It was different with a shifter. Usually with an animal, their memories bubbled up in response to my manipulations, easily read, easily pushed away. Gaden grabbed our connection and thrust it into a whole other world.
A world of snow and ice, of rocky outcroppings and pine forests. We slunk within the rocks, the chill on our fur reassuring as we surveyed our domain, looking for signs of prey. Our mouth watered at the thought of them—the ibex, with their long, curved, knobbly horns. We could smell their musky scent on the wind, tugging us to come closer, coiling our haunches, tensing our body to make ready for a strike.
But they were not here yet, our eyes could see that in amongst the broken landscape of rocks. There were no clack of hooves on stones to alert us, no picking at the sparse grass. We slunk along the ledge we were perched on, slow and silent as the grave, our broad furred paws muffling any sound.
It was the scent that did us in. It was so strong, quickly followed now by the smell of fresh blood and butchered meat, the scents blowing into the rise from the valley below. We moved more swiftly now, padding, padding, then leaping across fine spires of rock when we needed. We skirted our domain, wondering what the hell was creating that scent in our territory.
The human part of our brain realised there was something wrong when we found the pile of slaughtered ibex in the centre of the pathway into our territory. Why would animals be left here, mauled but not eaten? But in animal form, our instincts ruled supreme. We couldn’t have our human consciousness getting in the way of our ability to leap from rock to rock with a sure gait, of knowing all the moves of the savage dance that was running down prey, so those concerns were shoved to one side. Our stomach rumbled, reminding us of how long it’d been since we’d eaten, the pickings getting thinner now that the humans were moving their animals higher and higher into the mountains. We trotted over to the carcasses, the chemical smell mostly masked by the harsh metallic scent of blood. Our muzzle opened, and we could taste the blood on our breath, our body hunching down to take that first bite.
We’d scissored off a few delicious mouthfuls of that rubbery pink flesh, the musky stink of the ibex getting the saliva running. We hadn’t run this beast down, so the bloodlust seemed to compensate for that, rising higher, more intensely, the need to scarf down as much of the meat beating down on us. Which is why we missed it.
Our eyes jerked up as we heard the whistle, but by the time we saw the spider’s web of netting hurtling towards us, it was too late. We moved like lighting, but the net was faster, covering us, the weighted edges holding it down. As we scrambled, desperately trying to get free, the steely filaments tangled in our paws and feet until we went thudding down to the ground, panting and helpless. We realised why they had managed to sneak up on us when the boots appeared in front of us, reeking of ibex musk. They’d smeared the scent glands of the beasts they’d killed liberally all over them, hiding that treacherous stink of human.
“Time to see if we got a kitty or a furry,” one guy said with a chuckle. He whipped out a long metal cattle prod, our paws digging into the ground, trying to escape what we knew was coming. It made no difference. The blow landed, and we rode the lightning pumped through us, forcing every muscle into an agonising spasm. Piss saturated our fur, our cries frozen in our throat.
It was an aberration, a complete mockery of what was a natural process for us, as the seizing muscles were forced to shift, lengthen, transform, our leopard form ripped from us and leaving us naked and vulnerable on the ice-cold stones.
“There he is.” We could only move our eyes, our body frozen to the ground, still twitching. The man looked down at us with a triumphant grin before taking the hypodermic needle passed to him and thrusting it into our arm, an artificial darkness swallowing us before we could protest.
As was happening now.
I was jerked back to the institute and the sounds of the animals complaining as a man shouldered forward, shooting a blow dart into Gaden. My teeth jammed tight when I saw it hit, his growls filling the cave, his body rising up, ready to eliminate the threat, but he had no hope. He was in a tiny little metal box, kept caged so all of the natural superiority he possessed was neutralised. Instead, I was forced to watch his limbs collapse under him, all his normal grace stripped away by a chemical agent designed to make him compliant, then unconscious. I watched the life die in those beautiful eyes, then they closed as he slumped on the ground.
“Excellent, Ms Bruce! You were everything we’ve been told about.”
I was? I shot Stuart a quizzical look. What kinds of conversations had they had when we weren’t around? Hollingsworth’s eyes held mine for way too long, and he looked so pleased, like he’d found something he’d lost.
“Now, let’s bring the specimen over to the table, and we’ll take you through the extraction process.”
Extraction process. They were going to take semen from an unconscious shifter. I grit my teeth, my eyes darting around as the memory of Gaden’s capture, of the uproar the pack were likely to make when they found out about what they were doing in this place, pummelled me. Nan’s voice wasn’t a background suggestion, it was a full-throated shout. I needed to get the fuck out of here ASAP. Of course, that wasn’t how this was going down.
I stepped back when Nick and Stuart came forward, but Hollingsworth shook his head. “Thank you, Mr Miller,” he said to Nick. “I’m sure you’re most capable, but I’d like Ms Bruce involved in this one.”
“Shannon?” Stuart said. “She does assist in our surgical work at times, but only as a means to stabilise animals. If this is to be our everyday business, Nick will need to be trained.”
“And he will, Stuart,” Hollingsworth said, “but many hands make light work and all that. I’m not paying someone top dollar to just stand around making the animals happy. Come on, Ms Bruce.”
I looked at Stuart as the man waved me forward. He frowned, but he didn’t make a move to stop Hollingsworth. I took a deep breath in and sighed through my nose. This was it, the thing Nan warned me so often about, yet here I was. I couldn’t tell the guy to fuck off like I wanted without giving something of myself away. The average person might be fascinated or grossed out, but they wouldn’t be feeling the rage running inside me, prompting a fine shake of my hands, my muscles wound tightly. They wouldn’t be experiencing washes of revulsion and nausea. Their brains wouldn’t be shrieking that this was wrong, wrong, wrong. I’d had to pretend I was something I was not my whole fucking life, and apparently, it was all leading to this. My jaw muscle tightened so much, I worried my teeth might crack, and then I stepped up.
Gaden. Was that his actual name or some barbaric label Hollingsworth had put on him? He looked small somehow for an animal over thirty kilos, laid out on the stainless-steel tabletop, a breathing tube now put down his throat by the flunkies in the room. Machines that went ping behind him showed his respiration and heart rate.
“Well,” Stuart said, standing behind Gaden, “we always put animals on a respirator when under anaesthetic. It can be a tricky business, putting an animal under. Without careful administration and monitoring, you could lose them. Now, you’ll need to put some gloves on.”
Stuart passed them over, snapping his on as I did the same. “Now we need a catheter to collect the samples and a prostate stimulator.” One of Hollingsworth’s men wheeled over a cart with a strange combination of things on the top.