by Thia Mackin
Before I had regained feeling in my legs, the person behind me gripped the shackles on my arms and pistoned me forward. “Step,” the voice warned too late. My knee gave, and only the kidnapper’s hold kept me from falling on my face. “Step, goddammit.”
The apology caught on my tongue, and I bit down on it. No way would I apologize to him for my treatment. We walked down what might have been a hallway—straight line with odd echoes. An abrupt left and his hand disappeared, leaving phantom pressure and probably bruises behind. Then a grip on the hood pulled it off from the back. I blinked rapidly in the bright lights. Spots danced everywhere in my vision, making it impossible to focus. However, before I could concentrate on my surroundings, the restraints on my arms came loose. Hands pushed me forcefully forward, and I stumbled four or five steps—still half-blind.
“Incoming!” my kidnapper shouted.
I turned and charged back toward him, no longer restrained and finally able to see his smug, ugly face. The door slammed shut moments before I hit it, the noise ricocheting off the stone walls of the ten-by-ten cell. My fist caught the metal, pounding until the continued echoes played a solo on my eardrums.
“Goddess,” I whispered as my fist rested, finally motionless, against the door. The abuse hadn’t even dented it. Exhaling slowly, I dropped my forehead against the metal with a thud. Somewhere beyond this door was the lover I had deserted, his family who’d helped me, a horse whom I’d walked into danger, and a couple who would miss me. You did this to yourself. Plus, where had they taken Bretinoc? With his family murdered, he had sounded brittle and broken.
Behind me, scuffling sounds warned me that either a very large rat or people shared the small space. Reaching internally, I still had no energy to create a shield. I stayed in place, giving the occupant the opportunity to end my misery. However, minutes passed with the sound staying distant enough that a speedy death by roommate seemed unlikely. Counting my breaths steadied me as I turned to view my new accommodations.
Two windows, about seven feet up the wall and three feet apart, were dark like a moonless night. Only a foot square and with thick bars spaced about an inch apart, not even my ocelot form had a chance of escape that way. However, my eyes had adjusted enough to pick up the minute details of the room.
Centered between the two windows was a prison-style toilet and a sink. No niceties such as a privacy curtain or wall. A human-shaped man stretched out on a cloth pallet on the floor. His dirty, bare feet poked out of the bottom of the cover, though he had curled into a fetal ball. The whites of his eyes proved he lay awake at whatever hour this was, and his gaze followed me as I moved closer to the other side of the room. We were the only two inhabitants.
Taking a running jump, I gripped the window ledge and pulled myself up. The darkness made it harder to gauge, but we were at least a story off the ground. A wall standing twice our height was topped with razor wire a hundred feet from us, and another building or a weird outcropping of this building poked around the corner. Below, armed people in uniform patrolled beneath the halo of floodlights. This group of four men had military bearing. Nothing encouraging there, so I dropped back to the floor.
The pallet on the unoccupied side of the room wouldn’t fit my length if I folded myself in half. An animal or shifter had tattered the bottom, removing at least two feet of mattress. Someone had poorly sewn it back up, but stuffing still peeked through in places. May as well sit it out. You aren’t going anywhere right now, I acknowledged. Deliberately not thinking about what the stains on the cloth were, I dropped down.
In immediate regret, I realized I would have been as comfortable sprawled on the stone floor. However, all the energy I had was spent. My head rested against the cool wall, and I closed my eyes to better concentrate on any sounds infiltrating our room. Perhaps I could get a better idea of location or number of kidnapping victims. Logically, this had to be one of the internment camps Mycal had advocated against. Gods-cursed humans and their pattern of history repeating itself. Gods-cursed Kinan and my pattern of reacting before thinking. Goddess bless Rankar and the Sirachs and keep them safe.
“What are you?” a small, fearful voice asked.
I swallowed thickly, but words caught at the lump. Perhaps he’d just go back to sleep.
“I haven’t had anyone in here with me since they opened this hellhole. About a month, I think. Do you know what day it is?” He sounded more alert, his confidence growing when I made no move to attack him.
I shook my head. The day I had left the ranch had been Wednesday. But it could have been a day or a week since for all I’d been able to track time after my capture. When I came to consciousness, the hood had already been placed. I lived by the sun and moon phases, and cut off from them, my sense of hours or days was skewed.
“I’m Jimmy,” he introduced, pausing for a moment as though waiting for a response. “You have no idea how nice it is to have someone to talk to in here. I’ve been jabbering to myself just to stay sane. They built this place sturdy. No bugs. No rats. Rarely even sound from the outside, and when you hear noise out there, it’s never good.” Another pause, maybe for him to catch his breath? “They have witches warding the windows against escape. No Gating in or out.”
Apparently, Jimmy had been having some perfectly complete conversations with himself. He seemed entirely capable of asking the questions and answering without any help from me. If he’d internalize his monologue, it would be perfect.
“It’s kind of funny, isn’t it? They are using energy-working to keep us here, and our ability to energy-work is why they brought us here to begin with! Of course, if the news was right before they caught me, some people here are plain old humans with crap luck.”
I snorted. Everyone here had crap luck.
“Do you have a name?” he persisted.
Mine doubly so for being placed in a cell with someone who would rather chat my head off than try to rip my heart out. A good tussle would get my heart pumping and release some of the frustration and helplessness sitting on my chest. I slammed my head against the wall and opened my eyes to stare up at the ceiling. Despite being cold, hungry, and filthy, all I really wanted at that moment was for Jimmy to shut up so I could wallow in my personal misery in silence.
I’d not seen any coverage on how the Powers That Be might feel about murdering a cellmate, but the waters might be tested if I ripped mine’s tongue out with my bare hands. Nothing could have made me appreciate Rankar’s quiet presence more. Goddess, Ran, I’m so sorry for leaving. I’m so stupid. I love you.
“Okay. I get it. You want me to be quiet. Just tell me your name and what you are, and I won’t say another word tonight. Tomorrow, maybe, we can find some common ground.”
I exhaled slowly, focusing on the window closest to me. Already, chill bumps covered my arms. “My name is Kinan. I’m the first hard frost of winter. I kill everything I touch.”
“Shit,” he murmured, admiration in his voice. “Okay then.”
“Keep your end of the bargain,” I ordered.
The rest of the evening passed in blissful silence. As he’d mentioned, either the wards or the thickness of the walls muted all noise. Our breathing barely traversed the length of the room, much less sounds from outside. Eventually, dawn began to show through the window, the sky lightening to gray then pink. As the sky turned blue, an eight-by-ten-inch sliding window at the base of the door opened without warning. “Stand clear or be shot.”
We both sat on our pallets all the way across the room, so neither of us moved. A stick pulled out a dish I hadn’t noticed, and something approximating food slid through the opening before it snapped closed. Even from eight feet away, the smell coming from the bowls churned my stomach. Were they poisoning the food or counting on food poisoning to reduce the population?
Jimmy showed no hesitation. He crawled from beneath his cover and moved over to the bowls, grabbing one. His eyes met mine, and he opened his mouth to speak. Then he stopped and moved back to his bed
. Eyes downcast, he slurped the sludge hungrily.
The twinge of shame at the stranger’s wariness increased my nausea, though I rather enjoyed the continued quiet. Still… “You can have my share.”
Eyes wide with surprise, he glanced in my direction. “Really? They don’t always remember to feed us…”
I nodded, though he hadn’t waited for my second acknowledgement before he returned his first dish and nabbed the second. This one, he slurped much more slowly—as though actually enjoying the taste of the soured oatmeal. He then set the dish back in front of the door. “Always put the dish back,” he warned, “because they won’t replace it if you don’t.”
Settling back on his pallet cross-legged, he closed his eyes and draped his arms over his thighs in a meditative pose. However, he apparently couldn’t find the peace he desired internally. “Kinan is an odd name for an American. You sound pretty American.”
“I was born in America, but my father was military. We lived in other countries.” Keeping my demon breed to myself seemed ideal in a place where non-humans were being imprisoned. They suspected now, but no reason to confirm it.
“Will your family be coming for you? Mine are gone. They died before this all started, which seems like a blessing now.”
I dug my fingers into my thigh, picturing the open desert of Tucumcari and imagining myself running on four legs across it. My breathing and heartbeat increased as my mind’s eye pictured me running full throttle across the rocky sand. Anything to keep Rankar from my thoughts.
“Kinan?”
“No one’s coming for me,” I snapped. “No one knows I’m here.”
He didn’t immediately respond. However, the quietly whispered “I’m sorry” made me feel like a jerk.
“Jimmy, I’m sorry. Look. I wasn’t a people person before I ended up here, and no matter how great the company is in here, that isn’t improved by our current circumstances.”
A small grin turned up the corners of his mouth. “You didn’t strike me as a motivational speaker or debutante.”
I smirked, amused despite myself at his snark. “I am fantastic at motivating people to stay far away from me.”
His laugh sounded startling, almost like the building condemned us for the merriment. “Fair. I’m about as far from you as I can get.”
I sniffed. “Probably the smell. I’m too close to me right now.”
The exchange carried us through the afternoon and into evening. It turned out that Jimmy hadn’t been lying. The guards did “forget” to bring food for lunch, though we had hardtack and a meat jerky of some sort for supper. This time a pitcher of drinking water was provided, too, with disposable Dixie cups.
As a Tuatha de Danaan, I wasn’t required to eat to survive. Lack of food cost me some of my paranormal strength and weight, but I wouldn’t die of starvation. Whatever demon Jimmy was—he never said and I didn’t ask—lost twice the mass I did from missed meals. So I let him continue to take my share of the breakfasts.
Within the first full day, he overcame his desire to speak all the time. By the second, he seemed appreciative of the companionable silences. On the third, no food came all day. The sun rose, traveled the sky, and then set. However, a small amount of ambient noise seemed to be vibrating through the stones. I suspected a sudden influx of new prisoners had caused the lapse. Jimmy, though, assured me that the occasional fasting day was normal. However, the next day came and went with no meals. Even my stomach rumbled as the sun set, but Jimmy spent ten minutes pacing in front of the door as the oranges and yellows faded to gray and black.
The fifth morning, a fist pounded on the door twice. Neither of us moved, waiting to see what this change meant. As the door swung open, the guard yelled, “Werewolf incoming! Change to the status quo!”
I rose to my feet without thought, glancing a question at Jimmy. The confusion on his face revealed he was just as bewildered. The man shoved into the room wore tattered and bloody clothing, like he’d been stabbed a dozen times but had healed the wounds beneath the shirt. In his human form, the Lykos ran full throttle into the metal door as it slammed behind him. The sturdy frame held, but he tried again and again.
I waited for Jimmy to glance at me, and I mouthed “slowly” before jerking my head to indicate that he needed to walk to my side of the room. Panic in his eyes, he grabbed his cover and scrambled across the floor to my side. The quickness of his movement caught the attention of the predator trying to smash his way through the solid door. Half-human, half-wolf eyes met mine; no sanity showed through. What have they done to him? I wondered as Jimmy hid behind me.
“You take that side. We’ll share.” My words were slow and precise, careful not to spook him.
The Lykos scented the air the way a dog used its sense of smell in a new place. Whether he smelled ocelot under my skin or just didn’t like us, he growled a warning deep in his throat as he approached the deserted pallet. Then he settled in and glared at us.
I slid down the wall and stared back, daring him to cross the room or threaten us in any way. Jimmy, on the other hand, tried to crawl between my back and the wall. “Calm down,” I murmured, not bothering to whisper since the lycanthrope across the room would hear anything I said. “You’re safe beside me.”
The rest of the day we engaged in a staring contest as he tried to claim dominance. When the guards delivered lunch, it was a relief when he looked away and moved to retrieve his share. I walked to grab ours, and the Lykos made no move to threaten me. After days without food or water, neither Jimmy nor I hesitated to drink the odd-tasting soup. However, once lunch was over, the battle for superiority resumed as he tried to shove his “alphaness” down our throat. Worse, as the day progressed, his eyes held more and more wolf.
By breakfast, a hair-raising snarl was his reply to everything, including Jimmy’s request for his name. Every time the shifter growled at Jimmy, I growled back. He had me by a hundred pounds minimum, but I would bet my life and his on the fact that most demons who relied on their strength didn’t bother with formal training in how to take out an opponent. I was willing to pit myself against him, certain I’d come out on top.
I never imagined he’d go for Jimmy instead of me.
Chapter 26
Each day, the Lykos lost more of his humanity. His eyes were full wolf, though he held on to his human shape. Whatever they had done to him in his capture had destroyed his mind. Luckily, the moon was still waning. If he maintained his control, we wouldn’t have to deal with a shifted lycanthrope for at least another two weeks. However, the tense conditions in the cell stole all desire Jimmy had to speak. He only left my side to use the toilet and collect our meals.
About a week into tolerating our new roommate, breakfast didn’t show up. Long before lunch time, the Lykos paced the floor. Sometimes, he paused to growl and punch the door. The anger in the room kept me on my feet, too anxious to sit in case the shifter turned his frustrations on us.
Sometime hours after lunch but before sunset, someone banged on the door and ordered us back. The sliding door opened, old dishes were removed, and two bowls were slid inside. Jimmy looked to me for direction as the Lykos also stared at us. “We’ll share one.” Enunciating clearly, I spoke slowly. He continued to watch us, not moving, so I nodded to Jimmy.
Jimmy cautiously crept forward, reaching for the bowl closest to our side of the room. The Lykos’s head snapped in his direction, and I turned to see what caught his attention. Jimmy had one of the bowls; head down, he came toward me. I looked back toward the lycanthrope.
A blur, he charged toward Jimmy. I darted to intercept. When the force of the larger, stronger Lykos’s body connected with Jimmy, it drove them into the stone wall. A crack, then Jimmy went limp. I collided with the wolf a second too late, pushing him away from his victim. He swiped at me with a human hand, as though they held claws. A jump back left him grabbing empty air. However, he didn’t wait to see my next move. He was too concerned with the last bowl of slop on the floor—
having spilled Jimmy’s.
Rage left me cold. Never had the urge to kill someone been so strong. No, I didn’t just want to remove him as a threat. He needed to suffer first. The Lykos had hurt, maybe killed, a guy who did nothing worse than talk my ear off—for a share of slop we were going to give him anyway. Food that he could go weeks without before dying.
When I drove my knee into his side with all of my strength, he half-knelt trying to guzzle the oatmeal from the bowl. A satisfied grin lit my face as his ribs gave beneath the force. However, I didn’t pause to savor the victory. Instead, as he landed on his back, I linked my fingers together and drove my combined fists into his solar plexus. Finally, his eyes widened as his chest caved. Recognition of what was happening played across his face.
His hands reached for my throat as he bucked his body beneath me, and I batted them away. Already, his breathing sounded labored. Digging my fingers into his windpipe, I squeezed until the light died from his eyes and his bowels released. Then I hurried to Jimmy.
Faintly, his pulse beat in his neck. He was alive!
“Help! Guards!” I screamed, alternatively kicking and punching the door. “He’s hurt! We need a healer, a doctor!” A couple minutes passed, but no one responded. Maybe they were waiting for the medic to arrive?
Moving back to Jimmy’s side, I tried to clear my head enough to remember basic first aid. His pulse was weak and his breathing shallow. “Hey, buddy. Jimmy, can you heal this?” I asked, raising one eyelid then the other. One pupil stayed large even after light exposure. “Okay. Let’s make you more comfortable, yeah?”
Carefully, I carried him to his old pallet. The lycanthrope’s body made a decent prop to elevate Jimmy’s legs. Covering him with a blanket, I tried to remember what else I could do to treat him for shock. Unsteady hands—cold though my pulse raced—felt for his heartbeat again. Thready. Already, his breathing sounded more labored. “Hey, Jimmy, don’t leave me here alone. Yeah? You can heal this.”