavy handle.

"I need it!" It's a cyclops, his head bloodied in a semi-state of shock. Guess he was in a flight or fight mode until now and just picked his side.

I take three breaths, panting, my eyes swirling from Fay to him to anger. Keeping my voice low, I make my message clear. "Remove your hands from the hammer."

"Or what!" He gives a second rough tug on my tail, my ill-treated spine on the verge of snapping.

It's essential to stay in control in these situations. "I'm going to hurt you." I then close my eyes, the child in me chuckling from this so-called warning. Nevertheless, I incline my head, readying a hit. A gargoyle's headbutt is lethal, and we all know why. The cyclops' hold relaxes, eyes wary before taking heels somewhere in hell. I think he got the memo.

I spin on myself and start skidding in an endless circle, scouring this clusterfuck. This place is like Satan's asshole, the heat stifling. It reminds me of the West Coast in August, except there's no sea or sex, and the beach party's gone off the rails.

Eyes bulging, I've got a visual on my bombshell. "Donna!" Rage transforms into power. My wings spread, and I set them alight, giving me much-needed breathing space. People slither, crawl, and tick off the ground. It's a real pet shop gone bonkers.

Finally, I touch down, place the hammer between my feet—I thought I was going to do a split there—and snake my tail between the hurtling. I've got just enough length to wrap it around her waist, fish-hook style.

Gotcha!

"Hey!?" she gasps as I pull her to me.

Our eyes meet, both our shoulders dipping. "Deon, you're... here," she stammers, scanning me from head to toe. Gods... she's giving me a god-ether look. Ogle me, darling. Look me up all you want.

"Wh-what are you doing here!? I told you I was fine!" Donna purrs. She's gorgeous, big brown eyes, her mouth a velouté of kisses I long to devour...

While quieting the flames of my wings, I curve them around her and smile. "I'm on bodyguard duty."

"I don't need a bodyguard. I am a wolf with sharp teeth."

"Can't your soulmate pick you up after work?" She growls. It's not womanly; it's rabid. And my... she can make that noise whenever she wants. Oh, yes, I can't wait. I'll make her yap, roll on her belly, reward her with my nice meat... And then frowns at what's sleeping in my arms. "Drunk again?"

I cock my head at the lack of tenderness in her voice. "No. Saved my life."

Donna's face drops—bag and a high heel included—this one, though, is accidental as she's thrown off balance by the rush of the throng. Veritable wolf fangs spring out as they snap into nothing, missing the shoulder that bumped into her, the growl stemming from them significantly messing up my dick. She clamps on me, weighted down to my core, a sensual gasp escaping her. Fuck, she turns me on.

Donna strokes Fay's forehead, biting her lip from what I assume is guilt. "What happened?" Her eyes won't detach from her friend, nor will her fingers on my forearm.

"She took a shot, and the witch wailed."

Donna scrambles her hands over Fay. "She took a shot!? Is she injured?"

Puffing up my chest, I give her the best wink I have and play up my baritone. Got to work out those feelings, ya know. "What do you think, babe? I was here. Nothing happened to her."

Her gaze freezes on me, lips barely moving. "Babe?" She tiptoes, her soft hand enveloping one of my horns. Oh, fuck. Don't move, buddy. She yanks my head to her level and a shiver gathers around my crotch. My ear is alloyed with Donna's beautiful, melodious, cotton candy-flavored whisper. "You stupid little piece of useless..." Shit. I need a rub-down, a rub-up, and in very tight seconds, if possible. "Prick!"

A "Thanks" barely survives out of my lips.

She throws a worried eye to the sound of a bang echoing in the streets and flashes her eyes back to me. "You think this is funny!?"

"No..." She's eating my words. How does she do it?

I blink, and she's gone. "Deon!" Donna's voice rushes by, and before I know it, I'm hurled to the side, fumbling in a stupid run as I try to stay on my two legs.

Hustle, shoving, limbs of all colors, shapes, red, spiked, scaled, hair, whiskers. It's a twister of people and gunshots, the terror fucking palpable.

Bang!

A furious and weaponized patrol is herding people with their plastic shields, the squad making its way into the bustling, blue fae energy winding up in their guns.

Well, that's unfortunate...

I take in a couple of heavily charged intakes of air, focusing on my Angel's Breath.

Toward my tail, I feel it gather. Initially crowned with a soft tip, it transforms into a sharp silver dagger, and I'm ecstatic about it!

My tail releases Tyke's hammer. I make it slither toward the last member of the group. He falls in a silent thud as my arrow-shaped spike retracts from between his shoulder blades. Never liked taking a kill in the back, but this is my chick we're talking about. I keep my killings silent as I follow the dwindling patrol. I frown to find people knocked out, streams of blood pooling down the gutters. Not one seems aware of my moves... and I might believe the war that's at our door might never come. These dumbasses are so fucking stupid.

I make my way in this mob, slamming in faster than a mad hurricane. It isn't easy with a fae in my arms and trailing two hundred and thirty pounds of orc weaponry.

There, soldiers are hitting, beating down people, clubbing their legs, already twelve bodies splayed on the ground, trampled.

And Donna.

She's wrestling like a champ, two scums holding each side of her arms, the third holding his stick against his thigh as it ignites. She's given a taze before being shoved to the ground.

And my mind snaps. No, it simply shuts down.

A most pleasant darkness creeps into my being, my chest jumping with... what can I say, furious ecstasy? Gargoyles and chaos, it's a strange mix, but it always works in tandem. There is just something about brawls that makes us destined for them. I'm about to wake Sleeping Beauty in my arms when a very ominous growl booms a few feet from me, clothes—Is that a bra!?—exploding, springing over writhing heads. My eyes go wild and round when, from under the mass, mahogany fur, silky like fresh blood, surfaces.

Despite my wings dragging me ten feet away—because, hey, we never know—I'd say a seven-footer. No! Eight feet tall and very, and I mean very, mean-looking weregirl emerges from this rough sea of people. It seems like I'm smiling, but it's my face when in pain. There's an Elatina wolf-girl standing on two very muscly legs, who looks like she's hangry. Lads, we know what to do when this happens. We either have a steak in the pocket and hurl it at the gal, or put on our best running shoes and speed off. Maybe I should run...

A howling deafens the air, preceded by a growl close to the one of a dragon. "You took it on the wrong woman!" It talks. I mean, she can speak! Gnarly jaws crack open, not one but two canines on each side, broader than Astas's tip, nag at gravity, saliva thick and foamy drooling down their length.

Think she's in a bad mood.

"It was an expensive dress!" Donna grits her teeth, and jeez.... jerks out her hand with claws jutting out like automatic knives toward two soldiers standing a little too close to each other. Then she grasps their throats tightly and picks them up like daisies. Donna's mouth closes over one screaming head, teeth cracking his skull open like a coconut... the crunch it makes, chocolate bar-like.

I can't unhear this...

Other soldiers are winding up their guns, one about to take a shot at Donna. My tail flashes up his back, and sticking my tip deep into his skin, I wrench it until his heart stops. He falls like a log, and all I can think of is how we've got to get out of here.

I settle my eyes back on Donna. The remaining daisy is pressing his weapon against her furred chest, his last act. She shoves his head between her jaws while snapping them shut, pulling on the body as if ripping a chunk off a dry, cured sausage, the sound of flesh rupturing making me gag. She then hurls the body onto the two remaining shitheads and howls like a savage.

"Donna, love, come here!"

She's choking, grunting, her neck spasming forward, holding herself as if about to throw up. After spitting out a head, Donna groans, "Gross!"

I notice shifters are transforming around me, Donna triggering a chain reaction.

I twist my neck to a deep, threatening-bodied sound growing down the street. Shit! The magic halo defining a combat aeriojet emerges at a speed I'm not too keen on. It's slowly hovering toward us, the blazing blue glint of its grasshopper-shaped wings burning my sight, but not as searing as the heavy guns unlatching from under it, ready to fire.

An amplified voice blares from it, "This is a message from the National Guard. You are to calmly return to your living quarters. Disperse!"

A powerful yellow substance blasts off from the engine, streaking over our heads to hit the structure of GoldFae Sacks. That's one hell of a warning.

Screams ensue. "A fighter aeriojet!"

I envelop my wings around Fay and niggle her with my finger, chucking her chin. "Rise and shine, princess. It's time to make those wings of yours work."

She's not reacting.

"Fay!" I clap her cheeks as I let her legs drop to the ground. "Fay?" Maybe she's a little deaf from all this clubbing... I mean, it's louder on the streets than what you'd hear at a rave. Perhaps she's—I flick her head, and it drops back to its initial position—dead... I raise my face, lidless eyeballs staring at visions of my future death. Tyke! Forget New Orc helter-skelter; he's going to end me!

Trying to figure out how to cross the border tonight, my life now on the line, I feel two bristly, oversized fluffy hands insert between the gap of my closed wings.

"Babe, we've got a little situa?—"

Donna stamps her giant palm onto my face, the tip of her nails in my skin, slicing. She's a dominant one, no problem. In fact, I'm totally fine with that.

"She's not waking up," I muffle between her hairy digits.

Is she going to eat me?

She leans over Fay and sniffs her face.

Maybe she's going to eat her...

"She's a deep sleeper..." Furry Doll grunts. Wolf ears fall flat as her hand wraps over Fay's forehead. "And has a fever." True, she's been warm ever since I tucked her to bed last night... Haven't given much thought about it. Flue, lack of sleep, probably both. Heck, I'm no doctor.

"Fay, wake up!" The blow of Donna's growl has my hair and cock standing on end.

Weakly, as if they could benefit from some support, Fay's eyelids open.

Me? Let's just say I release the most extended breath in the history of breathing.

Legs fast to firm, Fay's feet adjust to the ground. "Where are we?"

"Girl, we're going to have to play it safe. Remember the Tactics for Flying Armed training?"

Fay's eyes glean the scene as she staggers in a small circle.

Realizing the magnitude of the situation, her lips twitch. "I don't have a gun."

"I'm your gun, princess."

She then glances at Donna. "You shifted?" I tilt down to her clenched fists, her stomach waving in and out. She's frightened.

I cradle her cheek, knowing the adrenaline pumping through my body is near hers. "You're lucky; at least you got to have a nap. Now, it's time to wing it. Head in a clockwise motion. You spot suspicious activity, you dive. Got it."

Her eyes thrust into mine. Is she frowning? "I'm a cop, just like you, Deon. Just because I'm not on the field doesn't remove the training I had."

"Fantastic. It's just about that action, mini-boss."

With that being said, and with eyes gleaming with sheer delight, I turn, my arms wide open for my fated. "Ready, love. Best if you shift back into a... lighter... version of yourself..."

By Astas. My lids sag from such raw femininity, my unborn smirk stifled. I know I'm breathing, but I must be dead somehow. Standing before me, a fusion of curves and flesh, blood, sweat... furless sex. Me fucking her is an absolute necessity. Reason number two for why we have to bounce.

"Oh no, you're not! I need to get to my—umpfh!"

And up we go. I just want to get away from 200 West Street fast.

"To what?" I ask, my arms firm around her as we ascend. A mottle shade of pink fills Donna's cheeks. It could come from her hostility toward me, frustration rippling throughout. Still, as I press Donna against me, she doesn't protest. Her nakedness should tingle, but all I can feel is fear. Carefreeness is the province of those who have nothing to lose, and I've just become the wealthiest man in town.

"My car, it was new." She stares down at the underground parking entry, clouds of smoke billowing out.

"You and I both know you won't need it anymore."

Indignation lifts Donna's chin, but that will be all. Hair flowing between us, she simply shuts her eyes and drops her head against my chest.

I should have taken a left but opted for the sea route—below me, the park adjacent to GoldFae Sacks disappears for the crests of waves, raging currents, and gulls' caws. We steal past the Statue of Sovereignty, a gigantic statue of Fidr, sculpted monsteroman style, goddess-like with a flame burning strong in her palm. I hope she goes up in flames.

Below me is Fay, a little too quiet. "Fay? Narroway Street and then what?"

"A diagonal over Hydson River."

I draw out a sapped breath of nothing, always ensuring contact with Fay's wings. Her tips brush my hips to then always tire down my legs. I need to encourage her every ten seconds. "You're pushing through, dove. Keep going!" I'm a fast raptor when it comes to flight agility. Faefolks are, let's say... more fluttery.

Come on, girl.

Come on...

We all know we'll need nothing but resilience from now on.

Resilience. Long time this word hadn't crept into my head. In every line, every window, every vertical structure I skim, it keeps on coming, steadily gaining terrain in my frayed mind. It quickens in the darkest shortcuts I take, every bend I graze by. And we have some. The issue is that we're not the only ones. Every monster is seasoned with violence. And because of that, the next war may be even more brutal than the previous.

A row of harsh coughs, followed by struggling gasps, emerge from under. With my wings ensnaring her at every flap, I shout, "Fay! Everything okay down there?"

"Couldn't be better." She's wheezing again, hacking, spitting, the glow of her wings sparking a light I can't understand.

Bang!

Bang!

Gunshots continue to ring out. As if taking a whim on us, the wingless seem determined to take any winged monster down, or are they...

I dive and quickly place myself under Fay. Idiots are retaliating against what they perceive as the enemy, the fae.

From the extreme tip of my wing, I notice a light cool sensation: a drip from above. I want to believe it's raining. Every crack in my broken self would be free of a nameless pain.

I twirl to face Fay. "A walk in the park, princess. Doing great!" My frown grows as I witness her breaking down, her wand glowing dangerously in her clutch.

Donna sees it. Gripped around my neck, she puts on the coach's hat. Her face is stiff, crinkled, lips tense. "We'll be home soon. Take long breaths, girl. In and out. In and out."