From the Sea

Night had fallen on the town of Everswell, drawing a veil of peppered starlight from horizon to horizon. For Bernard, watching the sun’s steady retreat from the tavern window, it marked a casual time of day: a pleasant lull between work and sleep in which, it seemed, he could determine the path of his own life.

The man’s countenance certainly reflected his mindset. Despite the rigors of social protocol placed on the wealthy elite, the modest nobleman adopted a tired but happy slump – an unmistakable lean in his otherwise perfect posture donned only in times of blissful relaxation.

And while his nightly routine of alcohol and silent thought began as it typically did, it did not remain on its uninterrupted course. Gradually, as the minutes ticked away beneath the black sky, there came a growing sense of foreboding – a notion that, from somewhere nearby, Bernard was being watched.

After what must have been a quarter of an hour he finally broke his stoic calm to scan the few scattered patrons seated around him, gaze narrowed to a prying glare as his fingers began to rap angrily against the table’s timber surface. It didn’t take him a second glance to find his admirer – and, the moment he did so, his heart gave an unmistakable flutter of excitement.

It was a woman, leaning contentedly against the back of a chair only a few tables away. Every facet of her being seemed to ring of perfection: her frame was petite but not to the point of malnutrition, her eyes bright and intelligent but not to the point of mischievousness, her posture refined but not to the point of self absorbance.

Hastily the noble looked away, his chest still heaving with a sudden rush of anxiety. He spared a glance back at the woman, hoping he had been discreet enough for her not to notice the first.

Medium strands of silvery hair fell all the way down to one of the girl’s cheeks, shrouding half of her gaze in secrecy. Yet, as Bernard watched, she casually lifted her fingers to brush it away – and, in doing so, winked one sea-blue eye at him.

Again his heart’s pulse went into a sporadic frenzy; and, as though compelled by some invisible force, he rose and ambled over to the woman, drawing a seat across from her at the small table.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before.” He confessed dreamily. “And I don’t usually converse with strangers, but…”

“Oh,” she said, her teeth widening into a bright smile as she extended a friendly hand “I would hate to inconvenience you! Here, let me introduce myself…”

* * * * *

Sunlight filtered through gaps in the tattered curtains, dancing merrily across Domenick’s face. He winced at the intrusion but, nevertheless, forced himself into a seated position and rubbed his bleary eyes.

Stumbling half-asleep from his tiny bedroom and into the larger and only other room in his small home, he quickly donned an unremarkable brown tunic and pants before traipsing over to a cool water basin and splashing his face. Still only somewhat coherent he frowned, took a deep breath, and submersed the whole of his head in the bucket – a feat which he could only manage for the span of a few seconds. But it did the trick: and, as he snapped his face and neck back into the world of life and air, he had managed to shake the last dregs of sleep from his body.

Wringing his hair as he went, Domenick shouldered open the door to his home and meandered along the short path to the shoreline. At the boundary line where grass met sand he found the remains of the last night’s dinner: a scorched ring of campfire soot, adorned only with a small cooking spit and a trio of fish stripped to the bone. Taking the most hearty of the specimens, the fisherman nibbled at what remained of the meat as he made the final leg of his journey to the water’s edge.

There, a small craft waited for him. It was an unremarkable vessel, barely a dingy by oceanic standards. It sported no sail and no rudder, but instead relied solely on a pair of wooden oars to combat the tug of the tides – a task which, with an unusual degree of prowess, Domenick had come to manage over the years.

The night’s high tide had half-buried the craft in sand; while the low tide of the morning had beached it, drawing the edge of the ocean back several yards so that the boat was marooned mid-beach. Well accustomed to the playful motives of the sea, the fisherman merely sighed and set to work unearthing his vessel; and, eventually, he was able to flip it hull-down and begin the long walk, ship in tow, to the surf.

Yet his morning routine was brought to an abrupt halt when, by chance, he happened to glance down the coastline. There, several hundred yards away, a small form lay unmoving in the sand – a faint silhouette that, despite the morning’s dim light and fog, was unmistakably human.

Abandoning his boat a few feet from the breaking waves, the fisherman broke into first a steady jog and then a mad dash down the shoreline. He was hardly an athlete, but he managed and uncharacteristically brisk pace; and, in less than a minute, he was at the figure’s side.

It was a woman – arguably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, despite her undoubtedly having spent a fair portion of the night on the ground. Her body – covered in a peculiar two-piece garment that closely resembled leather – rose and fell slightly with shallow breaths, the ripples of which barely registered themselves along her slender frame. Silky silver hair fell in disarray around her neck and shoulders, trailing along the sand like the limbs of some beached animal; and, in the few sporadic instances where her eyes briefly fluttered open, the hollow void of uncertainty and disillusionment flickered in their blue depths.

Carefully Domenick fitted an arm under her shoulders and lifted her into a semi-seated position. It was then that he noticed the blood: no longer running, but thick and caked through her hair. He tenderly moved his fingers along the back of her head, gently sifting through the metallic strands of hair; and, there, he found a large, angry knot hidden by the silvery locks.

Moving his hand back to her shoulders, his second arm wrapped just behind her knees. With a quiet grunt he lifted her from the shore and turned, embarking on the long trek back to his home with the wounded woman in tow.

* * * * *

The commotion on the main street of Everswell slowed considerably as the gates were opened. Escorted by a fair portion of the morning guard shift, a bizarre carriage made its slow and shaky way down the cobblestone road. It was not the traditional contraption situated on wheels and drawn by horses but, instead, a throne of sorts: a platform elevated almost four feet from the ground, its sole occupant hidden from view by four walls of heavy curtains.

And, in lieu of horses, a quartet of men carried the burden on their shoulders. Each was dark skinned, first burned and then tanned by many years beneath the sun. All were malnourished and garbed only in ripped and worn trousers, exposing their whelp-laden upper bodies to the growing crowd. Those few civilians that tried to peer into the men’s eyes found only a void of hopelessness and misery there: the mental counterpart to the physical burdens endured by human slaves.

The glum procession made its way down the town’s main road, then turned sharply into the seaside district of Everswell’s wealthy elite. There the trailing crowd dissipated, filtering back to home or job respectively; and, in quiet isolation, the caravan managed the rest of the way to what was by far the largest home in the city – likely the largest structure period, its grand stature rivaled only by the splendor of the town center.

The slaves hauled their charge up a long flight of marble stairs, stopping to slowly lower their burden only when they had reached the front landing of the home. There two of the carriage occupant’s personal guard stepped forward to peel back the front curtains, allowing the rider to step lightly up to the doors of his summer home.

With a glowering expression he fished a small coin purse from his belt and presented it to the captain of the city guard. Here the soldier thanked him and, with a deep bow, departed with his dozen or so men.

As the guards left, the nobleman turned and nodded to his own regiment. The mercenaries at his side nodded back and, drawing handcuffs from their belts, clamped the manacles tightly around the slaves’ wrists. Here they were led away, escorted roughly to a small house around back where they would spend the rest of their miserable stay at the manor.

Straightening his collar and clearing his throat, the sole remaining occupant of the precipice strode forward and pushed open the front doors of his estate. Inside he was immediately greeted by several members of his year-round staff, each hard at work putting the finishing touches on the house in recognition of his arrival.

Few of the gathering were free individuals. For the most part each denomination of staff – those responsible for cooking, for cleaning the main level, for cleaning the second level, and so on – had a head-of-house who, officially, was an employee; but all underlings were owned persons, captives of the worst kind that received neither pay nor pity from their masters. They alone did not seem overjoyed at their owner’s arrival; and those few that had slunk into the entry hall quickly slipped away to other tasks, fleeing from the nobleman’s dominating presence.

One of the remaining servants approached the noble, dropping into a respectful courtesy. Her elderly and wrinkled face adopted a bright smile when she rose, fingers clasped excitedly together as though in prayer.

“Lord Davian! It is a pleasure to see you home.”

He grunted his consent and nodded without looking directly at the woman. Hardly perturbed, she extended a hand for his coat as he strode across the room and to the staircase opposite the doors. He ascended briskly and, despite her age, the maid kept up.

“Oh, it must be much cooler up north this time of year. How has it been in Spire over the last few months?”

“Quiet,” he shot back testily – and, for the first time since his arrival, his head of staff took the hint and closed her mouth.

They reached the next landing and turned sharply left, banking down a long hallway to the west wing of the house. There they reached an ornate pair of double doors; and, there, they stopped.

“Tell the cooks to begin preparing lunch.” He instructed. “And be certain to bring my carriage around back – and I do not want it taken through the house. Feed my carriers, too – I’m sure there are some loaves of bread you were going to throw out, so no need to give them any of my personal stock.”

“Yes, my lord. I–”

“I don’t have the time or patience for you today, Miranda.” He snapped, breaking her gusto mid-retort. “I come here for a bit of relaxation only to be informed that my cousin is now missing. I’d hate to have to dismiss you after so many years of faithful service – so don’t give me reason to.”

Her mouth clamped shut Miranda gave a quick courtesy and departed, leaving Davian alone. With a sigh and a glowering expression he fished in his pocket for a key and, slowly, unlocked the two doors. Swinging them open he strode into his private study – and, just as quickly, shut and locked the doors again.

The room has an unmistakable coating of dust around everything – something unbecoming of such a wealthy baron. Nevertheless, the contents of the chamber were far too valuable to be under the eyes of servants; and, thus, Davian accepted the room’s condition without a single speck of ill countenance.

Quickly he crossed the chamber, approaching a prestigious oaken desk. Groping through his pockets for a second key, he twisted the lock from one drawer and slowly slid it open – tenderly wrapping his fingers around and withdrawing a thick paper scroll.

He slid the page across the wooden surface, unrolling it with a growing feeling of excitement. The glowering demeanor about him dissipated instantaneously, replacing with a hopeful mask of giddiness. The page had been a costly one, worth a fortune totaling a fifth of his summer home’s cost in coins – and an equally costly number of slaves.

But, such were the terms of deals with dragons.

But the payoff had been worth it in the end, leaving Davian with a translated passage from draconic religious texts. And, in looking down to the crumbled and loved scroll, the baron came to realize something quite profound: that his cousin, undoubtedly, was dead.

But, then again, he also knew just what had killed Bernard the previous evening.

* * * * *

The woman’s eyes opened again – but, this time, the light of consciousness burned in them. She tried to rise but, immediately, a rush of nausea and disorientation surged through her.

At her side, a comforting hand eased her back into a slightly propped position. She accepted its guidance; and, when the pain subsided, she gradually managed to turn back to the limb’s owner.

“How are you feeling?” Domenick asked. As he spoke he drew a cool washrag from beneath the bed, wringing it through an open window before gingerly laying it across his guest’s forehead.

“Horrible,” she admitted, her voice weak and somewhat hoarse.

“I can imagine.” He returned sympathetically. “Do you have any idea what happened?”

“I–” she began – but then, just as quickly, stopped. A horrible realization seemed to come to her before she turned to face the fisherman again, shaking her head helplessly.

“I don’t know.” She confessed. “I can’t remember anything at all…”

“What do you mean you can’t remember anything?” he asked, a concerned frown enveloping his expression.

“I mean… I’m talking to you now, so I know how to speak. Basic things like that are still up here.” She explained, tapping a finger lightly against one temple. “But I don’t know anything else! I can’t remember what I was doing, where I was, or even who I am…”

The knowledge seemed to play itself across her frame and, quickly, the pain and nausea began to creep back into her. The seaman quickly brought a calming hand back to her shoulder, trying to soothe her anxiety and ease her stress.

“You took a bad blow to the back of the head.” He recalled. Then, the girl could keenly feel the sting of the wound – could feel the loose bandages draped over the bleeding knot that had cost her a lifetime of memories.

“I’ve seen this happen before on ships.” Domenick went on, compassionately replacing the washrag with a fresh one as he spoke. “A sailor will be wrapped on the head with a beam and be like this for days, sometimes. They call it ‘amnesia’ or something like that… but maybe I can help you remember who you are?”

“Did you… know me?” she asked, her voice tinged with a hopeful lightness.

“Not directly.” He admitted. “I saw you talking with men in town once or twice – and I think I overheard your name. They called you ‘Eve’, if I remember correctly.”

“Who was I talked to?” she asked, excitement urging her to sit up properly. The illness bubbled up again but she quickly choked it back, repressing it almost entirely.

“Well… I only ran into you once or twice. The first time you were talking with Captain Eric… the second Captain John, I think.” He said, fingers tugging at his bare chin thoughtfully.

“Do you know them? Can we go and see them?” she pressed, eyes sparkling. “Maybe they know what I don’t!”

“Eve… they’re dead.” Domenick said helplessly. “They’ve both been missing for almost six months – and no bodies ever turned up. I’m sorry…”

“Oh…” she said, her mood deflating. The nausea took the opportunity to flare up again; and, submissively, she sank back into her propped position.

“Maybe I can take you into town tomorrow?” he offered. “You need to rest for now… but something tells me that blow isn’t permanent.

“Of course, for all we know, you could have your memories back by then – and, if you remember that you’re the king’s daughter, be sure to leave me a few coins so I can get out of this miserable shack.” He teased, patting her on the shoulder.

He turned to go; but, before he could leave the room, she called him back.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked, a puzzled but grateful expression on her fair face. He shrugged, a carefree look splaying across his own visage.

“Because you need it.” He returned. “And, if you’ll let me, I’ll see if I can go catch us some dinner?”

* * * * *

The sunset was beginning to blossom in the west when Domenick’s boat finally pulled back the shore. As he dragged the craft along the sand and flipped it just ahead of the encroaching tide, he was surprised to find a second set of hands alongside his own.

“You should be in bed.” He scolded Eve as she helped tip the vessel hull-up.

“I haven’t been able to sleep all day.” She returned sourly. “I could only lay there and think… and, considering my situation, there hasn’t been much to think about.”

She nodded down to a small net in one of the fisherman’s hands, arching a brow curiously.

“Dinner?” she asked.

Domenick smiled and lead her away from the crashing surf, returning to the ash-laden ring that marked his nightly fire. Fishing a tinderbox from beneath a nearby stone, he struck and lit a small pile of kindling, gradually building the fire larger and larger as he speared five sizable fish on the nearby spit.

“I don’t have much to say about who I am.” Eve confessed as the fish sizzled, changing from a raw silver to a delicious tan over the hungry flames. “But… I’m curious as to just who you are.”

“A fisherman.” He said simply, waving a hand dismissively. The dying rays of the setting sun danced across his forearm; and, there, the imprints of a bite mark were clearly visible.

“It looks like a fish caught you at one point.” She noted, tilting her head towards the scar with far-from-sated curiosity.

“Oh, this?” he asked with a laugh. The chuckle was dark, hollow – like a repressed secret.

“I… wasn’t always a fisherman like I am now.” He explained. “I used to be a sailor. I was part of a merchant caravan that made trips between the mainland and several islands a few hundred miles off the coast.

“One night I got drunk – really drunk. Everyone on the ship was. And everyone decided to start telling stories – and one of them got me this.”

“A story bit you?” she asked, hardly convinced.

“Well… a friend told me that, as legend had it, sharks were smarter than we gave them credit for. A shark is–”

“I know what a shark is!” she snapped back playfully, waving the details aside. “I remember that much!”

“Well… they’d follow in the wake of ships, and gobble-up any man that fell overboard. I was wholeheartedly convinced that that was not that case… and so when my friend dared me to tie around my waist and jump overboard, I didn’t argue with him.

“I was living bait – and, at first, I hardly knew it. Honestly, the water felt good at the start: it was refreshing, and I sobered-up quickly. It was only when a fin broke the water a few yards away that I started to suspect I’d made a bad move. And, by the time I could call up to the crew, the shark was on me.

“I got lucky, really. My buddy had a strong arm; and, before the fish could get a firm grip on my own arm, I was already being hauled to safety. The teeth didn’t get very far… so I could keep the limb.

“And you’d think that that would have taken me out of the sailing business!” he laughed. “But I was stubborn. I stayed with that crew for another year… it was only when they started hauling human cargo that I abandoned the life of a sailor. I couldn’t handle the slave trade… but I still loved the ocean, so I settled down here and became a fisherman. Though I have a hobby of rescuing wounded maidens.”

“Oh? And how many beautiful women have you saved from the sea?” Eve asked sarcastically.

“Now, now!” he chided playfully, wagging a finger for emphasis. “Quality, not quantity! You can’t expect too much from a humble fisherman who got wrecked by a shark!”

“You ‘got wrecked’?” she asked, her characteristically skeptical smile teasing as the corners of her mouth.

“It is an old sailor saying.” He explained. “It means I had the tar beaten out of me.”

They laughed together as the upper rim of the sun was swallowed by the distant waves. Darkness began to fall in earnest; but, within the comfortable glow of the fire and alongside the delicious catch of the day, neither of the two seemed overly concerned.

When the first muscle spasm rippled through Eve’s shoulder, she dismissed it. A second came somewhere in her stomach; and, having recently eaten, she dismissed that, too.

But the third was violent, causing the whole of her seated frame to jump several inches from the ground. She hit the grass again in a hunkered stupor, coughing emphatically and gripping at her midsection.

“Are you alright?” Domenick asked, concern replacing his mirth as he rose to her side. “Did you swallow a bone?”

She jerked again, the motion powerful enough to throw the fisherman back. She attempted to rise, to respond, but instead simply parted her jaws and screamed.

It was then that the change began to become apparent. Her teeth were no longer the elegant white pearls that had marked her jovial grins, but instead dagger-like fangs – the mouth of a predator. With each twist and convulsion she seemed to swell in size, her humble frame expanding to double, then triple, then quadruple her height and beyond. Her skin began to shift, too, the silky white flesh deepening into a hazy sky-blue. Her fair face, too, was not spared the ravages of the transformation: her mouth elongated into a muzzle, her nose disappeared into a pair of narrow nostrils, and her pupils shrunk to feline slits.

Domenick was forced to retreat step after step as the campfire, the path, and even a fair portion of the upper shoreline were shadowed by the woman. When, at length, the shift ended, a monster had taken Eve’s place – one that, when standing, would have been nearly seventy-five feet tall.

And worst of all, it was not simply an unknown beast that sat hunched over the fisherman. She carried with her a sense of nostalgia: she was, in every facet, a humanoid version of the very shark that had attacked him nearly two years earlier.

The urge to run was strong; but, even more imposing, was the aura of fear and betrayal that filtered from aquatic demoness. Domenick halted, his muscles shouting in denial while his mind screamed to flee.

Slowly, Eve turned down to the former sailor. Despite their wickedness, her eyes seemed to carry in them a dim light – one that, just as when he had found her on the beach, rang of confusion and pain.

“So,” she mused, still in her same melodic sing-song voice “I guess this doesn’t happen to most people?”

Her stomach growled and she chopped down on one lip, inadvertently exposing a long fang. She nodded towards the rest of the uncooked fish, poking a clawed finger at the net.

“Are you going to eat those?”

He kicked them her way; and, tearing a small hole in the net, she let the contents of the bag fall into her open mouth. She nibbled at them gingerly before swallowing – clearly not sated, but temporarily content.

“I… suppose I’m not human?” she asked.

“I suppose you’re right.” He admitted.

Her stomach growled again; and, for a terrifying instant, she seemed to start towards the fisherman. Yet before the situation turned drastic she pulled away, seemed to inwardly curse herself.

“Any… idea what I am?” she asked.

“I know as much as you do.” He said with a gulp, shaking his head helplessly.

“Um… you can have your bed back?” she offered with a wry, humorous grin.

* * * * *

A light tapping on Domenick’s cheek stirred him from the depths of sleep.

“Hey… hey!”

He turned away, hoping to reclaim the depths of some now-forgotten dream. The tapping came again, more insistent.

“Dom… Dom!”

“Domenick…” he corrected drearily, still hardly willing to awaken.

“Domenick is just such an unusual name, though…”

Memories of the previous night flashed back into the fisherman’s head and he sat up, suddenly awake and alert. He immediately scanned the landscape for signs of the massive shark; but, instead, he found only Eve – the human Eve – hunched in front of him, a friendly smile on her lips.

“Yeah, and turning into a monster isn’t unusual!” he shot back, rising grudgingly to his feet.

“Hey, don’t get mad! I’m just poking fun at you.” She teased.

“You’re… you again.” He noted, nodding up and down the expanse of her far-less-threatening form.

“I changed back when the sun came up.” She explained.

“And you were awake for that?”

“I didn’t sleep all night.” She admitted. “You nodded off after a bit… and I figured best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

“What about sharks?” he asked – surprising himself at how lightly he was taking the matter.

“I don’t know… and I don’t care, honestly. Not to give them a hard time, though: they don’t taste half bad, once you get used to their texture.”

“You… ate a shark!?”

“I went fishing!” she exclaimed in exasperation. “I couldn’t just sit there and stare at you all night – and I wasn’t going to eat you! I can see why you fish so much… you must catch some exciting things sometimes! Did you know that, around lots of rocks on the seafloor, there are these monsters with eight tentacles? I swear they have to be twenty feet long… but they’re all slimy. The taste is fine… but the texture is a turn-off.”

“Well… thanks for not putting me on the menu.” He returned, wiping his eyes and pushing himself to a standing position.

“I figured I owed you one.” She said with a shrug. “Besides, you don’t look very good.”

Her stomach gave a protesting gurgle, arguing otherwise. She dropped a hand over it as though to silence its moaning, otherwise ignoring it completely.

“You promised to take me into town today.” She reminded her host. “And I think now would be a really good time. I’d like to know why I’m turning into a fish before I change again.”

* * * * *

“Where did you see me before?” Eve asked as she and her somewhat apprehensive companion meandered through the streets of Everswell, dodging visiting merchant carriages and headstrong civilians.

“You hung out in Dustin’s Tavern quite a bit.” The man recalled. “You could try checking there? Maybe the bartender knows something?”

“You sound like you’re not coming?”

He held a leather backpack up to her, jiggling its contents emphatically. From somewhere beneath its exterior, the sound of crinkling ice was audible.

“I need a new net – and, soon, I’ll need a new boat. I need to sell what of my catch I have left if I’m going to get either.”

“We’ll meet back here in an hour, then?” she offered. “That gives us plenty of time to get back to your place before night sets in.”

They nodded and separated. Eve was by far the most disoriented, and spent ten precious minutes of desperate questioning in a vain attempt to find the tavern. She seemed to be set on the right track after talking to a pair of young boys, who pointed her east; but it was only when she entered the rich district of town that she realized she had been played.

Angrily she zigzagged through the rows of houses, using the docks lining the sea to orient herself. Nevertheless, Dustin’s Tavern eluded her; but, just as she was beginning to head back empty-handed to find Domenick, her journey halted.

Inattentive, she had managed to collide with one of the only three other people in the street: a medium sized but well-dressed man, shadowed by an escort of two armed guards. Immediately the mercenaries turned their weapons Eve’s way; but, with a look of disgust, the nobleman waved them aside with a casual gesture.

“Sorry,” the woman murmured hastily, rising and brushing the dust from her garments.

“You’ll have to forgive me.” The man returned, clearly infatuated by the attractive surprise. “My cousin has gone missing recently, you see – sometimes the knowledge simply blinds me.”

“I’m dreadfully sorry, sir. You have my sympathy.” Eve returned, giving him a slight bow before turning away. He caught her by the arm, however, bringing her back with a gentle but firm grip.

“I do not believe we’ve met before.” He mused. “And you don’t seem to be a regular from this side of town.”

“I’m just… lost.” She said quickly.

“Oh? A merchant’s daughter, perhaps?”

“No… I’m staying with a friend a few miles down the coast.” She returned, quickly growing agitated. She attempted to break free of the grip; and, with a surge of unexpected strength, managed to easily twist out of the nobleman’s grasp.

The shock on his face quickly turned to suspicion. With an unanticipated burst of speed he grabbed and spun her around, eyes peering along her back until they reached the base of her skull – and the bloodied and tattered knot of skin there.

“It is interesting, really.” He mused as she spun back to face him, anger and confusion now fully exposed in her expression. “The last reports from an old contact say that my cousin was last seen going for a swim with an attractive young lady – a woman with silvery hair. After that, he wasn’t seen again; but another report, given from a few hours later, also caught my interest.

“It was from a merchant ship’s captain, pulling into port with new specimens for the Everswell slave trade. He reported the rudder of his boat having hit the head of a shark – a shark, he claimed, was nearly as large as his vessel. Of course he was profoundly drunk, so his account can be dismissed… yet, still, I have to wonder…”

Eve felt a cold, creeping feeling well in the pit of her stomach. Without another word she turned and fled back down the street, first at a walk but eventually at a sprinting jog. She arrived back at the meeting point with a fair portion of her hour left – but, thankfully, Domenick was early.

“Find anything?” he asked in an optimistic tone.

“We have to leave.” She returned briskly, glancing anxiously over her shoulder.

“Now!”

* * * * *

Eve paced the beach relentlessly until the sun’s lower rim brushed against the horizon. Then, if possible, her pace quickened.

“What happened back in town?” the fisherman demanded, watching her from a safe distance as the emotions of doubt and horror splayed across the woman’s face.

“I… I think I killed someone.”

“Today!?”

“Not today… but every other day. I think I killed a noble two nights ago, and before that I think I killed those two captains. I don’t know why I transform… but when I do, I really am a monster!”

“Hold on, Eve.” He encouraged. “You didn’t hurt me last night.”

“But I wanted to!” she shouted back, suddenly angry. “You heard my stomach! I didn’t want the fish: I wanted you!”

She turned back to pacing, leaving them both in a stunned silence. At length, braving the danger of the coming night, Domenick crossed the beach and laid comforting arms around the shape-shifter’s shoulders.

“I’m still alive.” He reminded her softly. “You’re not a monster, Eve: you may have just been misguided, once.”

She smiled, her shoulders shrugging slightly with the motion. A single tear rolled down one cheek and she brushed it away on Domenick’s tunic. There she moved to respond; but, in a single horrible instant, the words were lost.

Suddenly both of them were torn apart. The act came as a complete surprise, taking both Eve and Domenick completely off guard; but, from watching one another, they slowly managed to piece together the broken frame of their situation.

Burly men held them – armored and armed, clearly seasoned mercenaries. Only one man was necessary for the fisherman; but, for the shape-shifter, one appeared on each arm like some oversized, living gloves.

They struggled vainly for a minute or two, tiring themselves out. Only then did a fourth figure stride onto the beach – one which, immediately, both man and woman recognized.

“It seems I’ve found you just in time.” Davian mused, looking to each of his captives in turn.

“Domenick,” he purred “I regret to inform you that your crew isn’t doing so well. You see… the slave trade is a risky business. It seems their ship had a mix-up in one port, and every man – captive and non – was sold into the human market. A pity, really – I offer my condolences.

“And Eve – my, you truly are looking beautiful this evening.” He said, turning to the thrashing woman. “I must admit, you are truly a sight to behold – but the real spectacle will start shortly, eh?”

From his belt the baron drew a pair of thick manacles, laced with several glowing symbols. These he handed to one of the shape-shifter’s two captors, who began the long struggle to fit them around her wrists.

“What is happening here?” Domenick demanded. “There’s no reason for this!”

“There’s every reason for this.” Davian protested, striding forward to fit a pair of much less impressive shackles around the fisherman’s own hands. “You see, I work in the business of slave trade. It isn’t an honorable profession, but it is indeed a profitable one.

“But, years ago, I came across a rather interesting find. By chance I captured a young woman in the southern islands who, at night, transformed into a massive creature: a fox that must have been well over fifty feet tall. Luckily for me, I had her confined in a cave the first night – and, so, she could not escape. Afterwards, my personal mage made these for me.”

He gestured towards the bands slowly fitting themselves across Eve’s hands. With each struggle they pulsed emphatically, as though overjoyed at being put to use.

“They are enchanted to change size as she does, you see. During the day, these creatures – these lycanthropes – are twice as strong as the average man. But at night? In the mines? Well, they can do the work of fifty! They never need sleep, and only require a small amount of food: one person per day, to be precise.

“But, you see, I ran into a slight problem a few weeks ago. In an unfortunate mine collapse, my lycanthrope was killed; and so I needed a replacement for her. Thankfully my cousin managed to find one for me – a worthy way to die, I think.”

The manacles clicked into place and Davian drew a second pair, which the mercenaries began desperately attempting to fit around the woman’s ankles. Anxiously the baron glanced at the sun; and, with a scoff, he turned back towards the struggling soldiers.

“Hurry up!” he barked. “When the sun sets, if she isn’t contained, we’re dinner!”

“You’d deserve it.” Domenick growled, spitting in the noble’s direction.

“Don’t be so glum, Dom!” Davian chided. “I’m doing you a favor, here! I could sell you into the slave trade and start a life of misery for you… but I have a heart. Instead, I think I’ll just feed you to your friend here? It’ll save trouble on everyone’s part – we all win, in the end.”

The baron had expected a reaction from the man; but, instead, it was Eve who was coaxed into an upheaval. She gave a roar of outrage, kicking out at one of her two captors so that her foot caught him in the diaphragm. He doubled over; and, half freed, she whipped her bound hands around so that the metallic manacles smacked into the second mercenary’s nose with a loud crack.

Then she was on the run, fleeing down the beach as the last precious seconds of daylight ticked away against the horizon. At her back Davian was beside himself, barking orders and hurling threats both painful and profitable alike to the last standing guard, demanding he pursue the woman.

Immediately, the presence holding Domenick’s arms was gone. He was freed, save for his hand restraints; and the nobleman’s back was to him.

In two quick strides he was on the man, wrists stretched as far as the chain between them would allow. Wrapping the metallic links around Davian’s neck the fisherman snapped his arms into an angry “X”, an unrelenting choke hold.

In the distance, a shudder wracked Eve; and, in a burst of spasms and roars, she began her change. But the mercenary realized his peril too late; and, before he could turn and flee, the shark’s powerful tail snapped from her lower back and whipped across to hurl him nearly a dozen yards out to sea.

The other two guards were faster to recognize the danger and, immediately, abandoned both their cause and employer. But, ravenous, Eve was on them in an instant: in two quick jabs they were disarmed and, in a quick clamping of fang, they were between her jaws.

Forced to watch as his efforts fell apart around him, Davian was stunned and speechless – and not just because of the choke-hold around his neck. Weak and breathless he collapsed to the ground, face-down in the sand in his final moments. Viciously Domenick pressed his foot into the nobleman’s back, bringing his cheek close to the downed man’s face.

“With all of my crew in mind,” the former sailor spat viciously “I leave you with this, Davian: get wrecked.”

Then, with a harsh twist, the fisherman snapped his former employer’s neck.

Eve approached slowly – but her countenance did not depict that of a prowling predator, but instead that of a concerned friend. She knelt at Domenick’s side as he crouched over the baron’s body, ruffling through his pockets.

The seaman first found a rolled sheet of parchment, which he tucked aside with interest. Next came three ample pouches of gold, undoubtedly payment for the soldiers for hire that now lay crumpled and either dead or dying. These, too, he tucked away.

Finally a key made its way from the noble’s breast pocket. Domenick quickly found the lock on Eve’s shackles and, to the best of his limited dexterity, managed to click open the massive manacles. In turn, Eve used her freed claws to slice off the fisherman’s own bonds.

“We can’t stay here.” She said, shaking her head mournfully. “I was startling to really love this place… but there will be too many questions, too many dangers. We need to go somewhere… I don’t know where, but it can’t be close.”

“I don’t know what you are, exactly,” Domenick admitted “or what sort of past you have… but I think that whatever you bring with you, it will be worth it. I’m here to help, Eve.”

On that note he unrolled the scroll. Its surface was laden with scrawling text, hardly legible in the dim light; but, in the center, an ominous image stood out – pale beneath the moonlight. Three titanic figures wreaked havoc among a sea of tiny dots below, mercilessly slaughtering what must have been humans. The first was a humanoid fox; the second a wolf of similar build; and the third some great cat, perhaps a mythical tiger. Each was at least as large as Eve herself – though none possessed her moral center.

“I don’t know what you are, exactly,” he reiterated “but maybe this can help us find out? Let’s see what it means to be a lycanthrope from the sea…”