The guy didn’t even hesitate. “A stunning, long-legged cat?”
Blane’s pulse sped up. “That’s the one.”
“She’s hard to miss. Left a couple of hours ago. Alone, if it matters.” The bartender’s eyes were speculative. “You know her?”
“I hope so.”
The barkeep hardly blinked at the enigmatic reply.
“Any idea where she went?” Blane asked.
“Nope, she had one drink and left. Didn’t seem interested in socializing.”
Blane nodded. Same story he’d heard in other towns and bars. What was she doing? Where was she going? Maybe she was just as lost as he was.
“Thanks. I’ll keep looking.” He laid a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and started to turn away.
The bartender palmed the money. “Some humans took an interest in her. Heard them talking, and they left shortly after that. I might not have noticed, but they’d given us some trouble. They were pretty drunk.” He seemed to debate what else to say and finally added, “They’re freelance thugs who do a bit of work for one of the hyenas.”
“Hyenas?” Blane’s neck prickled. “I didn’t realize any were around here.”
“Yep. Just outside town. Nasty bunch.” The bar man polished the counter. “Thought you needed to know. Your woman might be in trouble. We have a Guardian here who could help you.”
“No,” Blane said hastily. “No authorities. But thanks.” He was already halfway to the door. When he and Katrina had been attacked, he’d shown immediate symptoms of infection. Citing concerns of a violent metamorphosis, the authorities had attempted to lock him away rather than catch the assailant. He’d been forced to run and hide. He wasn’t about to trust them again.
Once outside, Blane began a zigzag pattern, back and forth across the street, seeking her scent trail. When he finally caught it, he headed east.
* * *
To Katrina’s dismay, the hyena hadn’t left. After a heated discussion over whether to kill her immediately or not—the opposition coming from the bikers who had more lascivious ideas—Rufus made a decision.
“We’ll take her to my place. You can party all you want, and I’ll dispose of her when you’re done.”
“Yeah, man! Great idea.” The bikers’ seemed happy with the plan, but Katrina snapped her head up and glared at him.
Rufus grinned, showing her his teeth. “You didn’t really think I’d let you go, did you? By clan law I not only have a right but a duty to execute anyone who threatens our territory.”
“I’m not subject to your clan laws,” she retorted, forgetting her submissive sham for a moment. “You’re just looking for an excuse.”
“Ah, that’s more like it. I love a spitfire, but I don’t need an excuse to kill a cat.” His eyes narrowed. “I won’t defile myself by touching you, but I’ll enjoy the show.”
“You’re going to regret this.”
“Not as much as you are. Bring her.” Rufus struck off at a fast pace.
The bikers pulled her to her feet. One of them unfastened the travel belt that contained her cell phone and ID, then swatted her on the butt. She kicked out, catching him hard across the shin. His friends guffawed as he hopped out of reach, but they kept her at the end of the chain after that.
Katrina watched as the guy slung her belt around his neck like a trophy. That phone could be her lifeline, if she figured out how to get it back.
A twenty-minute walk brought them to Rufus’s place, an isolated, rustic-looking cabin in the woods on the northeast side of Riverdale, well outside the city limits. A large shed stood behind it—more suited for storage than habitation—and Katrina didn’t see any sign of other hyenas. Interesting. So this wasn’t clan headquarters. Rufus had a private spot where he did “private” things. She shuddered to think what depraved activities he might deem it necessary to conceal from other hyenas.
A breeze from the direction of the outbuilding brought a frown to her face. Human females. Were they the mates of the bikers? She watched but no one came outside as they approached the buildings, and the men didn’t even look toward the shed. Did they know the women were there? Her frown deepened. What was the hyena up to out here in the sticks?
As soon as they entered the main cabin, the men yanked her chain, pulling her to a halt.
“Wait here.” Rufus disappeared behind a closed door at the back.
The cabin was larger inside than she’d expected: a main area with a kitchen table and chairs, a sofa and side chairs. A laptop sat on a low, wooden stand that in a more sophisticated home would have been called a coffee table, and an empty microwave-dinner carton had been left on a folding tray. Off to the right, a kitchenette with a fridge and microwave was cut off from the main room by a counter. There were three doors at the back of the room: one led outside, the second stood open, revealing a bathroom with a shower curtain, and Rufus had entered the third door into what she assumed was the sole bedroom. No pictures on the walls, no personal items. A male’s hangout, but she was surprised at the relative lack of clutter.
Rufus emerged from the bedroom carrying a medium-sized box. He handed it to BJ. “Put these on her.”
BJ reached inside. Chains clanged as he lifted out a set of neck and wrist shackles. The metal neck collar had a long chain connected like a leash. Two shorter chains ran from the collar to wrist bracelets.
What the hell? Who keeps shackles in their home? Katrina eyed the medieval-looking equipment with unease.
“You sure these are stronger enough to hold a cat?”
“Oh, yeah. They’re unique. Infused with silver and dipped in liquid silver. That’s why I can’t handle them. As long as these are on, she won’t be able to shift.”
The biker chuckled. “I like the sound of that. Nothing like a vulnerable woman.”
Silver and mercury? Katrina tried to back away, to keep the debilitating substances from touching her skin, but the other men held tightly to the chain on her throat.
Rufus grabbed the pistol from his belt. “Stand still. If you don’t let him put these on, I’ll just shoot you.”
“Be a nice kitty.” BJ sneered, slipped the collar around her throat, and snapped it shut so the other chains and metal bracelets hung down her back. Moving behind, he clamped the metal bands around her wrists. It would take a key to unlock them. Katrina tested the restraints. Movement was confined to two or three inches from her sides, nothing that would allow her to take a swing or disable an assailant.
“What about her legs? She kicks,” said the man who was still favoring his right leg.
Rufus gave a harsh laugh. “I have leg manacles too, but it’s so much more sporting this way. I love to see them run.”
“Hey, buddy. We’ll hold her down for you.” His friends cackled. “Maybe you better wait until the rest of us have tamed her first.” More laughter.
Katrina cringed inside but kept her face indifferent. As a species, cats were pretty indiscriminate in their sexual practices and partners, but she’d been human less than two years ago. She didn’t want these sleazy jerks to touch her.
“Uh, boss, someone’s coming.” BJ stood at the front window looking outside.
“Who is it? Nobody knows about this place.” Rufus and the others rushed to join him.
“Can’t tell.”
Katrina smelled another hyena.
Rufus shoved BJ out of the way to look for himself. “He’s clan, but I don’t recognize him. Why would he be here?” His face was pinched when he handed the gun to BJ and pointed toward the back door. “Get her out of here. Put her in the shed with the others. The rest of you, have another beer, and keep quiet. Act casual.”
The stranger knocked, and Rufus turned toward the door. Katrina caught one last glimpse of him reaching for the front latch before the back door closed, cutting off her view. BJ shoved her toward the shed, produced a ring of keys, and unfastened the large padlock on the door. She stumbled when he shoved her into the darkened space, but he quickly fol
lowed and placed the gun barrel against her neck. “Keep quiet, and don’t get any funny ideas.”
She heard his hand patting the wall in the dark, then a dim bulb came on overhead, providing enough illumination for her to make out the source of the female scents. Six human women sat on the dirt floor. They were grimy, disheveled, and their shackles were secured to the wall by bolts. They’d been spaced far enough apart that they couldn’t reach each other. Most looked terrified, a couple simply resigned.
Katrina sucked in her breath. Compassion, then anger swept through her. What were they doing to these women? Was Rufus running a gang of sexual sadists? Serial killers or rapists?
BJ yanked down on her chains, and Katrina sat on the floor, putting her back against the front wall so that she was facing the other women. She tried to catch their gazes, but they wouldn’t look at her. BJ peeked through a crack in the door to see what was happening outside.
Katrina furtively checked out the shed. A wooden workbench stood against the north wall, a beat up chair near the door. A couple of used paper plates had been tossed on the floor. Nothing she could use as a weapon or to break the shackles. She brought her attention back to the women. They weren’t starved, so someone must be feeding them. And they didn’t look terribly hurt. A bruise or two but nothing life threatening. Of course, she couldn’t see what was hidden by their clothes.
One of the women finally looked up. Katrina cocked her head in a questioning look.
“They’re selling us,” the woman mouthed. A tear slid down her face. “I have a husband, a child.”
Oh, my God. Human trafficking. It made sense. Rufus wouldn’t have any reason to hide sadist predilections from the clan, but profits from a lucrative trade? That was a different matter.
Katrina glanced at BJ, then nodded her understanding to the woman. She tried to look reassuring, as if she might have a plan. She didn’t. Well, not anymore. The women’s plight had changed what she’d been about to do.
Instead of a wild dash for freedom—which would have been a long shot with her hands chained—she needed to find a way to free everyone. For that she needed a cuff key. It must have been in the box with the shackles and now in BJ’s pocket. She studied him from under lowered lashes and calculated her chances of getting that key. If he would just relax his guard, maybe she could knock him out and take it.
* * *
She was here! The she-panther Blane had been tracking for months was finally within his reach. Excitement stirred his blood and his nostrils quivered to suck in the familiar scent. His long, furry body was draped on the sturdy branch of an oak tree as he watched the cabin, continually testing the breeze to be sure he remained upwind. Whatever he decided to do next, his best weapon would be surprise.
He’d found the scuffmarks in the park where her scent mingled with the others and followed their trail, arriving just in time to see a lone hyena enter the cabin door. How many more were inside? The stronger scent was human, both male and female. He wasn’t as concerned about them, although any guns would be a problem. But until he knew how many hyenas were involved, it was impossible to form a rescue plan.
A hyena exited the cabin. Blane’s sleek body stilled and hugged the branch to minimize the chance of exposure among the leafless branches. Same guy he’d seen before. As the man struck off toward town, Blane debated whether to follow or stay. If he could get some answers out of the hyena, he’d know how to proceed.
His focus narrowed on the silent cabin and the area surrounding it. There was some kind of shed in back. He could see one corner, but he couldn’t get behind there to check it out without giving himself away. The wind was in the wrong direction. But he hadn’t seen any activity. In fact, he hadn’t made any progress at all by just waiting and watching.
But was it safe to leave her behind? What if something bad happened while he was gone? Yet he couldn’t do anything to free her without better information. He wavered, glancing at the hyena who was almost out of sight, then Blane leaped silently from the tree and loped through the snowy woods on an intercept course.
* * *
Instead of relaxing his vigilance, the hefty biker dragged Katrina back to the house as soon as the visitor left. Rufus was standing near the front window; the other men huddled on the couch, watching a streaming basketball game on the laptop computer. Satellite was everywhere these days.
Katrina stumbled and sat down hard when BJ shoved her into a wooden chair at the table. He turned to Rufus. “No trouble with her. Here’s your keys.” He set the key ring and a single key on the counter. “So, who was that? What did he want?”
The hyena turned from the window with a scowl. Katrina couldn’t tell whether he was disturbed by BJ’s tone or by the recent visit.
“I’m not sure,” Rufus said. “Something about locating his cousin. Told me he was looking for clan headquarters and ran across our scent trail. He could be a problem if he talks to anyone. We don’t need a hundred greedy, wannabe partners demanding a share of the profits.”
“You want us to get rid of him?”
Rufus gave BJ a black look. “Hell, no. He’s pack. I’ll take care of whatever needs to be done.” He jerked his head at Katrina. “But I need to leave now.”
“Then do it. Leave her to me. But I need the gun, and if you’re gone a long time, I’ll clean up before we go.”
In spite of BJ’s barely veiled threat to kill her, Katrina was thrilled at the prospect of Rufus leaving. Four humans with a gun were better than four humans and a hyena with a gun. She chewed on her bottom lip and kept her eyes averted as she waited for the outcome.
Rufus hesitated, shifting his feet. “I wouldn’t be gone that long, but there’s extra guns and ammo in the cabinet over the fridge if you need them.”
“Works for me. She won’t be a problem,” BJ insisted. “I understand what she is. And what she can do.”
“OK.” Rufus’s tone was still unhappy. “I’ll be back in an hour. Keep a lid on things.”
“No sweat.”
“Don’t get too cocky. And watch the rest of these guys.” Rufus jerked his head toward the men watching the game and still guzzling beer. He exited the front door and banged it shut behind him.
The instant he was gone, BJ’s mood changed. More relaxed, but also more arrogant and self-assured. He grabbed a beer from the kitchen and stood staring at her. “You’re a looker all right, but I’m not dumb enough—or drunk enough—to believe you’re as submissive as you act. You’re just biding your time, aren’t you?” He leaned into her face. “I think we’ll wait until you can have everyone’s undivided attention.”
Instead of spitting at him, as she was tempted to do, Katrina dropped her eyes. He was right about one thing. She was waiting for an opportunity.
BJ moved away and joined the others in watching the game. He leaned on the back of the sofa, quickly becoming engrossed in the action, but he kept tabs on her with an occasional glance over his shoulder.
Go on, she urged. Have another beer. Forget about me. Maybe they’d be obliging and pass out. Wouldn’t that be nice? Rufus had said an hour. That didn’t leave her much time to come up with a plan.
Katrina moved her stiff arms, causing the chains to clang against one another.
BJ frowned at her. “Sit still. We’ll be getting to you soon. One quarter left to go.” He took another swig of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Another twenty minutes passed and sweat beaded on Katrina’s brow. Her chances were slipping away, and nothing had changed except her captors were even more inebriated. One of them had passed out on the far end of the sectional couch, his head angled to one side, his mouth hanging open.
BJ continued to follow the game, but his whole body had relaxed and was resting on the back of the couch. Whether he was merely getting comfortable or using it prop up a body lagging from overindulgence was debatable. Of the two remaining men, one seemed glued to the sport’s action, but the last man was just sitting there, as if
he’d fallen into an unintelligible stupor. They’d moved beyond the boisterous stage and were quickly approaching comatose. Perhaps this was as good a time as any.
Katrina moved her feet under her and tensed her thigh muscles, ready to spring.
* * *
Blane bounded through the woods, trailing the hyena. He’d almost reached the path leading into town where he’d concealed his clothes, and he considered shifting back into human form to approach him. After all, his intent was to question, not kill him. Blane was trotting toward the thicket where he’d made the earlier shift, when he caught the second scent.
Another hyena. He flattened his body closer to the ground and crept forward until his quarry was in sight. He crouched next to the trunk of a tree, ears pricked forward, watching.
The newcomer—in human form—appeared from behind a stand of trees. “Hey, wait up a second,” he called, hurrying forward.
“Rufus. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
“I’m headed into town. Thought I’d pick up more beer for my friends. You moving on tonight?”
“Naw, not yet. I still want to stop at your clan headquarters first. See if anyone there knows my cousin.”
“I see. Sorry to hear that.” Rufus’s tone was enough to set off alarms.
But before the visitor could ask what he meant, Rufus pulled the gun from his coat pocket and shot the other hyena twice in the face.
The sharp reports hung in the air.
What the hell? Blane’s muscles rippled with a primitive reaction to the unexpected violence and the smell of fresh blood.
The victim slumped to the ground, his head hitting Rufus’s foot, and Rufus swore loudly. “You got blood on me, damn it.” He kicked the body and wiped his shoe on the man’s pants.
Rufus continued to mutter to himself, as he grabbed the lifeless arms and dragged the body into the brush. In a few moments, he reappeared on the path and checked both directions as if assuring himself his actions hadn’t been observed.
Valentines Heat I Page 2
