There were monitors on his chest and fingers, a foreign presence robbing him of privacy, but not otherwise binding him. Somewhere off to the side, a monitor beeped.
“I know you’re awake,” said the woman. She had a deep, husky voice, like that of a lifelong smoker, though he did not scent cigarettes on her.
Scott opened his eyes and sat up. The woman was old, gray-haired, and frail. No threat. She wore a white lab coat over a set of green hospital scrubs, and looked at him with dark, beady eyes.
He could simply tear off the monitor leads and walk out, but he didn’t do that right away. First, he wanted to satisfy his curiosity. A few more minutes in this room wouldn’t hurt.
“I can give you another sedative,” the old woman said, “but I’d like your cooperation.”
Scott barked out a laugh. “I just bet you would. Why should I give it to you?”
“Because we’re holding your girlfriend here in anticipation of your good behavior.”
The laugh faded, becoming a growl. He may have hated Jessica, and planned to end things with her as soon as the opportunity arose, but she was pack. She was family. She was his responsibility, and he took that very seriously.
“I see you’re listening,” said the old woman. “I’m Dr. Kelley, by the way. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time.”
“Why?” Scott asked, despite himself.
“Because you’re the strongest alpha in the country. Everyone knows it. But what I want to know is: Why? You spent five days in Illinois and tore their pack to shreds as if you had an army at your back. How did you do it?”
“If you’re supremely unlucky,” Scott said, “I’ll show you some day.”
“Oh come now, can’t you humor an old woman?”
“If this is the best you have, you’re really in trouble. You know that, right?”
She shrugged. “If you must know, I’m little more than a baby-sitter. I wasn’t even supposed to let you wake up until they came to transport you to a new facility, but I’ve been studying werewolves for twenty years, and the orders pissed me off. Like I don’t know what I’m doing or something.”
“Believe me, you don’t.”
“Twenty years,” Dr. Kelley said. “I’ve learned a few things in twenty years. That IV going into your arm is delivering a drug I perfected myself, which interferes with a werewolf’s extra senses. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that your sense of smell isn’t as good as usual. It’s always the first thing they notice.”
He hadn’t noticed at all, but he didn’t tell her so.
“I can make things easier for you,” Dr. Kelley said. “I’ll make them release your girlfriend if you cooperate.”
Scott snorted. This woman didn’t have any power.
“They’re talking about letting a wolf bite her,” Dr. Kelley said. “I’d be careful if I were you.”
Scott froze. “Jessica’s already a wolf. Biting her again won’t do much.”
“Who’s Jessica?” Dr. Kelley asked blankly.
Oh no. Oh no. This couldn’t be happening. They couldn’t possibly have Madison.
“The girl whose brother you’ve been after,” Dr. Kelley said. “Isn’t she your girlfriend?”
Beside him, the heartbeat monitor began tripping over itself to keep pace with his racing heart. Dr. Kelley glanced at it, then at him.
“Your heart shouldn’t be racing like that.” She frowned. “Maybe I should give you another shot.”
He didn’t give her the chance. In a matter of seconds he had all the leads stripped from his body, and had torn out the IV needle. If a few sticky pads still adhered to his skin here and there, he scarcely noticed or cared. He had eyes only for the good doctor, particularly her scrawny little neck.
“How are you-?” she began.
She didn’t get a chance to finish before he had his hands around her throat and was lifting her into the air. Her legs dangled and kicked uselessly beneath her as her face began to turn blue.
“Where’s Madison?” Scott asked.
She couldn’t speak, so slowly, almost reluctantly, he lowered her to the ground. He eased his hands away just enough to let her talk, which she did after gasping for breath.
“Not here. Already took her.”
“Where?” He fought to keep his hand from tightening around her neck again.
“Don’t know. Top secret.”
He squeezed. Her eyes widened in fear, but he found he didn’t care. How many werewolves had she tortured in just this manner? Twenty years, she had said, and she had learned so much. How many wolves had known fear at her hands? How many had died?
He wanted her dead. No, more than that, he wanted to do it. He was a killer after all, so what was one more death, especially when she so clearly deserved it? He normally killed out of necessity and duty, but he had killed in anger once before.
No, he realized after a second’s hesitation. He hadn’t done it. His wolf had. He had lost control of the wolf, and it had killed. He had never crossed the line in human form, though he had walked right up to it, toeing it.
What would the world look like on the other side? Would he be different? Could it make a difference, when his soul was already so black?
Slowly, he released his hold on her throat. Then, even more slowly, he took a step back. She stared at him, wide-eyed, seeing him for the monster he was, but he hadn’t killed her. He still wanted to. He hadn’t felt such a strong desire to kill a human being in anger since he had held Jacob Travis’s throat in his hands. He, too, had threatened Madison.
It was that thought, more than any other, which convinced him to take another step away from the tiny old woman.
She was just a tool. She might have spent twenty years studying werewolves, but she had not spent that time studying magic. She knew nothing about him as a sorcerer; his intuition led him to the obvious conclusion – that she was the bottom rung on a ladder that towered above her.
Time to go before the higher rungs showed up. Scott took one last look around the room, noticing at a glance the tiny video camera in the corner of the room. Who was watching? Who had seen?
He had no time to ask the question. He reached for the door handle, found it locked, and was just about to shoulder his way through when he smelled the faintest hint of something beginning to fill the room. He froze and sniffed again; the scent was stronger. It didn’t smell like anything he had ever run across before; the closest way he could think to describe it was ether.
Gas. They were filling the room with gas. The good doctor had already slumped to the floor against the wall.
Scott raged against the door, letting out a terrible roar as he slammed against it again and again. But this wasn’t a normal door and the gas was already making him feel weak. If he could just tap into his magic, maybe he could do something. He wasn’t sure what, since he relied on his own strength and never prepared strength spells, but something. Set the room on fire. Anything. He just had to get out. Had to get to Madison. Had to...
Chapter 19
WHEN SCOTT’S MIND DRIFTED OUT OF the void for the second time in his life, he came to far more slowly. His brain felt stuffed with cotton, making it hard for him to think or even to perceive. His eyes were open, detecting light, color, and shapes, but his brain couldn’t process the data. He saw vertical black lines and white, blinding light between them. The light hurt; he blinked several times in rapid succession, then he decided to leave his eyes closed for the moment.
The sensory perceptions started coming at him more rapidly then... the smell of disinfectant... the feel of something hard and cold beneath him... the hum of an air conditioner... then another smell, beneath the disinfectant, that of another werewolf. Female. It was faint; she had been removed from the room long ago, but she had been bleeding – and not because it had been her time of the month.
Experimentally, he opened his eyes again. The light didn’t hurt so much this time, but he retreated behind the shield of his eyelids as he
considered the hard, cold thing under his back. It was horizontal and very flat – the floor?
His hands, resting atop his chest, felt the softness of some kind of thin cotton shirt. He moved those hands, tracing the outline of the shirt and the matching pants, at least as far down as he could reach. Then he spread his arms across the hard horizontal surface.
His right hand grasped a metal bar.
Scott opened his eyes for the third time, slowly, and turned his head to the side instead of looking straight up at the light. His brain felt less cottony now; he could clearly identify the black vertical lines as bars and the whiteness between them as walls, perhaps three feet away in every direction.
Bars. They had put him in a cage.
Scott felt something in his chest then, something hot and savage that caused a low growl to escape his lips. His right hand clutched the bar while his left continued exploring until it hit the edge of something that moved, sloshing water in its wake. He turned his head to the left, his eyes following his extended arm until he saw the cup of water and plate of now damp bread.
He deliberately shut his eyes one last time before hoisting himself into a sitting position. He couldn’t stand or his head would hit the bars at the top of the cage. He had just enough room to lie down or sit, and he could reach both sets of bars with his hands at the same time.
The growl became deeper, more raw, and tinged with something he wasn’t used to feeling – fear. Someone had trapped him in a cage and if he wasn’t mistaken...
He closed his eyes, doing his best to find his quiet place in the midst of panic. But he knew what he would find long before he got there. His magic had been cut off. Not stolen – not yet – but nothing stopped his captors from taking it. In the meantime, he couldn’t reach it past the invisible shield that stood between him and the warmth of the power he craved.
Bindings could be undone, but it would take time, patience, and a lot more of his mental faculties than he had right now.
He felt cold. Or was that the right word? The air conditioning shut off, suddenly, making him think that it wasn’t physical cold he was feeling. It was the loss of something he had never been without, of a sixth sense that the English language had never developed words to describe. It felt cold, empty, hollow, echoing, and dull. The world didn’t shine as brightly, although that overhead light was doing its best.
He didn’t need magic, he tried to tell himself. He had the strength of the wolf. But he knew better. They had captured werewolves here before, imprisoned them. They knew what they were doing. Those bars wouldn’t bend, though he did try to pull them apart. He had to try. He tried every bar too, in case someone had overlooked a weak point. What else did he have to do except stare at the white walls or wait for the windowless door to open?
He should wait until he was stronger to try the bars, said some part of his mind. He should drink the water and eat the food to build up his strength. He did take their offerings, though it made him feel that much more like a dog in a kennel.
He felt certain that he had been unconscious for far longer this time, though there had been no sense of the passage of time in that void. Days, perhaps, based on the weakness of his limbs. He needed to eat to get his strength back so he could get out of here. And he would get out of here. They – whoever they were – had messed with the wrong wolf.
By the time the door opened he had calmed enough not to show fear or weakness. He had stopped growling, and had forced himself to some semblance of calm, though he felt anything but. He smelled the men before he saw them. The first man smelled of antibacterial soap and laundry detergent. When he entered the room, dressed in army fatigues and carrying an assault rifle, he took position just inside the door and did not take his eyes off of Scott. He aimed the weapon at Scott’s heart, and looked more than ready to pull the trigger.
The second man smelled strongly of aftershave and of cheap, heavy cologne. When he entered the room, moving around the silent soldier, Scott nearly lost his fight to maintain his outward calm. What had that hung-over housemate of Clinton’s said about the man he’d last been with?
Tall. Real tall. Like six and a half feet. And about as big around as my thumb.
Yes, he had been exaggerating, but not by much. Lanky scarcely came close to describing this pole of a man with a thoroughly grotesque smile that made him look a bit like The Grinch. He wore a white lab coat; between that and his demeanor, Scott guessed that this man was not a soldier.
“They said you were awake,” the man said. “No side effects from the drugs or the binding, so that’s good news.”
Scott said nothing. He sat calmly in the middle of his cage with his legs crossed, trying to look for all the world as if he had chosen that position.
“I’m Dr. Akin, by the way.” He closed the door behind him and jotted something down on a clipboard. “I’m sorry about the accommodations. We’re hoping to move you to someplace much nicer, but we couldn’t risk you coming to in an uncontrolled environment. Blood tests have you at a magical potential of 8.12, which is impressive. We rarely test anyone that high who hasn’t stolen magic.” Dr. Akin paused and glanced up from his clipboard. “Have you stolen magic?”
Scott did not deign to reply. He just did his best to look down his nose at the doctor from his place on the floor. Yet inside, he felt chilled. They had his blood. He had not gotten anywhere as far as an escape plan yet, but now he had to add cutting off their access to his blood to whatever scheme he concocted.
“I hope that question didn’t offend you,” Dr. Akin said, never losing his smile. “Mr. DuPris has been shocked to learn how widespread the practice is, and we can’t be too careful.”
Somehow, Scott wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear Alexander DuPris’s name come up.
Dr. Akin arched his eyebrow in question, but when Scott continued to remain silent he continued. “I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here.”
Not as much as he was wondering how he would escape, but yes, there was some curiosity there. He could guess at part of the answer, but feared the rest would sicken him. He recalled Clinton, twisted into something that was neither human nor werewolf. The mundane army might have had an interest in werewolves, but Scott doubted that they were behind any serious experimentation. For that, they would need access to big magic, and Dr. Kelley was proof that they didn’t have it. Or at least, they didn’t have it directly. Alexander DuPris had been using those base’s resources, and perhaps feeding them tidbits, but they couldn’t know much about real sorcerers.
Which also implied that wherever Scott was now, it wasn’t that military base in Texas. They could have moved him anywhere. Where would they take him, though? Somewhere in Pennsylvania, where Alexander kept his headquarters? Probably not, since Alexander wouldn’t want to be connected to this.
“We’ve actually been wanting to work with you for years, but given your connections to the White Guard, we didn’t think we could get you here through ordinary means. I want you to know right up front that our intention is not to harm you.”
Scott did not feel remotely reassured. This guy seemed to want his cooperation for something, but he did not have Scott’s best interests at heart. Scott doubted that Dr. Akin believed he was truly human. There were moments when Scott might agree with him, but that didn’t give Dr. Akin the right to mistreat his wolves.
“In exchange for your willing cooperation, we can offer you many benefits,” Dr. Akin continued. “First and most importantly, we’d like to let you out of this cage and move you to a bedroom suite. You’ll have cable TV, access to books, movies, video games, and anything else within reason that you can think of.”
From a cage to a gilded cage, Scott thought. But he continued his vigil of silence. He would speak when he had something that needed saying and not before.
“We would also unbind your magic,” Dr. Akin said.
Scott narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“So, you can speak.” Dr. Akin chuckled. “That’s a
good question, and the short answer is that we need your willing cooperation. The truth is that you’re the only werewolf-sorcerer we’ve ever run across. Certainly the only one with any real power. A couple of others have barely registered on our magical potential scale, but I doubt they could have learned to light a candle without a match. We are very interested in how the two parts of your nature interact. It has also come to our attention that you are the youngest alpha in recorded history, and we believe your magic lends you an advantage there. We have so many questions, in short, and we need your help to answer them. Most of those questions require you to have access to your magic.”
Scott believed him. He also believed that Dr. Akin had murdered many wolves, and twisted many others, including Clinton. The pup would have to be put down, both for his betrayal and because he had turned into something unnatural, potentially dangerous. Madison would hate Scott for it, no matter his reasons, but he didn’t see any other choice.
And yet, regaining access to his magic would be the key to any kind of escape. He might be able to pick his way free of the magical bindings given time, but this would be easier.
“What stops me from burning you alive with my laser vision as soon as you unbind my powers?” Scott asked.
“You don’t have laser vision.” Dr. Akin sounded far too certain for Scott’s comfort. “And even if you did, it wouldn’t matter. This facility is packed with sorcerers who are trained to contain and deal with magical threats.” He gestured at the man with the gun. “At least one of them will be with us at all times, and three more wait right outside the door. This entire building is warded, and those wards are maintained by an entire heptade of armed soldiers. And believe me, they know how to hit a werewolf’s heart.”
Scott glanced surreptitiously at the man holding a gun on him. Yes, it would hit him in the heart. He had no doubt. Plus, apparently, the man was a sorcerer.
Madison's Song Page 17
