Well, she knew where he was, but that didn’t help her do anything beyond killing the bastard if he attacked. There had to be some other way, but nothing was coming to mind. She so often relied on evasion and hiding that she feeling underprepared for a direct confrontation. She sighed. This was her first kidnapping; she shouldn’t be so hard on herself.

She spread her thoughts again, this time out of the house, up into the sky and fields around the inn. Not many people out in the town. A few more cats, plenty of rodents and insects and the like, squirrels, their horses in the stable.

And then—a bat! Just what she was looking for.

Rising, she opened the tiny window and whispered to the bat to come. After a few moments, a terrifying flutter of wings caused her to duck in spite of herself as the bat swooped inside. Bats had always struck her as intelligent, and this one proved no different. He landed and hung by the door as if he understood what she wanted without a verbal request. She shut the window most of the way but left a large crack open in case the bat needed to get out without her. The cold autumn air smelled fresher than the room anyway.

Well, it wouldn’t be a defense, but at least it would be a warning. And perhaps the bat would scare the hell out of anyone opening the door long enough to stall them until she’d gotten her eyes open. And then she’d kill them, unless a better idea came to her in a dream. Because for now, she had to get some rest. There was no point sitting there staring at the door, wishing for a peaceful way to end someone.

Dagger in its sheath under her pillow, she got into the bed. The linens were quite soft compared to the rough outer blanket, to her surprise. She reached back to the tomcat briefly; the drunk was still leering at his two companions. Perhaps he’d get so drunk he’d forget their encounter. Or perhaps not. She closed her eyes and quickly fell asleep.

Aven woke to—of all things—the sound of a bat screeching and the drunk man from earlier that evening shouting and pounding on the door. He sat up quickly, caught himself on the chain, and twisting awkwardly to sitting.

He glanced at Mara, hoping to the gods that she was awake. She was already on her feet, blade in hand.

This could not be good.

“Unchain me,” he demanded. She ignored him.

Instead, Mara launched herself at the door just as the drunk flung the bat against the wall, where it fell lifelessly to the ground. She’d probably aimed to just push him out of the room, but instead, she smashed him between the door and its frame. He screamed, clawing at her with one hand.

Aven yanked the chain; it held hard to the bed. But the frame was wood. He was probably strong enough to break it. He heaved harder, holding his hands closer first and then lunging to build momentum.

The intruder got her by the hair and swung her around, freeing himself and throwing her to the ground. She was on her feet quickly.

“Get out,” she said. “The Balance will come upon you if you hurt us.” The traditional phrase, a measure of warning and a measure of curse rolled into one.

He slammed the door shut with one hand and scoffed at her. “The Balance! Religious horse shit.” His words were slurred, but not much. “The Balance will come upon you for harboring a mage! Or has he already turned you into his puppet?” He pointed at Aven.

Try as he could, the bedpost held strong as an oak. Maybe she’d fortified it, too, or something. Maybe he could kick it apart?

“He’s not a mage; you’re just intoxicated,” she insisted. She was not a good liar, but either way he doubted the drunk would’ve bought it.

“Shut up,” the drunk said, slurring again. “What’s he doin’—stuck to the bed over there? Don’t ya wanna help your woman?”

“Don’t make me kill you,” Mara said, voice suddenly sharp.

The bastard chuckled and lunged at her. She struck him with the blunt of the dagger and grappled, but she clearly did not want to stab him. She landed a good kick to his groin, which stunned him for a moment but only made him more determined.

Aven heaved again against the bedpost, but it was no use. His wrist was going to break first.

A lucky blow knocked the blade from her hand, and Aven gasped as the drunk slammed her against the wall. Her head hit the plaster with a cracking sound, and her eyes were unfocused, wide, glassy. The drunk made the best of it and groped around her hips, and now Aven could see his intentions were not just to kill them.

And what could Aven do? Sit there like a damn fool. He felt a lump of fury mixed with panic rising in his throat. What he would give for just the tiniest bit of magic he could control! He gave another kick to the bedpost, but without boots, he was just about breaking his foot. By the gods, what kind of wood was this! Damn whatever tree this bed was made from!

The trees… Suddenly, he thought of the leaves that morning and the gust of wind flinging them into the air.

Could he do that to the drunk?

Mara had regained her wits and was doing her best to fight him off. They were locked in a wrestling match at this point, and considering her smaller size, she was doing surprisingly well. But blood ran down the wall behind her head, and she did not equal the drunk in strength, even if she surpassed him in fighting skill. Aven wasn’t sure how much longer she would last.

To his surprise, he realized her face and body had started to change. Her canine teeth lengthened into fangs, and her nails grew longer until they were talons suddenly digging into the flesh of his shoulder. The drunk screamed, then heaved her out from the wall and slammed her back against it. She barely grunted, digging the talons deeper into his shoulder.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out their sights and sounds. He focused on the air, felt it immediately start to move, swirling, whipping erratically this way and that. Not randomly, he commanded. The man, hit the damn man! But still it whipped and twisted. He couldn’t focus as he heard the drunk grunt and Mara hiss. No, block it out, focus, he commanded himself, clutching his hands around his skull, over his ears. Block them out.

And for one brief second, he found the picture in his mind of the brilliant gust, saw leaves flying through powerful particles rushing from his left to his right, from one side of the room to the other.

Behind him, there was a heavy thud. He turned, hoping he wouldn’t see her on the ground and bleeding.

She was still up, leaning against the wall, panting, staring at Aven. Only, her face was part human, part something else—cat-like, mouth extended and full of fang-like teeth, eyes large and almost black. The hand without talons had been completely replaced by a large, heavy paw like a panther’s. Fiery red hair had sprung up as fur on her arms, shoulders, face, neck covering much of the skin he could see. Disconcerting as the combination was, it didn’t scare him. It was fitting and oddly beautiful. Beneath all the disguises and secrets, there was some unavoidable truth in what he saw now—her true self when death was on the line.