Noah's Boy-eARC by Sarah A. Hoyt Page B

gathered around the cell phone, and he overheard, “You don’t understand, if we send to Denver for a tall enough ladder, she’ll be dead long before we—”
    Tom slipped into the alley. After looking around to make sure there were no windows overlooking his spot, and seeing that no one was paying any attention here, he stripped with the speed born of habit, folded his clothes and hid them behind a dumpster.
    Then he willed the shift upon him, coughing and writhing and spasming, as daggers of pain pushed into his bone and muscles as they changed shape.
    His face and his arms elongated. From his arms a pair of wings grew as his body became long, serpentine and familiar to those who might recognize the carved prows of Viking ships.
    The dragon took to the sky, retaining enough of the human mind to fly behind the bed-and-breakfast tower, to a spot where no one was likely to see him land.

Chapter 7
    Asphalt under paw pad changed to dirt. A road lined by houses turned to no road, just rock and scrub and dirt. The lion had no idea where he was running or, frankly, why . In his mind it was all dirt and stone, scrub oak and barren expanses, scent and hunt. Around him night fell.
    The thing ahead of him looked like a dog but smelled feline. It also smelled young, undernourished and scared. The lion snarled softly, confident of his victory once he caught the creature. It wasn’t even good sport.
    Rafiel, somewhere within the lion’s mind, was relieved when they left behind populated areas and the road—along with the possibility of a passing car seeing them and reporting them to the police or animal control. Instead, they ran into the border of a national forest, and then out of the trees, onto a slope that must have been torched in the last wildfire and which was now barren, save for a sparse growth of scrub oak. His paws hurt, as did his legs. He’d been at the chase a long time.
    He closed the distance with the young creature fleeing ahead of him. The creature turned around and let out off a high cry of distress, the complaint of a hopeless victim. The lion reared triumphant, as the…shifter? animal?…cowered and skittered sideways and whined, a frightfully high, odd whine.
    And then it happened. It was all too fast for the lion brain to follow, even as the lion’s eyes saw it. Out of the shadows, something came, yellow-tawny. It was huge, twice the size of the lion. Its paws hit the ground with so much force that clods of baked-dry earth flew in all directions. It snarled, its lips pulled back from long glimmering fangs.
    Rafiel-the-lion turned away from the cub to face this new menace. With raised hackles, he growled into the snarling face and the tawny yellow eyes.
    Then Rafiel smelled it. The smell rolled over him, like a wave, submerging the lion’s brain and confusing Rafiel.
    She stood growling in front of Rafiel.
    She . No doubt about that. He could smell her, a sweet-spicy tang that indicated a female in heat.
    His brain stopped. Parts of the lion body long ignored came to life and urgency. Rafiel stood smelling her, while at the back of his mind a primeval jungle, a primeval need beckoned.
    She snarled and leapt. Her paw caught him on the side of the face, putting out his eye, taking most of his cheek, sending him flying, then sprawling in an unnatural position. He felt as though his spine had snapped and agony dulled his thoughts while the creature stood over him and growled.
    One snap from those jaws and he’d be dead, his head separated from his body. Such a death blow would mean no coming back.
    * * *
    Kyrie saw Tom edging around to the alley and knew what he was going to do. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. It smelled of fries and gyros, which had come to mean “home” to her since she and Tom had owned the diner. The smell calmed her a little. She said a general prayer that Tom wouldn’t get caught by a cell phone camera or worse. You’d think he would know better than to shift where there