The Deadwolves' Prisoner

by Hollie Hutchins

  He pushed his bony frame out of the chair with help from his cane. “Isn’t it obvious?” He made his way to her and leaned down to her with a cracked copy of a smile. “We’re going to make an example out of you.”

  Mila leaned away from him and tried to avoid retching at the scent of his rancid breath that stunk of raw meat. “By letting me go?”

  He chuckled under his breath. “You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago.” He took a seat next to her. The more she saw him move, the more she saw that he was still strong, even with his physical defect. “A girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen. I thought I loved her.” His lip twitched and a rage burned in his eyes. “She told me she loved me. I thought I was going to give up the mob and marry her. Maybe buy a place somewhere out in Ireland. That’s where she always said she wanted to live, you know.” He leaned forward. “Do you want to guess what happened?”

  Mila didn’t want to ask and in fact said nothing, but that didn’t faze him. He kept on talking. “It turns out that she was playing me. Using me for information, you know.” He reached into his suit jacket and removed a knife in a sheath. She didn’t recognize the style. It might have been ancient.

  Mila paled. Listening to creepy stories was one thing. Seeing a blade was another thing entirely. “Wait wait wait, you don’t have to—”

  He kept talking. “I was young enough to believe her lies.” He held the knife in front of Mila and wagged it. “She bought this for me for our year anniversary.”

  Mila jumped as hard as she could and strained against her bonds. The chair wouldn’t budge and she accomplished nothing other than hurting her wrists. She wasn’t a dumbass. She knew what Step Two was—that blade and her skin, making acquaintance. “Please, do—”

  “Shhhh.” He pressed a finger against her lips. “Shhhh. You haven’t finished the story yet.” He unclipped the sheath and slowly drew the knife out. “When I found out about her betrayal, I was…upset.” He cleared his throat and paused. “I suppose a part of me snapped. ” He took another deep breath. “I took this knife here and I used it, Mila. That’s your name? Mila? Oh, but I didn’t let her know. I told her I wanted to try something new for her birthday, and I convinced her to allow herself to be tied up.”

  The sorrow in his voice disappeared and was replaced by raw, cold rage. “I didn’t make it slow, Mila. Oh no. She suffered like I had, and she screamed the whole time.”

  He drew back with a broad smile. “It’s for your own good. Love is fake. Your Maurice may act like an angel, but he and I…we’re two of a kind.”

  Mila struggled violently to no avail. This wasn’t a time for bravery. This was a time for saying whatever the hell needed to be said to get out. “Let us go! I won’t say anything, I swear!”

  He stood up. “Don’t worry. We won’t start until he arrives.”

  The sound of movement came from outside of the abandoned factory. The door swung open and a blindfolded Maurice, bound much more securely than Mila, was forced in with five or ten of the goons in werewolf form, each easily seven feet tall with shaggy fur covering primal figures.

  “Oh,” said the old man. “He’s early.”

  Chapter 20

  Once, Mila had decided to take up wood carving. She was eight or ten at the time and full of confidence, so despite her mother’s clear warning, she grabbed a pocketknife and startled whittling without a care in the world.

  She’d jabbed herself in the hand pretty bad because she hadn’t been paying attention, and she distinctly remembered thinking that she’d reached the pinnacle of fucked-uppery. It didn’t get any worse than stabbing herself and having to tell her mother how and why she’d done it. She’d officially hit the max and could go no higher on worry.

  Seeing Maurice like that changed her perspective.

  Being kidnapped was bad. Really, really bad, actually. But, knowing and hoping that somehow Maurice or someone would show up and save the day made it a lot easier to cope. Bruises covered his body and construction ratchet straps wrapped most of his torso to make sure there was zero chance of him getting away. His head hung low and he shuffled more than he walked. He didn’t even see her.

  The old werewolf curled his lip at the sight of Maurice. “I remember when you were a man,” he snarled at him. “Now you’re a whimpering whelp, too afraid to transform even if you could.”

  Maurice looked up and saw Mila. For an eternity, their eyes locked. Mila couldn’t speak. She couldn’t think. She saw into the well of his soul, the overwhelming depression and shame of failing her. He tore away before she could tell him that she didn’t blame him and there was nothing he could have done and that, if anyone should be blamed, it should be her.

  “Arthur.” Maurice’s voice was a horse cough. They’d already hurt him. “Let her go. Do whatever you want to me.”

  The old werewolf, Arthur, seemed mildly amused. “I’m doing you a favour, old friend. Look at what you’ve become. One of the angels. A coward, too afraid to face what you are!” Crack! He struck Maurice across the face with his cane, hard. “You miserable whelp!”

  A fire burned in Maurice’s eyes and he lunged at Arthur. The armed guards shoved him down. Maurice was still in human form and they in werewolf, so he didn’t stand a chance, especially with his bonds. He roared in rage, which earned him another crack of the cane.

  Time for Mila to get the fuck out of there.

  A small part of her had been holding out hope that there would be a rescue incoming, but that was out of the question, and if Maurice did transform, he had already warned her that he was incapable of controlling himself. She wouldn’t be any safer and things were going downhill fast.

  There had to be a way out of there. No trap was impossible to escape, and this one couldn’t be any different. What would she do if she somehow broke free? She saw at least half a dozen werewolves that were faster, stronger, and tougher than she was. Her best bet was to get to the upper level of the factory, where the manager would have watched over the machines and the workers to make sure they were doing everything properly. And then what? Jump off the ledge? They weren’t going to let her casually stroll off into the middle distance, not to mention she’d never leave Maurice here.

  Her time was now, while everyone was focusing on Maurice. She wriggled around but found that the bonds were entirely too tight for her to get free. However, the chair was not as sturdy as it should’ve been and when she struggled, it shifted ever-s0-slightly. She had this, maybe. Possibly. Probably not. The thing about escaping was that it had to be stealthy, and unfortunately, she was doing the exact opposite. Everyone was focused on Maurice but if they’d glanced over, they’d see her flailing around like a beached marlin. With every move, the chair got a little looser. Her hands were tied, but if she did it right, she could slip her feet out from the chair legs and scoot on. What then? The obvious answer was to go get help, but Maurice had been especially careful to make sure she didn’t know anything. She couldn’t call anyone and she didn’t have the faintest idea how to get to the compound for help.

  Mila wasn’t going to get the opportunity to find out what she might’ve done, because right as she snapped the chair back and freed herself, she was noticed.

  “Hey!” One of the guards took a step towards her in werewolf form. There was a sort of majesty with werewolves sometimes, an elegance and a grace. This wasn’t one of those times. His shaggy fur, curved fangs, and the ugly look in his eyes made it very clear that he meant her plenty of harm.

  Mila shoved herself off the chair, arms still behind her back, just in time for him to grab her. He moved across the floor remarkably fast and snatched her throat in his massive hand. He lifted her up and pressed her against a steel beam. “Going somewhere?”

  “Let her go!” howled Maurice, ignoring the beating from Arthur’s cane.

  Mila kicked at the beast in front of her and accomplished very close to nothing. He tightened his grip with a twisted smile.

  The temperature seemed to drop. Even thou
gh Mila’s field of vision was currently taken up by an eight-foot monster, she recognized it as the spirit that Maurice had been holding back for so many years, the demon inside that he was terrified of and that was supposed to be nearly limitless in power.

  Maurice lost it.

  He didn’t raise his hand politely and declare that he was about to go absolutely insane. It happened suddenly, and yet, it took so long. The pressure of seeing Mila getting choked, getting beat with a cane, and overall getting wrecked proved too much for him to hold it back any more. His whole body shook violently with spasms, rattling the chains around him. Arthur’s smile vanished and he took a step back. The other werewolves, all in wolf form, either tried to hold him down or were smart enough to get away.

  The chains cracked as Maurice’s form grew before shattering. As a man, he was a physically impressive specimen, muscular and dangerous looking. As a wolf, he shared the same characteristics. Mila didn’t get a great view because of the fact she was largely focused on getting choked to death, but what she did see was the start of the transformation and eventually, Maurice as a hulking beast even larger than their captors. He—no. It wasn’t him. She knew his eyes, the way he moved, everything. What she was looking at was an animal.

  Regardless of whether it was Maurice or not, the guards decided to earn their pay checks and subdue him, which turned out to be a terrible idea for them. In a storm of claws and fangs, Maurice practically shredded one, then two, then three. Roars and screams filled the air, and somehow it became a lot easier to imagine Maurice slaughtering an entire building. There was no self-control, no plan, no restraint. Just pure, raw anger coming out in a violent fashion.

  The captor holding Mila saw his buddies getting mauled and pieced together that he was going to be next on the list sooner or later. The other werewolves were trying their best to stop Maurice, but they stood about as good of a chance as a three-year-old in the Olympics. Their motions were sharp and trained, but his…he seemed to see everything before they even did anything, blocking their attacks before they made them and lashing out when they were reeling.

  The one holding Mila grabbed her and whipped her in front of his chest. Mila screamed and flailed violently until she saw Maurice, and then suddenly she couldn’t make a sound. Blood dripped from his fangs, dead and dying brutes laid around him in a heap. Arthur’s legs were over by the machines and his upper body was draped over the railing on the second floor.

  It was down to the three of them: Maurice, Mila, and the last kidnapper.

  “What are you going to do?” Based on his voice, the one using Mila as a shield thought he had this pretty well figured out. Mila became acutely aware of his claw stroking her throat. She was playing the role of the hostage but based on the lack of empathy in Maurice’s eyes, the lack of Maurice in Maurice’s eyes, she was going to be doing it terribly. He didn’t give a damn who she was. Whatever was in front of her didn’t even recognize her. He saw two more threats—and he planned to eliminate them.

  He started towards them slowly, then broke into a four-legged lope. Mila’s attempts to escape kicked back into full. Maurice wasn’t stopping and it didn’t seem he had any intention of trying.

  “Maurice! Maurice!” she yelped as she struggled, hoping she’d get through to him. Her voice shook out something in him, a glimmer of the man beneath. It was gone before she could decide if she’d made it up.

  The werewolf holding her didn’t figure out that he was going to die until Maurice was about ten feet away. He kept backing up, holding Mila as a bargaining chip, confident this was going to work out in his favour and he’d be commended by his superiors.

  Not so.

  What really happened to him was that Maurice pounced on him and, by association, Mila. She screamed and finally pried her way out while he was in the air. She dropped to the ground like a rock, which ended up being the best thing that could’ve happened to her. The two men collided in the same way a speeding eighteen-wheeler might collide with a smart car. They went down before it evolved into a full-out brawl, complete with thrashing limbs and howls.

  Mila scrambled away as fast as she could. She wasn’t worried about Maurice. Based on what she’d seen, he was going to win the fight and he was going to do it without breaking a sweat.

  What worried her was what happened next.

  Maurice was clearly not himself. He wouldn’t have done half the stuff he’d already done if he was in his right mind. When she looked at him, she didn’t recognize him. He had left. Something else, something brutal, had taken control. Something without emotion. Something that wouldn’t hesitate to kill Mila.

  Mila had about fifteen seconds to make a getaway before the only living people were the two of them—Maurice and her, in an abandoned factory, with dead and dying villains all around.

  She wasn’t sure what gave her the idea that he was after her. Maybe it was the fact that the fighting stopped. Maybe it was the sound of his claws tearing rifts in the concrete as he charged after her. Maybe it was that she looked back and saw him tearing towards her with mindless rage.

  Mila’s foot caught on something and she tripped. She tumbled to the ground in a heap before smashing into one of the abandoned machines. Before she could get up, Maurice was almost on her.

  “Maurice!” she screamed. Her body shut down and she curled into a ball, already imagining what was going to happen to her. “Please! It’s me! It’s Mila!”

  Maurice froze with his hand halfway up, ready to strike her. He bellowed and clutched his head, stumbling around and crashing into everything. Mila’s terrified brain realized what was happening: they were fighting for dominance. Maurice was still in there, even though he was hidden from sight. What she’d read about was happening right in front of her eyes: the man and the beast were duking it out for control. Maurice might win and own both of his forms. Alternatively, whatever else was in there might come out victorious.

  Mila knew she should say something to help. Somehow, some way, she could help the man she knew and loved to overcome his demon. Nevertheless, all she could do was stand there in horror and amazement as a fight to the death went on inside his body.

  He thrashed and lashed out at nothing. His body had gone into backup mode and was in the process of doing whatever it wanted while his mind split. Mila dashed to cover, knowing that whatever came out would decide her fate. “It’s me! It’s me!”

  Her voice brought on fresh spasms. She kept yelling at him as he shifted between mindlessness and the man she recognized. It looked like the beast was winning.

  Mila didn’t consider herself brave, but then she did something so outrageously stupid she had no idea where it came from.

  She stepped out of cover and walked up to him.

  Shaking from fear, she made her way to the huge creature in front of her. “Maurice, you can do it! I need you!” It was like approaching a bear, except much worse, and a werewolf could wreck any bear. She bared herself to him, knowing that she was putting her life in his hands. She believed in him. She believed in Maurice, and she was going to learn if her trust was ill-placed.

  The beast shuddered. His eyes, which were locked on her, flickered dramatically before settling on the familiar ones of Maurice himself. The darkness evaporated and left the room as the beast dropped to his knees. He was still a good couple of feet taller than Mila.

  “M-M…” He made a few weak sounds. “Mila…I’m…sorry.”

  Maurice could’ve said anything. He could’ve recited all of Shakespeare’s writing or the alphabet for all she cared. All that mattered was that he had said it.

  This wasn’t going to be a romantic moment where he turned back into a human and lovingly told her that she was the reason he’d beaten his darkness. He wasn’t going to take her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be okay because he was too busy going unconscious. His huge body slumped to the ground, exhausted from all that he had done, before shifting back into his human form.

  “Maurice!
”

  Mila dropped to her knees beside him and checked his pulse. He was breathing. He was alive, at least, and that was a start. It was one of the only times that she was in front of a motionless, handsome naked man and didn’t even care. Her eyes were locked on his face, on the bruises from the cane, and how peaceful he finally looked. She glanced around at the wreckage. Someday, she’d be able to appreciate how horrible this all was, but for now, she wasn’t capable of processing it.

  Instead, she crouched beside him and put her head on his rising and falling chest. “Maurice…”

  Chapter 21

  Maurice recovered.

  It took him a few minutes. He didn’t come to immediately, and even when he finally did, he remained groggy for half an hour. During that time, Mila took charge.

  They were sitting in the lair of their kidnappers. It was only a matter of time until someone showed up to see what had happened, and Mila wasn’t confident of her abilities to fight off any attackers. What could she do? She’d run outside and scouted around until she found a couple cars that they’d come in. All of them were unlocked, but only one she found the key for. She fired up the engine and drove her way back to the outside of the factory, where she’d rushed in and tried rather humiliatingly to get Maurice in the damn truck.

  He was evidently heavy. She’d known that. She hadn’t known exactly how heavy, especially while unconscious. She felt like she was dragging an elephant. He was still naked, so his ass would have a bruise from getting lugged all the way out to the vehicle, but it seemed like the least of Mila’s problems. When she finally managed to get him inside, she’d peeled out and hauled ass. Where? She didn’t have the faintest idea. All she was certain of was that anywhere was better than staying there and waiting for someone to show up and finish the job.

  She found a dirt road and took it, hoping without hope that it would lead to safety. She still refused to think about what had happened. As far as she was concerned, nothing had happened. They zoomed along the bumpy trail until she came to a road, where she took a right based purely on a hunch.