Wonderland Ch. 09

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, but I had to take some time to enjoy my summer. Hopefully y'all understand. ;)

Also, I promise this is the last chapter without our good friend Talon. He and Tempest have some unfinished business and it'd be too cruel to leave the poor guy out of the ring any further.

This chapter takes place right after the events of 8B, so make sure you've read up or you'll be lost.

And like always, this story is copyrighted by LillithArchivist, and any resemblance to people or places is entirely coincidental.

Enjoy!

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"Wait!" I yelled at Thatcher. I started to turn in my seat to look at him, but his arm came around my waist like an iron bar sealing me to him.

"Move and you'll fall beneath his legs. Stay still and talk. I can hear you better than you think," Thatcher grumbled into my ear, his tinny voice alerting me that he was more Raspan than human at the moment.

I nodded to let him know I understood but quickly pointed in the direction of my parents' house, all alone on the hill.

"My parents!" I yelled, just as the sound of a roaring helicopter cut me out. Awe filled me as something out of a Hollywood action movie unfolded right above my head. Three helicopters and four small planes swung low above the pack, each machine marked by the City of Wonderland Police seal. My mouth flopped open as the helicopters banked sharply and angled themselves sideways. Men in heavily padded police uniforms carrying large guns hung out from the belly of the helicopters, their hands tightly gripping the barrels as they aimed them directly. At. Us.

If I hadn't been thinking of how cool they all looked, I would've been more scared. Thatcher swore loudly and sent out a command in the Raspan tongue. I swung my head to the left and gasped at the sight of rows upon rows of sleek black furry bodies that dove into the earth as easily as a dolphin crested a wave. Not dolphins, I immediately recanted. Sharks. They dove into the earth as easily as a shark breached for a kill.

I gave myself a mental shake at the same time that our Raspan mount jerked hard to the left, galloping up the hill towards Bella Lane. He dug in his back legs as he leapt over cars that had been abandoned along the road, using his bulk to push the larger trucks out of his way like a four-limbed bulldozer.

The Raspan skidded to a halt in my house's front yard, digging up large skid marks in the dirt as he drug his bulk to a stop. Not that that mattered, since the house looked like it had just been visited by a crane operating a wrecking ball. The right half of the second story of the house was taken out completely, revealing the large guest bathroom and the teetering support of the outer walls. On second glance, I saw the tub and toilet were still intact.

But my eyes focused instead on the large gouged out hole of where the front door used to be. Blood smeared across the scattered broken stone told me I would not like what was inside.

Without waiting for the Raspan to kneel, I jumped off and fell clumsily to the side, my left knee protesting with a sharp sting. Scrambling up, I ran half-up, half-cowed over into the house, tripping over the plaster and remains of the front door.

The entire foyer and entrance to the kitchen had been destroyed. The cabinets, tables, kitchen island, whatever we had used for decoration...all of it was a motley of mess under my boots. My eyes searched for more of the red, my ears tuned only to the sounds of my parents' voices. Thatcher was yelling at me to stay put, but I didn't listen.

The house was still and silent; save for the wind blowing through the large gaping holes that riddled the walls and the sound of glass crunching beneath my shoes. Then, as I reached the living room, I found them.

They must've been watching the news or a TV show of some sort, for they were angled awkwardly next to the overturned couch. The stuffing from the pillows was still falling through the air, the air conditioning swirling the soft puffs of fiber around until they fell in the large pools of blood that surrounded the mangled, shredded bodies of my parents.

Frozen in place, my eyes took the images in. I couldn't stop committing the scene to memory, like the mental "stop recording" button was broken.

Snapshots of gouged flesh and splinters of bone poking through the arms that had once held me as I cried or congratulated me when I came home with a straight-A report card filled my brain. Eyes that had once lit up in love or irritation were clouded over and dull. The smell of death and the coming snowfall permeated my senses. I couldn't look away from my parents. I couldn't move. I couldn't think.

It was in those few minutes that something within me went still. My body seemed to absorb the chill in the air all the way down into my soul. When the smell of cloying fruit filled my nose, distracting me from the horror in front of me, the sounds of the outside world finally penetrated into the cold fog of my brain.

The Raspan beast was behind me, the exhales of its putrid hot breath warming my back and neck. In that moment, my body and mind went on autopilot. When the beast emitted a low grumble from deep in its throat, I just...reacted. Ducking fast, I grabbed a large shard of glass from the shattered coffee table and held it firmly in my gloved hand. I turned quickly and made purchase with the Raspan's blank black left eye.

Then I ran. Halfway down the corridor towards the stairs, I found another Raspan, halfway torn between human and beast. One eye was a large, bulbous black. The other was deep olive green, the color of my father's eyes.

My eyes.

The body didn't move as I sprinted past it, and it gave no sign of life as its companion smashed the frame beneath him in an attempt to catch me. Moving quickly now, I scaled the stairs three at a time, searching for something else -- anything else -- to attack the Raspan with.

Racing to my parent's bedroom on the second floor, I skidded into the master bathroom and snatched my dad's hand-me-down wooden box of barber razors from its place in the cabinet above the sink. Pulling out two of the old school straight razors, I felt like Sweeney Todd when he discovered his "friends."

Seconds later, teeth clamped around my shoulder and tugged, pulling me down hard to the floor with strength that took my breath away.

Flipping open the razor, I looked up into the one remaining black eye of the Raspan and its gaping maw of rows upon rows of shark-like teeth. I had one shot -- and I took it. Shoving hard off my feet from the tiled floor, I angled the razor high and forced the point down through the Raspan's last eye. With the other, I plunged upward through the top jaw and into the skull.

The Raspan realized in that moment the mistake of following me into the bathroom. Its large body wrestled with me and the blades, desperate to escape. When it realized it couldn't go out the same way it came, it lunged forward -- and dragged me along with it.

After a powerful tackle into the bathroom wall that sent us flying out into open air, we plummeted to the ground more than twenty feet below where the back porch came to greet us.

The Raspan fell first and emitted a large squeal seconds after we slammed into the wood planking. I fell awkwardly on top of him before stiffly sliding off, my limbs buzzing with adrenaline and pain from the impact.

Once feeling in my arms and left leg returned, I shakily pulled myself out of the hole in the porch and stared in shock at the large sections of wood that had speared the Raspan through the belly. My dad's razors in the beast's gouged out eye and gaping jaw only mirrored the effect.

I should be happy. The beasts that killed my parents were dead.

But I could only feel numbness. Numbness, and the physical pain in my knee and wrists.

Suddenly the smell of leather and male musk filled my nose; a sea of black covered the vision of the broken Raspan body in front of me.

"There were two in the garage," Thatcher choked out, his breath hot against my hair. "You didn't make a noise! I had no idea that you were -- that they were..." He sighed and held me tightly in his grip. "Are you hurt anywhere?" he asked finally, his voice tight with reigned in emotion.

I shook my head and moved away when he broke our hug. My eyes turned back to the Raspan body. I didn't even flinch when Thatcher held up a large jagged knife in front of my face for me to see.

"Take his tail."

I eyed him then. "Why?" I asked flatly, unable to summon the energy to sound curious.

"It's what a warrior would do," Thatcher enunciated, his tone terse. "In war, it's common for the victor to take a war trophy. Druls take the Gargoyle ears marked by their clan tattoos. Gargoyles take Raspan tails."

"And what do Raspans take?" I asked bitterly, taking the dagger from him before walking to the Raspan and stabbing the blade into the flesh.

"A Gargoyle's blood," he replied as he watched me work. "Or their wings, if the Gargoyle does not have potent magic."

"What about the Lunar?" I asked mechanically as I hacked at the back end of the Raspan with the hunting knife. The cut was by no means clean, and the tail smelled like ass. Thatcher took both from me when I had finished and gave the blunt end of the tail a cleaner cut. I only blinked when the dagger became wreathed in blue fire, unable to tear my eyes away from the blade as he cauterized the blunt end.

"They take Drul fingers, mainly the three in the center," Thatcher answered. "Druls use their hands to manipulate their magic. If you take the hand, or the fingers, you take their magic. It's the perfect war trophy, in my opinion."

When Thatcher was finished, he cleaned his blade and handed the tail to me. "I have a bag we can put it in. Usually you hang them from your belt, but..." he trailed off as he stated the obvious, his brown eyes narrowing a little when I finally looked into his face.

"Your family is dead," he said quietly. My throat was too tight to speak, so I nodded. Thatcher nodded slightly, his eyes tightening before he glanced at the house. The regret was written on his face, but he knew better than to say anything or risk his words ringing hollow.

"I guess burying them would be pointless," I said after a while, clearing my throat of emotion. "The rats would just eat them."

Thatcher flinched at my wording but nodded. "I have a better idea," he murmured. We stood and gave the Raspan a last glance before Thatcher reached out a hand for mine. I took it wordlessly and followed him back to the house to await his next move.

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We rode away from Bella Lane and into the forest where the rest of the Raspan's waited, the heat of the fire at our backs. I watched for as long as I could as the flames engulfed the only home I had ever known; taking the two people in this world that had loved me along with it.

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"Where are the helicopters?" I asked Thatcher as soon as we hit the forest line, a fierce urgency sweeping through me. I had to take my mind off the flames, and inane conversation was the perfect distraction. "Or the planes?" I asked in afterthought.

"I had the men take them down," he retorted as he led our mount uphill.

"How are we going to get to Queensland without being found?" I asked quickly.

Thatcher hesitated, though not out of lack of answer. He had caught on to my game. "My magic is strong enough to keep us hidden," Thatcher replied. "These hills will throw off sensors and if the Raspan's want to stay alive, they'll follow my orders."

I wasn't quite sure it was that easy, but I didn't know what else I could do but believe him and hope for the best. I swallowed hard and hung on for dear life as our Raspan mount began to speed up as it darted through the ever-narrowing trees as the terrain changed from forest undergrowth to steepening craggy rock.

"Hang on," Thatcher murmured as the Raspan leapt off the ground and grabbed onto the rocks, his powerful body tightening and testing itself as it began to bound across the stone. I gasped in surprise at how fast the Raspan sped across the tumultuous terrain. Our mount never slipped or wavered in his course over the rocks, making sure to never take us into open territory.

I looked up to the sky, sighting the grey clouds between the trees and found my mind turning back to the images that had burned themselves on the backs of my eyelids.

For the rest of the ride, I was still back at the house of Bella Lane, staring into the chewed off faces of my mother and father. Nothing, not even the bitter cold, could take my mind off of their lifeless stares. Thatcher pulled up the reins and helped me off the mount before placing me beside the large Raspan to hold onto as he organized camp. I closed my eyes to quell the rising panic within my chest as the massive furry bodies began to press in closer. A shrill ringing began in my ears, wavering off only when the Raspan's oppressive presence shifted away.

"Eat, drink and rest," Thatcher was commanding when I finally zoned in, my eyes open now. The entire forest floor was filled with Raspans for as far as the eye could see. It looked like we hadn't lost a single Raspan in the flight from Wonderland. "Clean up after yourselves," he continued. "Do not eat more than your fill. We cannot leave much trace of our journey behind. If you have the strength, cloak your scent. Now, I need scouts..."

Thatcher kept going, dictating rounds and duties to the pack like he had done so all his life. I couldn't help but smile a little as the Raspan's obeyed his commands in their human forms, eager to please their new king.

When Thatcher was finished making orders, I could tell he was exhausted, but he didn't complain. Instead, he came close to me and gestured to his temple. I nodded and felt his presence push hard against mine. The feeling of almost uncomfortable tightness of Thatcher's mind melding with my own was nearly nauseating, but I managed to keep calm.

"It is custom for consorts to dine and sleep together. If we're apart, they'll grow suspicious. It's the last thing we need right now." Thatcher's inner voice was both apologetic and weary, his discomfort just as obvious.

I nodded and drew up my shoulders. I was a big girl. I could handle this. Never had Thatcher in all those weeks staying in close quarters with me had he ever taken advantage. I knew he wouldn't start now.

"Where will we camp?" I asked him out loud, smothering a sigh of relief as he left my thoughts, the pressure relieving itself instantly. Thatcher looked at me for a long moment before responding.

"There's an old bear den not too far from here," he pointed southeast. "Help me carry the packs and we can get going."

Casting a glance at the Raspans around us, I nodded and followed suit.

The cave wasn't big enough to fully stand up in and was only one oblong-shaped "room." A few rocks and limbs scattered the place, but other than that it was empty and clean. Thatcher and I deposited our packs in a rounded corner and silently gathered firewood. The smells of cooking venison wafted through the air from the camps outside and my stomach rolled.

Closing my eyes, I braced myself against the wall of the cave, breathing in and out until the nausea subsided. I opened my eyes only when I felt like I could stand and the world around me stopped spinning. "Does it ever get easier?" I asked Thatcher hoarsely, looking over at him now.

Thatcher paused from throwing kindling onto the fire, his eyes meeting mine. "Seeing death?" he clarified. I nodded. Thatcher threw in the kindling with a small shake of his head, his dark eyes dancing in the flames. "Never," he whispered.

I looked out of the open cavern and across the small frozen pond just a few feet from us. The world was silent beyond this. Eerily silent.

Thatcher had only allowed one fire to burn long enough for food to be made, and when the sound of the Raspan's conversation had dwindled, he left the cave to check on the fire. Meanwhile, I gathered up my blankets and kept watch, unwilling to blink or close my eyes.

When Thatcher returned, I heard him rustling around. The sound of metal scraping metal drew me from the growing darkness. I looked over my shoulder to see him filling up a small pan perched on a roughly constructed platform with the water from his canteen.

"What are you doing?" I asked quietly.

"Making dinner," he responded. I watched him move around the fire and couldn't help but wonder where in the hell he had gotten the five large bass he was currently skinning.

"I'm not hungry," I argued, pulling up my blankets and putting a section over my nose and mouth to block out the smell.

"You will be," Thatcher vowed.

Suddenly the need to keep my mind off of things seemed like a great idea. I turned away from the forest and faced Thatcher to watch him clean and gut with precision of someone who had done this far too many times before resorting to my original tactic of inane conversation.

"Where did you get the fish?" I asked him.

"From the Ancient, one of the Original Twelve. He's a qualified tracker and accomplished hunter. That's why my father liked him so much," Thatcher responded dryly, snorting after.

I came to a wall with that one. "'One of the Original Twelve?' What does that mean?"

"The Original Twelve are the only children my father has ever raped into being," Thatcher replied deprecatingly. "They are meant to resemble the twelve original children that all Raspans can trace their roots to. Fuyher meant to breed out his siblings, but ironically, his fruitfulness was rewarded with infertile sons." Thatcher cut the fish into chunks before tossing them into the boiling water. "This particular Raspan son is named Mannat. He's my older brother."

Whoa.

"How is it that the Original Twelve are Raspan, but you are not? Is it just because your mother was half-Drul and half-Gargoyle?"

"Breeding has to do with everything," Thatcher answered simply. "The human gene skipped over the first generation and was bestowed, somewhat, in the second. Remember, my father is the only offspring of the first generation to naturally take human-ish form. He cannot morph into anything else."

"What about the other offspring of the second generation?"

"They are Raspan with human-like characteristics. They can converse in a language, they have a sense of right and wrong, they ask the big questions, things like that. Only the evolved Raspans of the second generation can take another form. They are fairly rare."

I eyed him in surprise then. "But you have a whole army of them right out there," I told him, gesturing behind me.

"Those are the majority of the evolved Raspans -- or the Elite. Fuyher must've thought he'd easily wipe out the threat in Wonderland and gather Intel if the operation wasn't filled with mindless rats creating mayhem. He needed some order and thinking going on, so he must've sent them in the common Raspans' stead. His act of war is our gain."

My chest tightened at his words, but I knew he didn't see my parents' death as a gain. He was thinking like Táxim-se, not Thatcher. He saw his number of troops surge, and that mattered when he was trying to gather a mass for the coming war.

"I've noticed something," I told him as he checked the fish.

"Noticed what?" he asked as he turned the boiling meat over in the pan.

"Their eyes -- the Elite Raspans, I mean -- they're brown."

Thatcher eyed me in surprise, as though the observation was new to him. Maybe it was.

"When I first met you, your eyes were as black as night," I continued, watching the light bulb go on in his head. "Do you think it's because you are more human than your father?"

Thatcher nodded slowly, his brow furrowing slightly. "My father has human features, sort of, but inside he is not human. His strength lies within his beast and because he controls so many, he feeds off the connection of those around him. When so many beasts are connected to your own, they are part of you and you are part of them. If the control isn't handled properly, you will slowly go mad, as my father did."