“It’s okay, Saul, I- “
“Maybe later we can discuss that werecrab thing?”
I frown. “You seemed pretty opposed thirty minutes ago.”
“Well, I had to. You know how Amanda and Koen are.”
“And how’s that?”
“Sticks in the mud. Unimaginative. But the werecrab thing has potential. And I’ve been thinking of writing a book, so- “
I wave him off, give the woman my least Human smile, and walk into the building.
The waiting room is deserted. I knock at the same office as yesterday. After a few seconds I hear Layla’s feeble “Come in.”
Weird, I think, wrapping my hand around the doorknob.
So I let go of it. Take a step back.
Why is this weird? My instincts tell me that something’s off. And by now, enough disturbing shit has happened that humoring my instincts feels less like indulgence and more like necessity.
I dig into my pocket, wrapping my fingers around the penguin knife. With my other hand, I unlock my phone and pull up Koen’s contact to-
Acute, piercing pain bites into my hand. My phone flies into the air.
“I don’t believe so,” a voice says from behind me.
I spin on my heels. It’s the blond girl- Jess. And she kicked my hand so hard, it might be broken.
I look around. My phone landed beyond the reception desk, so out of reach, it might as well be on the moon with the werecrabs. I hold on to my knife and scream at the top of my lungs, “Saul!
“
“Saul’s taking a nap. Let the boy rest.”
I’m willing to- if only because Jess expects nothing from me, which puts me in a good position to slam the right side of my body against her and nick her with my knife.
“You little fucking- ” She tries to twist my wrist, but I free myself with a kick, get in another stab, and dart outside. That’s when the door to the office opens, and another Were runs out. I realize that Jess is not acting alone, and that I’m fucked.
I throw my self-defense kitchen sink at them, but the most it buys me is a three-foot escape before I’m recaptured. I kick, bite, cry out for help, but I’m quickly muffled with a sweaty palm and dragged inside the office.
Aside from me and Jess, there are three other Weres in the room. The one who helped Jess capture me is around my age. A second, much older man holds something sharp- a scalpel?- to the third’s neck.
Layla.
At first, I wonder why she isn’t shifting. We’d still be outnumbered, but a wolf would give us a fighting chance. Then I notice her droopy eyelids and limp hand. Her head occasionally lolls around the stem of her neck.
“What did you do to her?” I shout against the younger man’s palm. It doesn’t come out nearly as intelligible, but he must get the gist.
“Stay calm,” he orders. “She’s heavily sedated, out of precaution. Now, Eva, you have two choices. I can finish the job.” The way the older man waves the scalpel quickly clarifies what that would entail. “Or you can be quiet. Which one shall it be? The first one?”
I furiously shake my head.
“I thought so. Jess, are you okay?”
“I’ll live,” she mutters. Her blood overpowers every other scent in the room.
“Okay. Eva, I’m going to slowly take my hand off your mouth. Before you do anything stupid, remember that every action has consequences.”
I nod, sick to my stomach at the sight of Layla. “What did you give her? Is she- “
“She’ll be fine, provided that you stay quiet,” the man says from behind me, his breath humid against my ear. “We know this is distressing, but you gave us no other choice.”
I swallow a hysterical laugh. “Who the hell are you?”
“The same as you, Eva,” Jess says. “We are people who were denied their families. And now we’re going home.”
“I have no idea what you . . .”
I never get around to the end of the sentence. Because the man presses a cloth with a sweet, chemical scent against my mouth, and that’s the last thing I remember.
THIS AIN’T MY FIRST RODEO- AND BY RODEO, OF COURSE, I MEAN kidnapping. Still, what I learned in my previous experiences might not come in too handy.
I realize it when I wake up at some unidentified point later in the day, feeling hungover and flattened by an oxcart. My stomach tries to remind me that our usual post-drugs, post-beating routine tends to involve several bouts of vomiting, but I ignore it. My head pounds, but all my limbs are still attached. I’m bruised but not bleeding.
Outside, an incessant rain washes away all other noises.
My muscles shake as I sit up in bed to take in my surroundings. I’m in yet another cabin- two-storied, cozy, sandwiched between a pond and a pine forest. Late morning light filters in from the window, which is notable for its lack of bars. That alone would give me pause, but what really clues me in that this is a clear case of Not Like Other Abductions is the door to my bedroom, which is wide open.
No guard.
I consider climbing down the window. I could run south for the next four to five weeks and stop only when I enter Southwest territory and Misery welcomes me with her infamously cold, stiff embrace. Problem is, it’s prisoners who run away. And I might not be one.
So I make my way down the creaky yet sturdy stairs.
“Eva.” A slight Were woman glances up from a thick book, welcoming me with a warm smile. She has long straight hair, silver gray all over, but a look at the taut skin of her face tells me she must not even be forty yet. When she stands, her simple, flowy dress drapes down her body in waves of green.
Bet you whatever that she has an herb garden in the back, a voice says in my head. “Good morning, dear. What would you like to drink?” She glides toward me, all witchy cottage-core vibes. My metabolism must still be working through the drugs, because when she briefly wraps her arms around me, I do not violently shove her away. “Anything to eat?”
“Um. No, thanks.”
“Are you certain?”
Is this for real? “You already drugged me once. I’m just going to assume that everything you offer me is roofied, if that’s okay with you.”
The woman sighs, looking remorseful. “You’ll have to forgive us. We usually have better manners than this. And please, let me reassure you that you’re not our captive. There are vehicles at your disposal if you wish to leave. All we wanted was an opportunity to speak candidly with you. We attempted to bring you here without too much fuss, but the Alpha of the Northwest . . . he is very protective of you. I hope that the unfortunate methods to which we resorted will not influence the tenor of our future acquaintance.”
I’m not sure what this lady’s grasp of sarcasm is, so I resist the impulse to tell her that it’s
No big deal. All water under the bridge. Instead, I note the frequent use of we and glance around. We are alone in the kitchen, but through an open doorway I can see the living room, and three Human women sitting on the velvet couch. They seem to range from their late teens to early fifties. The button shape of their noses and their auburn hair suggest that they’re likely related.
They whisper feverishly at each other and watch me with wide, awestruck grins. Clearly, they’re guzzling the Kool-Aid. It’s all I can do to bite
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