The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

from Nassar’s explanations. An older female in the arbitrator robe regarded her with serious grey eyes.
    “If you want to withdraw, you may do so now,” the woman said.
    She could withdraw. She could simply refuse to go in. If she did, Nassar would be doomed. He had already committed to the game and she knew he couldn’t simply substitute someone else in his place. He wouldn’t.
    Overnight, her fears had grown into near panic. Now she could walk away from them.
    Grace looked at the gathering of the clansmen. Her family used to be a clan. Her people should have stood right here. Instead the clansmen viewed her as a servant. Pride spiked in her. She had as much right to be here as anybody else. The vague feeling of unease that had eaten at her ever since Nassar had transformed into a bird crystallized and she finally understood it: it was envy. Envy of the magic used freely. Envy of knowledge. Circumstances had jettisoned her out of this world, but she refused to stay locked out.
    Grace drew herself to her full height. “Why in the world would I want to withdraw?”
    A red-haired man in Clan Roar’s green shook his head. “She can’t refuse. She isn’t even properly trained. She’s a servant.”
    “Not any more,” Nassar said softly behind her.
    The gathering suddenly grew quiet.
    The arbitrator surveyed them for a long moment. “Nassar, am I to understand that you’ve released Clan Mailliard from their service?”
    “Yes,” he answered.
    The arbitrator looked at her. “You’re here of your own free will?”
    “Yes,” Grace said.
    The arbitrator glanced at the Roar clansman. “There is your answer. Let the record reflect that Clan Mailliard chose to assist Clan Dreoch. You have our leave to proceed.”
    They passed her. Grace let out her breath.
    “Thank you,” Nassar murmured.
    “You’re welcome.”
    Two young men in Clan Roar’s green came to stand at the other end of the street. Both were lean, strong and hard, as if twisted from leather and twine. Both had long hair bound into horse tails: one red, one black.
    Nassar leaned to her. “Conn and Sylvester Roar. Powerful, but they lack experience.”
    The arbitrators passed between them, blocking her vision. As the blue robes fluttered by, Grace saw Conn Roar turn to her. He grinned, his eyes alight with feral fire, and snapped his teeth.
    Alarm dashed down her spine in a rush of cold. She raised her eyebrows. “Someone forgot his muzzle.”
    “See the pendant around Conn’s neck?”
    Grace glanced at a small black stone hanging on a long chain.
    “That’s a summoning stone. They’ll use its power to manifest creatures.”
    Marrow worms. They’d use it to summon the marrow worms. Nassar had warned her that the Roars would try to kill them. Him, specifically. The game was only the opening salvo to the hostilities between the two clans, and the Roars wanted to land the first blow by taking out the Dreochs’ best magic user.
    The arbitrators raised their hands. A controlled surge of magic washed over the street. The reality drained down, as if it were a reflection in a melting mirror. A new street opened before them. Green and red lianas hung from the dark, sinister houses. Kudzu vines climbed in and out of windows. To the left a huge clump of yellow foam dripped rancid red juice onto the street. A puddle of brown slime slivered across the asphalt like an amoeba and slipped into the storm drain under the light of street lamps. Ahead something furry dashed across the intersection: a long, shaggy body with too many legs.
    Somewhere in that zone a flag waited. Whoever touched the flag would be instantly transported out. They just had to survive long enough to reach it.
    The woman arbitrator raised her hand, fist closed. Next to Grace, Nassar tensed.
    “Let the game begin!” A white light pulsed from the arbitrator’s fingers. The crowd erupted in a ragged cheer.
    The two Roar clansmen screamed in unison. Flesh bulged out from under their skin. Their bodies contorted, their limbs thickened. Black fur sheathed their skin. Horns burst through their manes. Their eyes drowned in golden glow and an extra pair opened beside the first set. As one they raised monstrous faces up, the sharp fangs in their jaws silhouetted against the red sky. Eerie howls tore free from their throats, blending into a haunting song of hunt and murder.
    The Roars dashed into the zone on all fours. Nassar watched them go, his face calm. Leaping and growling, they