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The door shut. A loud clack! resounded as the bolt shot home, locking me in. Then another. And then one more. They weren’t taking any chances.
Within a minute, the helicopter had lifted off. No shots fired—good. The noise from the whirring blades faded. I stood in darkness and silence, wondering what the hell I was going to do now.
I PULLED OFF THE SUIT’S GLOVES. FEELING ALONG THE WALL by the door, my fingers moved over the cool concrete. I found a light switch and flipped it on, blinking as light flooded the place. I stood in a small living room, twelve by fifteen, with cream-painted cinderblock walls and a cement floor. Small, horizontal windows—barred, I noticed at once—were set high up in the wall where it met the ceiling. Too high for anyone but a bird to peer inside. At the far end was a compact kitchen. The living room’s furnishings included a lumpy-looking plaid sofa, a coffee table, and one wooden chair. No phone, no computer, no TV, ensuring people kept in quarantine were completely incommunicado. There were books, though, plenty of books, crammed into an overflowing bookcase near the door. Way more books than I could read in the week they intended to keep me here.
I found the thermostat and cranked up the heat. Then I tore off the ridiculous hazmat suit and threw it into a corner. Nice to be able to breathe without making the world go foggy. There was a short hallway leading past the kitchen. I followed it, taking a few minutes to explore my prison.
Prison—that’s exactly what it was. The heavy, triple-locked security door and barred windows made that clear. At least the place was bigger than a typical prison cell. The hall led to a bathroom and a closet-sized bedroom with a single bed. The cottage was stocked with supplies. The bathroom cabinet held shampoo, soap, toothpaste, and a brand-new toothbrush still in its package. The bed was made with clean sheets, and the dresser drawers were packed with sweats in every size but just one color: gray. And, of course, each item of clothing bore the giant red Q.
I went back to the kitchen and opened some cupboards. They were filled with every kind of food you could imagine—as long as it came in a can. Soup, fruit, Spam, tuna, mushy veggies. And—oh, joy—instant coffee. This wasn’t just a prison; it was a torture center.
Outside, a wolf howled. Another wolf voice, then two more, joined the first. What was happening? I looked around the living room and spotted the single wooden chair. It might give me enough of a boost to see through a window. I dragged the chair to the nearest window and climbed up on it. Gripping the bars and standing on tiptoe, I managed to see over the sill.
The clouds had dispersed, and the moon washed the landscape with soft, silvery light. A wolf pack crossed the clearing where the helicopter had landed. The pack was a family group of five, two adults and three young ones. Their eyes glowed in the night. One adult stood watch over the cubs, who romped and tumbled together, while the other ran in small circles, sniffing the ground. The sniffer followed the trail to the front door of my cabin. He trotted back to the others, raised his head, and howled again, alerting the retreat’s wolves to a stranger in their midst.
The cubs quit playing to join in, lifting their muzzles and casting out high-pitched howls. Soon, other werewolves slunk from the woods. There was more sniffing, more howling. Glowing eyes fixed on the cabin. Hackles rose. Even from several yards away, I could see the gleam of moonlight on fangs as they snarled.
A chill shivered through me. Suddenly, I was glad about the bars on the windows.
Out of the woods burst a huge silver wolf. Kane. I’d know his wolf form anywhere. Six weeks ago, a bolt of magic had left him stuck in wolf form. But that had been different. Then, Kane had retained his human mind, despite his shape. Now, I was looking at the real thing.
He was magnificent. His silver coat shone like moonlight made solid. Larger than the other wolves, he exuded confidence and grace with each motion. He stood in the clearing—head high, ears forward and alert—and watched the gathered wolves. Then, like the others, he sniffed the ground, following a scent trail right up to the cabin door. I leaned into the window, craning to see him, but the angle was wrong.
But I did see the wolf who followed him. With thick chestnut fur and green eyes, it could only be Simone. She stayed back three or four yards, watching Kane so intently I could almost see his movements reflected in her eyes.
A piercing howl—strong, loud, steady—cracked the night wide open. Simone jumped back, getting out of the way, as Kane charged the other wolves. He ran, snapping and snarling, into the center of the group. Wolves took off in all directions, sprinting for the woods. A few turned and snarled back their own challenge. With bared teeth, Kane lunged at the biggest of them, a gray wolf. Sharp fangs sunk into the gray’s shoulder. A smaller white wolf ran in, attacking Kane from the side. Kane leapt up, spinning in midair, and landed with his forepaws on the white wolf’s back. A brindled wolf joined the assault, coming at Kane from behind, going in low and aiming for his leg. Kane fell. I screamed as the gray went for his throat. The other two wolves closed in. All I could see was a writhing ball of fur as they tumbled over each other.
No—please no! Not three against one. Werewolves sometimes killed each other on retreat. As long as it happened under the full moon and inside the fence, the government didn’t care. I was terrified I’d see this fight break up to reveal Kane’s bleeding body on the ground.
A yelp sounded, sharp and full of pain. I gripped the bars, leaning forward, trying to see which wolf had been hurt. The gray broke away and ran for the woods. The other two rolled onto their backs. Kane stood over them, hackles raised, showing his fangs. The smaller wolves lay completely still, except for a nervous, feeble waving of the tip of each tail. Kane backed up a step and issued a series of short, sharp barks. The wolves jumped to their feet and sped off, out of the clearing. Their tails drooped between their legs as they ran.
Kane shook himself and looked around. Only one wolf remained in the clearing. Simone. She raised one paw tentatively, as if thinking about stepping forward.
Lowering his head, Kane growled. Simone dropped to the ground and showed her belly, her throat, making herself vulnerable. He held his crouch, watching her. Then the tension seeped from his body and he turned away.
He took a few steps toward the cabin, limping. A wound gaped in his back left leg, the one bitten by the brindled wolf. Dark streaks of blood marked his silver fur. He stopped and shook himself again. He turned and licked his injured leg. He sniffed at the wound and licked it more. Then, with a visible effort of will, he walked fluidly to the cabin. Not even a hint of a limp. There was a thump against the door as he lay down in front of it.
I looked back at Simone. She’d rolled over onto her belly, head on her paws, and was staring at the cabin. At Kane. Her muscles twitched. She inched a tiny bit closer, then froze. A minute passed. Her nostrils flared, and she crept forward another centimeter.
Right then, my one wish in the world was to be out there, shifted into wolf form. I wanted to feel my jaws close around that damn chestnut-furred throat. I wanted to snap her neck and watch her blood soak the ground. How dare she look at him that way? Simone’s submissive behavior was obvious. She was making Kane her alpha, the leader of her pack. A nice, cozy pack of two.
And Kane was tolerating it.
Of all the wolves gathered in the clearing, he’d allowed her to stay. What did that mean? Why didn’t I know more about werewolves?
Even if I shifted into a wolf myself, I still might not understand. As I’d told Kane so many times, I was a shifter, not a werewolf. Taking on a wolf’s form didn’t mean I’d automatically gain their instincts or understand their ways. Werewolves are neither fully wolf nor fully human; they’re something in between. Something I could never be, no matter how many times I changed my shape.
Outside, Simone continued her vigil, her eyes lit up like green fire, watching Kane without a blink. I couldn’t see him, but from her gaze I knew he must still be at the cabin doo
r.
Feeling utterly depressed, I stepped down from the chair. I looked at the front door. Kane lay on the other side, inches away and yet unreachable. Vicky is under my protection, he’d announced to the werewolves at Creature Comforts. I went to the door and sank down on the floor beside it. I pressed my hand against its cold metal surface, wishing I could feel Kane’s warmth on the other side.
There was that other thing he’d said. The woman I love. My feelings tangled themselves into an impossible jumble, twisting my heart a million different ways. Had he meant it, or was he merely making a speech for the occasion? I wasn’t sure. But one thing was certain. The Kane who’d spoken those words had been a man, talking about a woman. The wolf now lying outside—that was a creature I didn’t know.
Weeks ago, when magic had forced Kane into his wolf form, I’d looked into the wolf’s eyes and seen Kane. My Kane, the man I knew. But the pure wolf that came out in the full moon was…something else. Something other, alien, unknown. What would I see if I looked into its eyes? The question scared me.
That was why he’d asked me to come with him on retreat. He wasn’t trying to make me into some half-baked, phony werewolf. He wasn’t trying to force me into a commitment I wasn’t ready for. He wanted me to understand him—all of him, not just the part that walked around on two legs, wore tailored suits, and won court cases. He wanted me to understand his beast on its own terms.
I thought I knew Kane so well. But there was this huge part of him, this essential part of him, that I didn’t know at all.
17
I DON’T KNOW HOW LONG I STAYED THERE, SITTING ON THE floor, with Kane inches away yet so far out of reach. But I couldn’t stay there all night. Eventually I got up and headed for the bedroom.
On my way, I stepped up onto the chair and again looked out the window. Simone was gone. Had she left the clearing—or was she snuggled up against Kane as he guarded my door? Maybe they’d gone off into the woods together to—
Stop it, Vicky.
I didn’t know. And that was the problem. I couldn’t know. I had no understanding of Kane’s wolf.
I went through the motions of getting ready for bed. I showered off the mud and found a sweatshirt and pants that more or less fit. I brushed my teeth. The medicine cabinet held a packet of over-the-counter sleeping pills. I took one; maybe it would knock Butterfly out and I could sleep, too.