“We can’t go any closer like this.” Bobby scanned the house. They’d already spotted several men patrolling the grounds. Strange. They appeared to be more than private security. “We’ll never get past them like this.”
Sam agreed, but in their other forms…
Bobby changed first, a process which always surprised Sam despite being able to do the same. The husky shook itself, the single recognisable thing being the one blue eye, one brown. Sam could also change any time of the day or night, but needed a little more preparation. Alas, several minutes went by and still he struggled to bring on the alteration. The husky—Bobby—whined. Padded forward. Licked his chin.
“Yeah, I know.” Sam didn’t know if he should tell Bobby to go on without him, he’d follow. If something happened…No, they daren’t risk it. Come on. Come on. The more he tried, the more the transformation eluded him.
Sam closed his eyes. Breathed in. Ran his fingers through Bobby’s fur. Let Bobby lick his fingers. Sam conjured an image of Chantelle, of Bobby with her, inside her. Of the couple welcoming Sam into their bed. Of sleeping curled together as a pack. He imagined life without her. Of how broken Bobby would be. He gripped and squeezed and Bobby let him, no longer licking. When Sam opened his eyes, the world came to him in a red haze of hatred. No one needed to tell him his eyes were now amber. His hands…He let go of Bobby and the husky backed off, head lowered, gaze intense. Sam’s nails and fingers elongated. Something happened to his hips. Though his legs didn’t bend a different way, his feet changed. Surer of foot and able to run upright or on all fours, Sam ducked under the foliage and peered at the world a different way, using his sense of smell. They threaded their way closer to the house, Sam pausing every time a human passed by. Once inside he’d need to…
Sam stopped. The husky jerked its head as if to say, “What’s up?” Sam ignored the dog. When the animal poked him with a cold nose, he as good as slapped it away. Sorry, Bobby.
Something drew him, something Bobby didn’t detect. Chantelle wasn’t in the house. She was…elsewhere. Out there. Instinct told him to move to the right. He met Bobby’s stare, and whatever he conveyed, the dog followed where Sam led.
* * * *
Less time went by before they returned. With no natural light and no clock, instinct told her they’d been gone about thirty or forty minutes, not a whole hour. She didn’t have time to speak, and they didn’t even bother to demand she changed before they hit her with cold water from the power jet.
When she lay there gasping and shuddering beneath the saturated blankets but giving them no other reaction, the old man sighed. “I guess we must try something else.”
Else? What else?
Though she tried not to, her mind spun with images of every torture device she’d ever gazed upon or read about, of every horror film she’d ever watched. She was wet. Would they try electrocution next or was that too big a risk?
Seconds mounted before he spoke. “This can stop or continue as long as you choose. But sooner or later I will come down here and find your true self.”
“T-The f-f-fuck you w-will.” No way to keep her voice level now. At least he didn’t laugh in triumph, but the way he pivoted on his heel and strode off, gave her more to fear. This was a battle of wills, of determination. She feared his prophecy would come true sooner than later. The change might soon become something impossible to control.
This time they left her in the dark with her one prevailing hope. Where was Bobby and Sam?
* * * *
Bobby followed, but the further they moved away from the house the more the man surfaced. At last unable to stand it any longer, Bobby changed back. He stumbled forward and grabbed Sam, jerking away and flying to land on his back as the creature Sam was, swung an arm his way. Christ, if his reactions weren’t so good Sam might have sliced him open.
Sam leaned over him, amber gaze boring into Bobby. Lips pulled back. A little drawl dribbled onto Bobby’s face.
“Sam,” Bobby whispered. The other man hadn’t stared at him this way since the first night of the change. He shouldn’t be feral, not after all this time. What was going on here?
Sam swallowed, jaw shortening a little. Around a mouthful of teeth, Sam stuttered. “T-Trusssst.”
“I do.” Whatever was going on, Bobby didn’t doubt Sam was on to something, but he needed to know what. He glanced back at the house.
“N-n-not there.” Sounded as if Sam talked around a whole potato. His stare focused out, further into the depths of the surrounding woodlands. He growled, the sound soft and low, and so utterly menacing Bobby’s bladder weakened.
* * * *
Though they hadn’t resorted to electrocution, she wasn’t sure the sharp ended poles were much better. Chantelle stood, one wet blanket wrapped around her as securely as possible, not because she cared about nudity, but to protect her skin. Still, they jabbed at her bare legs and when one thrust cut deep enough to make her bleed she jolted away, giving the man on the other side the opportunity to stab her in the shoulder.
Chantelle laughed as blood ran. “This is your plan? Risk giving me hypothermia or having me bleed out? You know what I believe? This is your true fantasy. This has nothing to do with your delusions about people changing into monsters. It’s always been your dream to get a girl in a cage. Only way one will stay put. How many times did you wank off last night to thoughts of me locked in here?” She waggled her eyebrows at him.
“I’ll have you know I’m happily married.”
Give him his dues, he kept a calm demeanour. Many perps were too easy to bait. “Really?” Chantelle snorted. “Does she know? Does she know what you’re capable of, you sick fuck?
“And you.” She looked at the man who had at last emerged from the shadows. “Do you believe his crap?” She recognised him, but did he know? The thought made her tamp down her fear. She could identify him, not only by description, but by name, rank, district, police station, and even his home address, if the shithead hadn’t moved house. Which meant she wasn’t getting out of here alive. It meant while she still had her strength she might have to change and fight her way out. If one of them opened the cage she’d take the opportunity. She’d checked the bars and even her husky couldn’t wriggle through.
“Doesn’t matter what I believe. I do what my father tells me.”
“Your…?” She struggled to see the resemblance. Maybe…something in the eyes. A little around the mouth, but the relationship wasn’t obvious. Maybe Benedict took after his mother. Didn’t he have siblings? As she assimilated these facts, it sunk in McCaw senior wasn’t happy with his son’s slip. Not that the truth worsened her predicament. Either they intended to kill her or keep her as a pet. Maybe this was the time to find out.
“So, what were you planning? To put a leash on me if I changed? Is that your sick fantasy? A woman down on her hands and knees at your feet?”
“Not a woman. A bitch.” McCaw senior’s voice remained calm, making the word more fact than insult. Still, Chantelle rolled her eyes and her head to gaze at Benedict. He at least appeared embarrassed. A good chance existed he believed none of this.
“Proud of your daddy?”
He reddened. To hell with this pretence.
“You know me, Benedict. You know I was a good officer. No one deserves to end up like this.”
“Shut up.” McCaw senior prodded her with the spear, but she was ready for it and refused to flinch even when he stabbed her again. She ignored him.
“No one deserves this. Least of all an officer.”
“Ex,” Benedict murmured.
“Ex or not, still someone who made a stand for right versus wrong.”
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” At last she prompted a response from McCaw senior, but it earned her the spike digging into her upper arm—thank goodness the more fleshy part—but she had to swallow a cry and stumbled as the older McCaw leaned on the pole. Now she shuddered from pain more than from the cold. “Shut your trap, you whore.” McCa
w spoke as if it were the worst thing a woman could be. “Same as all women.” He sounded incredulous.
“Including your wife?” Chantelle met his gaze before staring back at Benedict. “His wife? Your mother? Do you think so little of women?” She knew he didn’t. Benedict admired women on the force. “Do you see yourself coming back from this? Living with this?”
Chantelle pushed away from the wall, steadying her balance. “What was your price, Benedict? Your soul? Do you believe you won’t continue to pay in guilt, remorse, nightmares? Can you end an officer’s life so readily?”
“Your imagination is lacking, girl.” McCaw senior sounded far too superior.
Girl? Since when had anyone called her a girl? Prig. A quick jab to his Adam’s apple would shut the old bastard up. If she got the chance to get close enough, she’d follow through.
“Imagine what secrets that body of yours might reveal in the hands of the right person. What your blood may show. What scientific discoveries we might obtain by studying you. Dissecting you.”
She wanted to tell him others had tried. Yeah, shifters healed faster than humans. Making the change cured many injuries, but even shifters had researched how they might help to fight illness and disease. Did this sanctimonious twat believe shifters hadn’t tried to help humankind without giving themselves away in the process? Because, if a cure came from their blood, they would be hunted for what they provided. She never doubted that. The shifter community hadn’t got far yet. Their blood was complex. Scientists better than the ones even McCaw senior might hire with all his available wealth already considered the possibility. No point telling him—the knowledge wouldn’t make him release her.
Still the words slipped out. “You’re wasting your time.”
“You know, you’re right.” McCaw sounded resigned. “Benedict, clear all this up.” McCaw swept a hand around the cell showing the hose, the metal chair, the spears they held; McCaw threw his on the floor but out of her reach as he walked toward the unseen door further along the corridor. “We’re wasting our time with these little discomforts. Time to turn up the heat. We’ll see how she responds to real pain.”
After the door closed behind the old man, Benedict leaned his pole against the wall, picked up his father’s and stood it beside his own. He walked away. A few seconds later the hose inched along the floor back to wherever they stored it. Chantelle remained frozen against the wall. Even if she ran to the bars, she was trapped. She had only her teeth and only those if she changed. Though even in human form she was strong, and she could fight, they had weakened her. The question was how much and whether they’d be careless. So far, they hadn’t allowed her any opportunity.
McCaw had accused her of lacking imagination. Bobby finding her, if not dead, mutilated, turned her vision red, but she clung to the possibility whatever they had planned meant an alteration of her circumstances. To hurt her, they’d have to take her from the cage, or enter. Either option was to her advantage.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Benedict returned, taking hold of the folding chair and closing it. “You’ll be going into another…room. But you won’t get a chance to attack anyone. He’ll dart you to sedate you first. When you’re out, that’s when he’ll move you.” He took hold of both spears, carrying the chair in one hand, the wooden poles in the other.
“What is this place?” She didn’t know why but she gave in to the need to keep him talking.
He gazed at the ceiling as if trying to figure out how to answer her question. “I’ve never been certain. It’s a warren. Runs under the house into the surrounding land. There are rumours of contraband, escape tunnels used during the war. One of these corridors leads out to what was originally an ice house.”
Under the house? Benedict’s family was rich. The guys at the station used to jibe Benedict about his mansion. Was she under the estate? Though unsure what good the knowledge did her, of the few photographs she’d seen, woodland surrounded the house. If she made it outside…
Benedict claimed she’d get no chance. Hope was a cruel mistress, came in surges only to die.
“Do you believe him?”
Benedict had taken a few steps before she stopped him again. His back straightened. He didn’t turn around.
“Do you believe what he claims? That I can…” She affected a huff of derision. “That I can change shape?”
More seconds passed but at last, Benedict said, “No.”
Though unsure what she’d expected, to hear him say so led to confusion. “So, you will let him…what? Torture me for fun?”
His neck twisted to the left and back; a swift jerk of emotion soured the air. Benedict was as unhappy about this as she was. Almost; he wasn’t the one whose skin was on the line.
“You going to watch?”
No doubt about it; he stiffened.
“Does spilling my blood turn you on?”
He spun, lips pulling back, teeth gritted. If eyes could blaze, then Benedict’s did. “I get no pleasure from this. But make no mistake neither do I care. It’s me or you. You or…” His gaze flicked sideways to a vision not of the room. “You or her.”
“Her?” What did he mean? The woman? “Who is she?”
“Someone I care for, but who is too low in status ever to be anything but a servant and a whore in my bed.”
“You allow that?”
“To have her in my life, yes. I love her.”
“That’s not love.”
“It’s all I have. The equation is simple. To maintain this life, to keep my father on my side, I have to allow him these…indulgences.”
“So, you’re harbouring a man you believe is a lunatic. For what? His fortune? Not to be written out of the will? Why are you even working?”
“Because he insists. He likes his children to be seen as respectable and productive members of society.”
“Then be respectable. Call this in. If this became public any good solicitor would take care of your part in this. The public would be on your side.”
Benedict laughed. “You think I want my father’s lunacy to go public?”
“Better that than to be his accomplice.”
“Tell it to my brother. Tell it to my sister. That’s right.” He nodded at whatever he saw in her expression. “I may be the only sane one here and some days I’m not even certain of that. But I’ve too much to lose.”
“More, if your father’s taken in as a murderer.”
Benedict met her gaze. “He’s never been caught before.”
Chapter 9
“This looks like…” Bobby stared around, taking in the dark open space. “I’d say it’s an old ice house, the sort rich people used to keep their stores cold in, but…” He glanced back the way they’d come. “Why’s it so far from the house?”
Sam made a huffing sound. Old ruins arose from an embankment of trees. An older building had been the main residence sometime. Maybe the newer mansion had been a more recent edition, or this was all part of a bigger estate added to, or divided. The question was…Bobby edged inside and came across a metal walkway almost at once. He peered in, spied no one and nothing but rock walls and a series of dim lights. Stairs came off the platforms and headed downward. Ice houses weren’t usually this deep. He lifted his eyebrows to Sam who pulled back his lips as if he sneered at Bobby’s doubt. Well, if Sam said Chantelle was here Bobby believed him. He edged back outside and pulled Sam with him.
“If we both try to go down, there’s no way you’ll make it without noise.” In his altered state Sam was bulkier than normal, his hands and feet clawed. The metal stairs would shake from his weight and awkward gait. “I’ll go ahead. If you hear me bark, you’ll know all hell has broken loose.”
One way to put it. Bobby faced the opening, changed into his husky form. He hated leaving Sam alone, wanting to keep him close to protect him and for backup, but some things an Alpha needed to face alone. Things such as losing his mate. No way of knowing what he’d find when he got to the bottom. Even
before he did…fuck but the metal grating hurt his paws.
* * * *
Benedict’s speech circled repeatedly in her mind.
“He likes to hunt, you see. But the sport wanes. Sometimes he’s hunted…more interesting prey. That’s not what he wants for you. He truly wants to know if you can change and, if you could, others would be interested, and he’d consider the highest bidder. But if, at the end, you’re still here he’d hunt you in dog form. Not sure he’d even get to the medical tests he’s talked about for weeks. Given the choice, to sell any secrets he believes you possess, or to hunt you…He wants the hunt. When he finally accepts you can’t, or, in his mind, won’t change, he’ll hunt you as a human and there’s no knowing what condition you’ll be in by then. When he doesn’t find the hunt satisfying, we’re the ones who will have to endure his tantrums until he finds something else to occupy his mind.”
Benedict spoke as if he expected her to be sorry for him. If he came close, she’d show him which one of them needed to be sorry. Either way she’d heard enough.
“For fuck’s sake, you’re a human being and an officer of the law. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Benedict gave an apparent sad shake of his head. “You can’t be so naïve. There are those who put themselves above the law. They do it every day. Those with wealth, particularly.”
“And I don’t give a rat’s arse. Even if I hadn’t worked in the police, I know right from wrong. You doing what daddy says…” She made sure she sounded snide. “It’s beyond me.”
“It’s always been this way. It’s what I grew up with.”
“Doesn’t mean it has to last. It’s never too late.”
A derisive laugh barked out of Benedict’s mouth. “Sure. Like I wouldn’t be prosecuted for everything that’s gone on before. Like I’d be free of my father’s clutches in jail. He’s a bastard. You don’t have to tell me. Sebastian and Maddison…” he spat on the floor, “they’re worse. I’m the odd one out.”
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