Wild Things

The screech of the train whistle tore Senna from her sleep. She blinked, then pushed herself up on the bench seat she’d been resting on. Her body was stiff, her mind fuzzy. The wine she’d had left her groggy. The train jerked, and she could tell they were speeding up.

“What is it?”

The guard at the door in her car swayed with the movement of the train. “I’m not sure, Princess.”

“Well, find out, please. I want to know what is happening.” She pulled aside the curtain on the little window. The glaring sun made her blink, but she pressed her face against the glass. Something sped by in a plume of dust, but she couldn’t make out what it was.

“I’m not to leave you. I have orders.”

She turned to glare at the man. “You are to do as I say, aren’t you? I order you to...”

The door to her car opened, banging into the guard. He drew his dagger, struggling to get his balance.

“It’s me, you dolt.” The man pushed into the car. It was the leader of the Protectorate, set to keep a watchful eye on her, on this long journey home. They were not her own guards though; they belonged to the Ottway Venn. This was his train, and these were his men.

“You will not leave.” The leader glared at the lesser guard. “You will stay.” He turned his glare on Senna.

“We are under attack. You are not to leave this car. Do you understand me?” He leaned closer to her. “I said, do you...”

Her hand cracked against his cheek. “You do not speak to me like that, no matter who you are. Do you understand?”

The man drew back, the outline of her hand on his cheek. “You do not move.” He flicked his eyes over her, then turned and pushed past the guard at the door.

Senna sat up, straightening her gown, tugging at her corset. The damnable thing, a gift from the Ottway Venn, was too small for her curves. It was made for a child, not a woman. And she was a woman, dammit. He knew that, should have known that. She’d been there long enough for him to see her. But no, she’d been given this—this thing—that flattened her bosom even more, and took away every curve that made her a woman. She tugged again at the garment, then looked up.

The guard was watching, his eyes following the movements of her hands, sliding over her body. She glared at him, then spat on the floor between his feet.

“You may not have to obey me, but you could at least have the decency to turn your eyes away. I am, after all, going to be your...” She fumbled for the word. The Ottway...what was her title going to be once they were married? No one had ever told her.

“I am going to be married to the Ottway.” That should be enough for this guard.

The man shrugged, but turned his back. It didn’t matter any longer. The corset was unbearable, and no amount of plucking at it was going to help.

The train lurched again, and she fell back on the bench seat, her head hitting the wall. She looked out the little window. The plumes of dust surrounded the train, keeping up with it, but the train was slowing, coming to a stop. She could see the riders clearly now, rather than watching a blur of movement.

It took her a moment to realize it wasn’t men, but something else, astride strange machines. They held what looked like weapons, and they wore leather clothes, wrapped around their arms and legs, shredded and torn pieces of cloth trailing behind them. Their faces were covered, the lower part with a leather mask, the upper with glass goggles. The train slowed, and the beings began to circle outside her window. One rode close, waving a spear, and through the glass she heard an unearthly shriek.

“What is it?” She turned to the man guarding her. “Who are they?”

“Aliens.” He spat the word, as she had spat at him. “They attack trains, especially the Ottway’s trains. And especially when there is valuable cargo on board.”

She blinked. He must mean her. What else of value was on this train? “That is...” The thought that those things out there wanted her was beyond anything she could even comprehend. Clearing her throat, she tried again.

“It is savage. Surely I am well protected?”

The guard laughed. “Very well protected. Look. See for yourself.”

She turned back to look out the window. There were other machines now, sleek and shiny, not dirty and rusty. The riders were men, or they appeared to be. But among them ran wolves, desert wolves, long and low and deadly fast. They were shifters, the elite fighters of her kingdom. They charged among the alien riders, lunging at the wretched looking machines, knocking the riders to the sand.

Then a wolf sprang out, knocking the alien to the ground. With horror, she watched, as it grabbed the alien by the neck, shaking its huge head back and forth. The alien’s head snapped back and forth, then hung, limp.

The aliens scrambled up, crouching as they watched the wolves circling. One ran forward, waving a weapon. It landed on the back of a wolf, slicing across its neck, faster than she’d ever seen anything move. The wolf kicked once, then lay still, its blood staining the sand.

With a cry of disgust and fear, Senna turned away, unable to watch any further. If what the guard said was true, it was her blood they wanted.