xxiv.

FIFER HEARD THEM before she saw them.

And even then, the sight of them, it was maddening how fast they were going—faster than horses should go, certainly. Not quite the speed of an approaching train but certainly something unnatural.

She saw the white horse more as a blur of white motion than she was quite able to make out its features or pick out all of its elements. Legs, mane, tail, yes, but she was only able to see one element at a time, because it was coming up on her too fast.

This was perhaps a good thing, however, because it was too fast for her to think.

If she'd been thinking, she probably wouldn't have shoved herself out into the path of a horse. It was dangerous, and she was pregnant.

But she did, because it was too fast.

And then the horse skidded to a stop, whinnying its displeasure, and she saw Hollis, clutching the horse for dear life.

She reached up for him. The horse was too tall. She got his thigh. She yanked.

Then his waist.

The minute he was in her arms, he wasn't Hollis.

He became, immediately, a wriggling furred thing with sharp teeth. It worried around in her arms and sank its teeth into her shoulder.

The pain that lanced through her made her instinctively let go of the thing in her arms.

No .

She tightened her arms, through the pain, locking them closed.

The thing in her arms shifted again.

Now, it was scaled all over, hissing and letting a slithering tongue taste the air in front of her face. It had a rattle on its tail and it opened a wide, gaping mouth to show her its fangs, glistening and dripping a green, glowing venom.

Instinctively, she flinched from it, but she didn't let go.

It bit her face.

Ouch , for fuck's sake, were they all going to bite her?

Turned out, yes.

It went on an agonizingly long time. He became all manner of things—not really creatures in nature, more like monstrous versions of them—things with wings and claws and fur and teeth— always teeth.

She was soon covered in wounds here and there—blood seeping through her clothes, dripping down her cheek, everything smarting, everything aching, and she was gritting her teeth so hard that she was giving herself a headache on top of everything else.

But finally, the thing in her arms became something solid and large and still, and it wasn't biting her.

For several moments, she couldn't even look at him. She was just bleeding so much, so many sharp stabs of pain .

He got his feet under him and straightened up, holding her in his arms. Then he was holding her up and she was propped against the warm, solid length of him, and she lifted her face to see his.

The skull was still there, but he had eyes. And his body, it was a man's body, a naked man's body, covered in patches of reddish curly hair here and there—decorating his chest and his arms and his… she pulled back, letting out a little delighted sound to see the way his hair trailed down his belly in a long, reddish brown line to his crotch.

"Are you checking out my cock?"

She looked back up at him. "Hollis! It worked."

"First thing you do is that." The cock in question was getting hard against her.

She nestled into it. "Hi, Hollis's cock," she sang, pleased with herself, happy, bursting with happiness.

"It's pleased to meet you, too," he said, and he touched her face, his fingers impossibly tender. "And you're bleeding."

"Oh." She lifted one of her wounded shoulders. "Well—"

"Shit, look how much you're bleeding!" Now, he was angry. "You're fucking pregnant, what the fuck is this magic?"

"It's fine," she said. "Everything's fine now."

"You are covered in blood. Everything is not fine."