In Chains | By : bewaretheshort1 Category: Anita Blake > General Views: 1237 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1 |
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, stories, or derivatives thereof of the Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter series. I do not make ANY money from this fic. |
Werehyena.
I let that word float around in my head as I stared up at the ceiling tiles, trying to make shapes in the dots. My laptop sat just below my stomach, open to a pathetically small Wikipedia article about hyena lycanthropes. I usually ignore Wikipedia when researching anything, but relying solely on the hospital’s wifi network and without my usual assortment of tools, it was the best I could do.
Dr. Phillips was a mundane human, much like I had been, and obviously made uncomfortable in the presence of any human of preternatural persuasion. He fled the room almost as soon as he gave me the diagnosis, saying that a representative from the Coalition would meet with me shortly.
At least, the representative might have more information that I had on hand. My preternatural anthropology classes only covered lycanthropes and lycanthropy in blanket terms, getting into detail about the most common strains such as wolf and rat. Safe to say, hyena wasn’t a very common strain of lycanthropy. In any case, my classes also failed to mention much in the way of culture among the different lycanthropes. There were very few resources detailing that information, and only by digging could one find any mention of it.
Knowing what I did of the culture, I complete understood why. If the general public knew that pack leaders were chosen in fights to the death, or that murder was not uncommon, the state governments would rescind the laws making hunting lycanthropes illegal.
Of course, knowing any of this didn’t really help me. I knew next to nothing about werehyenas, my research having taken me in other areas. I knew they called themselves a clan, and their leader was called “Oba” regardless of sex. High placement in the pack was probably decided by dominance, with the occasional fight. As with dominance fights between wild animals, these probably only rarely resulted in death.
I knew the name of the Oba in St. Louis, for all the good it did me since I had doubts his given name was really “Narcissus.” I knew that Narcissus owned a BDSM club called “Narcissus in Chains,” which made me chuckle a little at the time. Beyond that, I knew nothing. I didn’t know the exact population, nor did I know much about their involvement with the preternatural politics in St. Louis.
Honestly, I didn’t think I’d need to know anything beyond that. I was only going on vacation, not thinking about moving there. A big oversight on my part; I know that now.
In lieu of definitive information regarding werehyenas, I decided to look up the animal itself. While lycanthropes aren’t even slightly related to the animal of their strain, they do tend to share certain traits. What I found wasn’t very reassuring, however, and I could only hope that the werehyenas weren’t very much like their animal counterpart.
I still wasn’t used to my improved hearing or sense of smell, and was easily able to smell and hear the approach of someone new. His scent wasn’t as “human” as the hospital staff, and had a subtle undercurrent I couldn’t identify. The perfume scent I now associated with soap wasn’t as strong with him. In fact, save for the undercurrent, he had the most agreeable smell I’d encountered since waking up.
He also walked much, much quieter, which brought him up in my estimation before he even walked through the door. That it was Micah Callahan surprised me all the more.
The Coalition for Better Understanding Between Human and Lycanthrope Communities - called the Furry Coalition among lycanthropes or just the Coalition - was founded a little over a year ago. Since then, it has taken off and many cities and states have adopted the idea, or simply created a new chapter. Micah Callahan is the Chief Officer. He is also heavily involved in the preternatural politics of St. Louis.
I sat up and put my laptop aside to give him my full attention.
“You’re Nicole McIntire, right?” he asked as he took off his sunglasses. His eyes were a telltale yellow-green - a sign that he’d spent too much time in his other form.
“And you’re Micah Callahan,” I replied. “I’ve heard of you. You do a lot of good for lycanthropes.”
If he was surprised that a former mundane knew his name or what he did, he hid it well behind a grateful smile.
“I try,” he said. “Do you mind if I sit?”
“Please,” I said with relief. “I feel weird if I’m sitting and you’re not.”
“I take it your doctor already told you what was going on.”
“I think he would’ve preferred telling me I had an inoperable brain tumor,” I joked.
“They called me in a few hours after you were brought in,” Micah told me. “They needed someone to consult, since no one knew how to get in touch with your family or any of your friends to ask permission.”
I smiled and ducked my head down. “I’m a private person. Which is kind of a good thing, really. I can tell my mom myself, instead of her finding out from a stranger.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Micah warned. “Every major news team is covering this story.”
I felt myself pale. “Really?”
“I’m sure your mother would understand,” he said quickly.
I shook my head. “It’s not that, my mom’s probably just glad I’m alive. I just... hate publicity. I’m kinda shy.”
“It’s alright, we’ll take care of it.”
I smiled, grateful, but that didn’t calm the sheer terror that now gripped me. The tangy, sweet scent surrounded me, and I knew Micah could smell it as well. I didn’t lie, exactly. The fact that the entire nation probably knew my name and had eyes on me did scare me, and I really do hate being the center of attention. My fear lay in the fact that with so many eyes on me, they might want to see exactly what my background is. There are some things you can hide, but some things are just impossible to completely erase.
“So, how bad off was I?” I asked, struggling to get my mind of that thought.
“Bad,” he replied grimly. “You needed several blood transfusions, even when your shapeshifter healing took effect. Honestly, I’m surprised you survived at all.”
I flinched, but nodded. “What can I say, I just have shit to do.”
“I’m sure you have more questions,” he prompted, turning the conversation from my disturbing mental images. I looked at him from under my lashes, wondering if I should pretend to know less than I really do and ask more questions.
“What’s Narcissus like?” I asked after a long moment. I could tell from his expression that my question had caught him off guard.
“He’s a fair man,” he said slowly, his scent changing ever-so-slightly.
I didn’t wait for him to expand. “How many people has he got?”
“A little over five-hundred,” Micah replied, startled. “Why-”
“What’s their stake with Jean-Claude and his people? What about Anita Blake?”
Micah just stared at me, expression closed, while my heart pounded in my throat. I had all but thrown down my hand for the world to see while interrogating him at the same time. I couldn’t do anything about the scent washing over me that probably told Micah I was scared out of my wits, but I still struggled to keep my hands from shaking by balling them up in my sheets.
“How do you know about that?” he asked carefully. For all his polite tone, I knew an order when I heard one.
“I am working on my Masters degree in preternatural anthropology,” I told him, my voice barely above a whisper. “I also have been known to hack into hidden forums and sites to gather some of my information. There’s a lot of chatter about St. Louis, but nothing that seems very sensitive.”
“How much do you know?”
I took a deep, shaky breath and stared at my hands. “I know that Anita Blake is the human servant of Jean-Claude, and that they are in a triumvirate with the Ulfric of the Thronnos Rokke Clan. I know that because of that, Anita is afflicted with something known as the ‘ardeur’ which makes her crave sex as a vampire craves blood. I know that she is the Nimir-Ra of the Blooddrinkers and Maneaters of St. Louis, and you are her Nimir-Raj. I know the wererats of the Dark Crown are led by a man named Rafael, and have a treaty with the Ulfric.”
“You seem to know a lot for someone with no apparent connection with the preternatural,” he told me softly.
“If it makes you feel any better, I know next to nothing about the werehyenas or Narcissus,” I replied shakily, smiling to avoid crying. “Up to now, it wasn’t important.”
“And now it is.”
“And I’m shit out of luck.” I glanced at him, but couldn’t gauge his expression. “I believe that the more information I have about my situation, the more prepared I am, the more likely I am to survive it.”
“A lot of people have that belief,” Micah told me.
“So, in all honesty, what are my chances for survival right now?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. That all depends on you.”
I sighed and suppressed the urge to groan. “I was hoping for a different answer.”
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