Even curled in the corner of the cage, he’d known she wasn’t Bane. She was way too small to be a man, but he hadn’t realized she was a woman, either. He’d thought she was a boy, a pup too young to have gone over the moon, or shifted to wolf, for the first time. When she stood and faced him fully revealed, he couldn’t keep the shock from his eyes.
It wasn’t her nudity. In many wolver packs, nudity, particularly during the full moon, was no big deal. It was what had been done to her body. She wasn’t an immature cub. She was a fully formed woman who’d been starved and abused. Her skin hung loose on the bones of her small frame. Her arms and legs were covered with bruises, and marks from the prod.
Primal Law required that females be protected. Where was her pack? How had they allowed this to happen? Anger and repulsion vied for dominance as his wolf again rose to the surface.
She was easier to look at now that she was clothed, but she reeked of urine and rotten meat and shit. Her hair was matted with filth. They sure as hell hadn’t used that hose to wash her off. He needed to get her out of here. Under other conditions, he would have delivered her to the first nurse he saw and left her to the local police.
But he couldn’t turn her over; first because she was wolver and not human and second, because he didn’t know how many of the staff were aware of her captivity. Did they know she was a wolver? Was she the subject of some bizarre human experiment? Or was she simply kept here for the warped enjoyment of the cretins he’d just eliminated from the human gene pool.
A small refrigerator held vials of blood and urine, all marked with the name of the wolver he was looking for. There were other samples as well, kept in small, round, Petri dishes, and cotton swabs held in tightly capped test tubes. He turned the water on and dumped everything in the sink. What couldn’t be washed down the drain, he shattered on the floor to contaminate whatever evidence they held.
He heard the woman’s startled jump and frightened whine.
Damn it! He had a job to do. His priority was finding Thomas Bane. This woman shouldn’t be his concern. Her presence and his actions had turned this mission into a royal fuck up and he needed to salvage what he could.
“Do you know Thomas Bane?” he asked again, a little more sharply than he intended.
She stared at him, more frightened animal than human. Her hands began to shake and she clutched the bag tighter to her chest. When he took a step toward her, she backed away and snarled.
“Look, damn it, I’m not going to hurt you. I just have to find this guy and then we can all be on our way. I’ll take you home.”
“No,” she whispered, and if possible, looked more terrified than before. Her eyes were as big as saucers, her lashes thick and black against the pallor of her face.
His wolf growled in anger at the betrayal of pack loyalty. In any decent pack, the males would fight to the death to defend its females and its young. No pack would allow one of its members to languish in the confines of any hospital and certainly not a place like the Gantnor Clinic. What had they done to her that she was now so afraid to return?
“Shit.”
The answer sucker punched him in his gut and his wolf snarled an objection. There was only one reason she would be afraid to return to her pack. She was Outcast.
She’d committed some crime against them and been shunned, cast out. Looking at the total wreck she’d become, he wondered what a little thing like her could have done. Even with some meat on her bones, she wouldn’t be much of a threat to anyone.
“Fine, fine!” He threw up his hands, frustration getting the best of him. “I won’t make you go home. Tell me what they did with Thomas Bane.”
The bag she held started to shake and she turned toward the door and then back to him. Her impossibly wide eyes became wider. Her whole body shook as she cradled the bag to her chest. She took three steps back and turned toward the door, but the sound of voices in the hall stopped her. Her head snapped back and forth between him and the door, a trapped animal choosing the lesser of two evils.
Bull couldn’t allow her to choose whoever was in the hall. Her escape and discovery would mean his discovery, too. With a single stride forward, he captured her waist with one arm and her mouth with the other. He threw them both against the wall behind the door as it clicked open.
“I’ll meet you in the cafeteria after I check on the patient,” the woman called to the retreating footsteps.
Bull slammed the door shut as soon as the nurse was clear of it and released the woman he was holding in favor of the new one. Before he had time to decide what his next step would be, the situation was taken out of his hands.
The little wolver advanced on him, holding the electric prod like a fencer’s sword. Bull pushed the nurse aside and held up his hands.
“Whoa there, spitfire, can we talk about this?”
But the woman wasn’t aiming it at him. She advanced on the nurse who’d fallen to the floor and was now scrabbling away, her hand held out in defense.
“Don’t stand there, you fool. Hit the panic button,” the nurse cried. Her next sound was a high pitched screech as the tip of the prod touched her arm.
“Flop and drop,” the former captive muttered as she touched the prod to the nurse again. “Flop and drop.”
She would have hit the nurse with another dose of current if Bull hadn’t stopped her, touching her shoulder. Whereupon, she turned on him, weapon raised. Her eyes widened. Her nostrils flared. Her lips pulled back to bare her teeth.
“Take at easy there, spitfire.” His hands were up in the air again.
It crossed his mind to take the prod from her, snap her neck, and be done with the whole mess. She was too close to feral to let her go. It wouldn’t take much effort. She was weak and built like a twig, but something in those big brown eyes stopped him. He couldn’t do it here, anyway, where the good doctor might perform an autopsy.
She didn’t touch the nurse again with the prod, but grabbed the woman’s shirt and began to drag her across the floor to the cage. The nurse was twice her size, but the scrawny thing wouldn’t give up. Bull watched, half in horror and half in amusement as she went down on hands and knees, crawled back into the cage that had been her prison and dragged the nurse after her. Once inside, she stripped every piece of clothing from the woman and then rolled her over into the puddle of shit and piss that had spilled from the overturned slop pail.
Emerging from the cage with the nurse’s clothing in her hand, she stood, locked the cage, and brushed herself off. She picked up the fast food bag.
“Well?” she asked as if he was the one holding up their departure. Her voice was raspy, but clear.
Bull opened the door. His intent was to check the safety of the hall. Supper in one hand, weapon in the other, she ducked beneath his arm and marched into the hall, an insane soldier on the move.
Chapter 3
She wanted to believe the big orderly was an answer to her prayers, but something about him was off. He handled Buster and Stu too easily. Not that they didn’t deserve it, but he killed those two perverted monsters without batting an eye. It wasn’t normal.
Though who was she to judge what was normal? Normal for her was spending a whole day without making strange noises or hearing them from the creature in her head. Normal for her was dreaming about a book boyfriend or a movie star, not zoophilic encounters with wolf-like creatures or inexplicable nightmares. She hadn’t seen normal in a long time, although maybe some of those things were changing. Her reaction to the broad shoulders and tight ass walking in front of her was normal enough.
She smiled at that, though not with her mouth. Secret thoughts weren’t allowed. Nurses made note of secret smiles. Doctors demanded those secrets be revealed. She’d learned to keep her thoughts to herself. Better late than never, right?
“Down.” He hissed the order, matching the gesture he made with his hand.
“I’m not a dog,” she hissed back, but she dropped down behind the trolley cart of dirty laundry
.
He responded with a glare and a frown, and she rejected her earlier thought. Prayers were answered by angels. He wasn’t one. Not by a long shot. Which was fine by her. She planned on getting away from him as soon as she could.
And why did he want to know about Thomas Bane? Why all the interest all of a sudden? The only ones who’d ever given a shit about Thomas Bane were her parents and Doctor Gantnor. Her parents were dead and the doctor was crazier than she was which led her to believe that this guy, in spite of those delicious looking biceps, was a nut case, too.
There was no way in hell she was telling him that she was Thomas Bane or allowing him to take her to the home where her name was plastered on the mailbox. She’d be long gone before he figured it out.
These thoughts ran through Tommie’s mind while they listened to the squish of crepe soled shoes and the ca-thunk, ca-thunk of a dysfunctional wheel as another cart passed by.
“I got this one,” a man’s voice said from a few feet away.
The cart they were hiding behind jerked as the speaker began to pull it out of line. She felt the big orderly’s body tense, ready to spring. All she could do was hold her breath.
“Baby shower time,” a woman’s voice called out over the sound of the churning washers and dryers. “Everybody back to the break room.”
“I don’t do baby showers,” the guy on the other side of the cart called back.
The rude jerk. If she could have spoken aloud, she would have called the guy a jackass. Since she couldn’t, Tommie pursed her lips and rolled her eyes to say exactly what she thought of the speaker. Her rescuer was watching her and she saw the corners of his mouth quirk up as if he wanted to smile, but couldn’t.
“Shar made the cake,” another male voice called out.
“In that case, I’ll be right there.”
After that, it was an easy walk to the service door, up a flight of cement stairs, and out into the cold, clear, and starry night. They were only three steps from the stairwell when Tommie stopped to open her paper sack.
“Jesus Christ,” he snapped when he saw her tear open the bag, “Your little snack can wait until we’re over the wall.”
“My name isn’t Jesus Christ and it’s not a little snack,” she hissed back. “It’s my friend.”
“You carry all your friends in paper bags?”
Tommie ignored him. Her attention was focused on the tiny brown body at the bottom of the bag. It wasn’t moving. “Oh, please, please, please, little buddy, we’re free,” she whispered and jiggled the bag, but the bat didn’t move. She tore the bag a little more and, careful of its wings, lifted the creature from the bag.
“It’s a bat. It’s dead. Let’s go.”
“No, it can’t be.” The thought of being so close to freedom only to lose it hit her hard. “This was our dream.”
“Your dream, not the bat’s. His brain’s not big enough to dream. Drop the damn thing and keep moving.”
Was it true? Had she sacrificed the little creature for her own dreams of freedom? Maybe he’d been happy locked away in their basement room. She touched the ugly little face with her finger. His fur was soft as silk and he weighed no more than a wisp of air. “Poor baby. Have I hurt you, too?”
She squealed and flailed her arms as the bat flew up into her face. It tottered in the air for a moment before flying off into the night.
“It bit me!” she complained to her companion.
“That’s what you get for being nice. Let’s go.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her along with him as he strode out into the grassy area that surrounded the building.
Tommie stumbled along behind him, trying to keep up, hang on to her electric wand, and suck her wounded finger. “What if he has rabies?”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you stuffed your finger in its mouth.”
Her legs went out from under her and she almost fell. “Slow down. I’m not exactly in peak condition you know. Do you think he’ll be all right?”
“Who?” He didn’t slow down, but lifted her arm higher, almost dragging her on her toes.
“The bat.”
“If biting you didn’t kill him, nothing will.” Eyes suddenly alert, he jerked her to a halt. “Stop,” he said as if she had a choice.
Three dark shadows raced over the lawn and Tommie knew immediately what they were; the guard dogs that kept the patients from wandering too close to the wall. There was an invisible line you couldn’t cross without meeting the Doberman Pinschers’ menacing grins. She hit the button on her wand.
“No.” He stayed her hand as the dogs came bounding up wagging their rear ends along with their stubby tails. Their jaws snapped, but only to catch the treats he tossed them.
She saw his white teeth flash in the darkness.
“What were you saying about being nice?” she asked with snide sweetness.
“Not nice. Expedient. Let’s go.”
Tails still wagging, the dogs escorted them to the wall, where he made a stirrup with his hands and boosted her up to the top.
“Stay low. Wait until I get up there and I’ll help you down.”
Like hell she would. The wall wasn’t that high. She could be off and running before he made it to the top. She turned and slid her body over the other side, and hung there for a moment looking down. The wall was a lot higher on this side than it was on the other and the ground below was covered in gravel instead of grass.
“Shit,” she muttered as her fingers slipped and she fell to the ground. The sharp edged gravel cut into the soles of her bare feet before she fell to her knees.
So much for making a quick getaway. The fall knocked every last bit of strength out of her.
Tommie crawled to the edge of the road and sat down, consoling herself with the thought that she couldn’t have gone far anyway. Their short journey through the building and across the grounds had exhausted her. She was weak. She was filthy. She was ten miles from home. Her car was parked inside the hospital gates. Her purse, containing her driver’s license, cell phone, and cash, was probably right where she had it last, in Raymond Gantnor’s office. She had no transportation, no means to call for it and no money to pay for it.
The not-an-angel landed beside her, as agile as a cat. “Get up. My truck’s parked down the road. It’s not too far.”
Tommie didn’t move. She was outside now. Free. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do with that freedom, but she knew she wasn’t going to give it up again. She didn’t have to follow anyone’s orders. She was going to sit here until her feet stopped hurting. She was going to sit here until she understood what was happening and had a plan.
He held out his hand. “Let’s go.”
She raised her hand, too, showing him her middle finger.
He snorted a laugh. “Fuck me? I don’t think so, honey. I like my women a little sweeter smelling.”
Tommie curled her lip.
He grabbed her raised hand. She resisted. With a snorted laugh, he pulled her up, and the next thing Tommie knew, she was over his shoulder and he was striding down the street.
“Put me down!” she shouted as loud as she could in her unused voice. The involuntary flinch that followed her outburst fueled her anger. Like an animal, she’d been conditioned to expect a shock as punishment for her behavior.
“Wake the neighbors why don’t you,” he said, referring to the row of ranch style houses lined up on the opposite side of the road. Most of them showed the flickering light of televisions in their windows.
“I will if you don’t put me down.”
He did. Right next to an old, beat up truck. He opened the door and pointed to the seat. “Get in.”
“Why?” She planted her feet and folded her arms across her chest as if her stubbornness could defeat his strength. It was a useless gesture, since he picked her up and threw her into the seat.
A twinge of guilt pinched at her insides. “Fine,” she silently answered the cause of the feeling. “He didn’t thr
ow me exactly. It was more of a toss.” The next twinge of guilt hurt! “Damn it. He gently settled me on the seat. Happy now?”
The thing inside her grinned.
Two blocks behind them, the sky lit up with flood lights from the clinic compound. Their escape had been discovered.
He raised his eyebrows. “And there’s the answer to your why. Because they’ll have security out checking these streets in two minutes and the cops will be there in ten.”
“I’m not the one who killed those men,” she said nastily.
“No, you’re the one who zapped hell out of that nurse and rolled her in shit. You think they’ll let you walk free after that?”
“They caged me. They tortured me. She was one of them,” she argued, “All the cops have to do is look at me.”
He closed the door on her statement, but answered her argument as soon as he climbed in and started the truck.
“They won’t want to look at you. You’re just another deeply disturbed patient suffering from paranoid delusions who refuses to wash or eat,” he stated, confirming what she already knew but didn’t want to face. He shrugged. “The terms they’ll use will be a lot more impressive than mine and they’ll probably take three pages to say it, but it would amount to the same thing. You’re no different than half the patients in that place. You’re a whack job whose word can’t be trusted.”
He was right and she hated him for it. She kept her arms folded across her chest and refused to look at him. Unfortunately, that gave her time to think of things she’d rather not.
Raymond Gantnor had been her family’s doctor from as far back as she could remember, long before he’d opened the Gantnor Clinic and hung out his sign as a psychiatrist. As a child, she’d loved him and called him Uncle Ray. He’d laughed when she talked about her imaginary ‘friend’ and assured her parents everything was as it should be. As a young teenager, when her ‘friend’ became more outspoken, he’d become her confidant and therapist. His assurance that everything was fine was transferred from her parents to her. He encouraged her to “explore the experience” and “embrace this inner beast that plagues you”. That was when the trouble started.
Wolver's Rescue Page 3
