“I’m afraid we have orders to detain this woman, and you’re interfering with national security, sir.” Cage could see the hair on the back of the officer’s neck stand up and his eyes begin to glow red with anger. “I suggest you stand down.” He put his hand on Cage’s shoulder, pushing him back slightly.
Cage stared down at the were’s hairy forearm. “Take your hand off me, sir.” Glancing over the man’s shoulder, he could see the girl staring in disbelief. Her mouth was open as if she wanted desperately to say something.
“Or what?” the were chuckled.
Grasping his wrist, Cage twisted until there was a satisfying pop. All of the air in the room seemed to dissipate as the onlookers sighed in unison. The girl let out a bloodcurdling scream as the werebeast roared, his nose lengthening into the long, furry muzzle of the wolf as he snapped his jaws a hair’s breadth from Cage’s cheek.
With a roll of his eyes, Cage reared back, bashing the beast’s forehead. The were gave a dog-like whimper and fell backward, shaking his head, clearly trying to stop the metamorphosis. The other two turned, their faces masks of disbelief at what had begun so quickly.
Looking over the weres’ considerable shoulders, Cage mouthed to Phoebe, “Get down.” She obeyed, throwing herself to the floor and crawled under the seat just as both agents lunged at Cage, smoothly shifting to their gray, wolfen forms.
Chaos erupted in the carriage. The passengers who moments before had stared at the exchange in shocked disbelief were now getting up and pushing toward the doors, throwing carry-ons and snack boxes in every direction. Their screams and the sounds of their fists against the doors created a cacophony of sound that made Cage cringe with his heightened senses.
The wolves noticed this weakness and threw themselves at his body. They growled and snarled, biting and scratching at him as they knocked him to the floor. The two fought like animals, rolling him over and over, using their weight to keep him immobilized. Cage’s hand went to his shoulder holster and found it empty. A quick glance to the side revealed that during the tussling, his gun had fallen, sliding under the seats where the woman cowered.
“Throw me the gun,” he shouted at her. But she could only stare, her eyes alight with flames of terror, her body paralyzed. At that moment, one of the wolves sank its teeth into Cage’s shoulder. He gave a groan of pain and thrashed, trying to get out from beneath them as the agony of their venom infected the wound.
The serum that lurked in each of his cells made his skin burn with the unnatural healing, and the bite still hurt like a bitch. But pain was a weapon that Macijah St. John wielded with ease and grace. Cage rolled his body over, elbowing the face of the were closest to him as he got to his knees. He could feel the beast within himself rearing its head, and he could no longer fight it.
He roared, the deafening sound reverberating off the walls of the carriage. The passengers still trying to get away screamed, all of them dropping to their knees and covering their ears as if the noise was Gabriel’s horn heralding the Apocalypse. Cage’s body began to twist and contort, clothing and flesh splintering and falling away, leaving a shock of white fur that grew into an enormous wolf. He roared again, saliva dripping from razor-sharp teeth. The three weres lifted their muzzles, barking to one another as if speaking. Cage growled in response, huffing through his nostrils and pawing at the ground. The three sprang.
Cage ducked, letting them fly over his head to hit the seats, shattering them in a downpour of metal and glass. He took the opportunity to pounce, landing atop the largest of the gray wolves. Blind rage ruled, and Cage easily found the throat of his opponent. His jaws were powerful, and he locked them down, biting through the muscle to the bone. The wolf jerked his head, trying to stave off the Cage’s attack. It was of little use. Within seconds, he had pulled away, bloody tissue and fragments of bone clinging to his whiskers. The wounded wolf howled one last time before shifting back to its human form, writhing and choking on his own blood.
Cage took an attack stance as the other two growled menacingly, stalking and pacing as much as the confined space would allow. It was obvious the alpha had been destroyed and the other two were trying to decide whether to fight or flee. Cage wasn’t going to give them that chance and launched himself at them. They bit and tore at his torso, trying to get their jaws around his throat, but Cage was clever.
Oliver had done his research. The serum made St. John faster, larger, more ferocious, and more intelligent than any of these mindless beasts that slithered through the portal. Cage was simply better.
Using his powerful hind legs to kick at the smallest wolf, Cage sent the were flying into the wall opposite. The wolf flew over the girl’s head, and she watched, following the arc it made in the air.
As it hit the wall, it gave a pained bark, and the sound of the creature’s bones shattering as it slid down the wall were clearly audible. Suddenly the train screeched to a halt, and luggage rained down on them. Cage swerved to avoid a falling case, and the other were used the distraction to his advantage. He lunged and sank his teeth into the soft spot just behind Cage’s throat. The pain blinded him, and he could feel hot, sticky blood pour from the wound as the were jerked his head back and forth, pulling at the muscle there. The nerve pulsed and Cage slid on his paws, unable to gain purchase to roll over. He realized that he might actually be in trouble this time, and it only served to make him angrier. He gave a pained bark, trying to scramble from under the gray wolf while he still had enough strength to fight him off.
Suddenly, the were howled, loosening his grasp and jerking backward. Cage looked up and saw Phoe standing over them with a suitcase. The were stumbled, shaking his head in confusion, then caught sight of her. He growled and turned. She raised the case to hit him again, but Cage was faster. With a leap, he slammed into the wolf, tackling him with enough force that they rolled over and over through the wall of their carriage and into coach.
* * *
Phoebe began to pick her way around the strewn luggage in a daze. The carriage was devoid of passengers, all of them having fled from the fight. The silence that descended after the chaos was eerie. Her head was swimming and a wave of nauseous confusion crashed over her. She couldn’t have possibly seen the things she had witnessed in the last twenty minutes. Men who could turn into wolves at will and who had superhuman strength. She had heard the rumors of nightmarish creatures, The Others, that had been sighted from time to time in cities all over the world. But she’d always assumed that those were just the ramblings of conspiracy theorists or drug-crazed lunatics.
Now she was the one having the hallucinations.
She fumbled over the cases and seats, making her way to the aisle. She put her foot down carefully, and it slid. She went down on one knee and shrieked in pain. When she stood up again, she noticed that her leg was covered in blood. She gasped, thinking at first that it was her own, but after examination, she realized that it was from the floor. At her feet, two men lay dead, their naked bodies ripped to shreds and blood still oozing from the wounds. The smell was so pungent she could taste it in the back of her throat, and she gagged. Bloodied and naked, these men looked pitiful. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry. She tried to block out the human faces of the men or the family members who might be at their gravesides. As she looked down at them, they seemed pitiable. They were nothing like the beastly giants that had confronted her in the carriage.
Neither was the man who had come to her rescue and caused the whole mess in the first place. Her heart fluttered at the thought that he might be lying in the next carriage, dead and naked like her attackers. After all, he had been trying to help her. But why? He was a complete stranger. What interest would he have in her? The real question was why did she need rescuing in the first place?
Initially, Phoe assumed those men were police or something. They had treated her like some kind of terrorist. She figured it must have something to do with the unusual medallion Jessica had sent. Otherwise why would those…whateve
r they were be interested in her? Did they know that Jess had been kidnapped? Maybe they could have helped. But she doubted it.
The medallion. Suddenly panic flared before her eyes. If she lost it, then Jess was dead. It was in one of her bags. Phoe began throwing the strangers’ luggage to the side, looking desperately for her own as the image of her sister’s body lying dead in a gutter started to become real. Maybe the whole melee had all been a diversion to steal the package.
“Shit. Please still be here,” she prayed under her breath. “Leave it to me to lose the damn thing in less than twenty-four hours.” Finally she saw her suitcase sticking up out of the pile. She pulled it open, pushing her clothes and things aside until she found the brown envelope. With a sigh of relief, she pulled out the medallion and slid it into her purse, along with the cell phone that Machine had sent.
“Looking for something?” The voice startled her so badly that she dropped the suitcase on her toe.
“Ouch. Yes,” she shrieked, turning around, fully expecting to see more of the wolf-creatures coming to take her away again. What she saw was more frightening.
The man who had come to her rescue was standing in the impromptu doorway that had been made by his and the wolf-man’s bodies hitting the wall.
Her mouth hung limply from her jaw as she realized he hadn’t a stitch of clothing on his body. Pale skin stretched over a lean musculature, lined with scars that kept drawing her eyes downward. Phoebe felt her face go up in flames and she commanded herself to look up into his face. His dark, curly hair was wild, but his blue eyes burned brightly.
“I, um…”
“Why didn’t you hand me the gun?” he snarled, pushing into the room and kicking the bags and cases aside, looking for his own.
“What?”
“When I was on the floor, being mauled by werewolves, I asked you to throw me the gun, and you just stared at me like I was speaking Venutian.” He grabbed a garment bag and examined the tag, then threw it over his shoulder.
“I was afraid,” she defended.
“Yeah, well, you should be.”
Phoebe couldn’t stop herself from staring as he bent over the piles of luggage. The muscles in his arms and torso undulated as he searched. He seemed not to care that he was completely naked. She was especially interested in the tight contractions in his thigh, and wondered what they would feel like curled around her hips.
“If I had military-trained werewolves after me,” he began.
“What do you mean? After me? I haven’t done anything.”
“That doesn’t necessarily indicate your innocence.”
“Were they…” Phoe stammered. She could feel the panicked tears burning the corners of her eyes again. “Were they going to kill me?”
“A-ha,” he exclaimed triumphantly, pulling out a small black case and throwing it down on one of the seats. He flipped it open and began digging around inside. Phoebe took a step toward him, peering over the seat to see what was inside. Most people carried clothes, toiletries, and maybe a book in their overnight bag, but this was like a portable arsenal. There were several pistols, endless magazines of bullets, daggers, a wooden stake, something that looked like a crossbow, and a tatty old leather book. He looked around as if trying to work something out then picked up a backpack from the seat across from him. Without a thought, he opened it up and poured the contents onto another seat and began transferring his weaponry to the bag.
“Doesn’t that bag belong to the guy who was sitting there?” Phoebe asked.
“Yes. What of it?” He pulled a pair of jeans out of his case and pulled them on, leaving the button loose while he searched for a shirt.
“Well, I mean, that’s their stuff.”
The man looked over his shoulder. “Well, they aren’t here to claim it. Are they?”
“You can’t just steal it,” Phoebe said.
“Why can’t I?” he asked, his accent stretching out cahhn’t. Phoebe’s heart gave another hiccup.
She started to respond, but when he looked up for her reply, her mouth snapped shut with an audible click. He shrugged, pulling a close-fitting sweater over his head, then shook his hair out. The generous bow of his mouth screwed up as he bit his lip and went for another case, tearing it open and pulling the contents out. The carriage was a macabre scene of blood, dead bodies, and strewn clothing.
Finally, he came up with a pair of black leather lace-up boots. “I just killed three men, what makes you think I’d have issues with theft?”
“What were those things?”
“Werewolves.” He made a little growling sound as he shoved his foot down into the boot and began lacing it up.
“Are you for real?”
His eyebrow arched, his bright blue eyes piercing hers. “You saw them yourself. Didn’t they look real?”
“Are you one too?”
“They don’t have a name for what I am,” he answered, knotting the other boot and standing up. “I’d get off the train if I were you. The police will be here soon, and they’ll start asking questions.”
He shouldered the backpack and started picking his way through the maze of luggage toward the hole in the wall. Phoebe watched him go, dumbfounded. She was also starting to panic again. There were people chasing her, and she didn’t know how to get to the spaceport from here, wherever here was.
“Wait,” she called. She grabbed her bag and began stumbling behind him. “Wait, Mister whoever you are.”
He slowed a little, letting her catch up. Passengers had begun evacuating the nearly demolished train, and she could hear sirens in the distance. “Yes? Make it quick. I hate confrontations with the American police.”
“I’m trying to get to the Canaveral spaceport. Can you tell me where I might catch a cab or something to the next station?” she asked, trying to keep up with his long strides.
“Canaveral?” He laughed. “You’re hell and gone from Canaveral, love.”
“What?”
“Who told you that you were on the train to Canaveral?”
“There was this well-dressed man who helped me.”
“Was he the same man who turned into a werewolf and tried to chew your face off?”
“Maybe,” Phoe sighed miserably.
“You’re on a westbound Maglev. Or were, anyway. You’ll need to backtrack at least—given that we were on about two hours—nine hundred kilometers.”
Phoebe stopped and dropped her bag on the grass. “Nine hundred kilometers?”
“About that. If you keep on down this path, you’ll eventually get to the road. Follow that until you get into the next town. You can probably get a ride to a bus stop that will take you to the next city large enough to have a southbound Mag stop. It might be a while though, given that we just trashed one.” He continued down the path, toward the surrounding woods.
Phoebe couldn’t let him get away. He was the only hope she had of finding her way to the spaceport. Not to mention that if those things came back, she’d rather have someone like him there to help her even though he was terrifying. “Wait. Mister. Please, stop.” She grabbed him by the arm, and immediately he froze, his entire body tense as if he wasn’t accustomed to being touched. He turned and gave her an icy stare that made her uncomfortable. “Please. I need your help.”
He sighed, shrugging her hand from his body. “Look, I sympathize, but I really have my own problems right now.” He pulled the backpack from his shoulder and rummaged around inside. He handed her one of the pistols. Phoebe took it, holding it by the butt between two fingers as if it were a disgusting bug. “Take that. If anyone bothers you, point the dangerous end at them.” Offering a half-smile, he turned and took off down the path again.
“You can’t just leave me here,” she shouted.
“Why not?” he called over his shoulder, not bothering to look back. “I don’t even know you.”
“Because.” She paused, trying to think of a good reason, and came up short. “Because I’m the damsel in distress.”
He snorted and kept going.
“I’ll pay you.”
The man stopped. With a shrug and a heavy sigh, he turned around and walked toward her with long, purposeful strides. His broad form and hard expression frightened her, and she found herself backing away from him.
“Are you certain? My price for taking a stranded woman a thousand miles out of my way is probably exceptionally more than you can afford.”
She went into her pockets and pulled out a wad of bills. He narrowed his eyes, obviously amused by the fashion in which she kept her money. They were crumpled like wastepaper and clutched in her fist.
“Here. Take it. Take all of it. And I can get you more when we get to Canaveral.” Of course, it was a lie. This was her entire life savings, kept in a coffee can under her bed for an emergency.
She had been hoping to someday take that money and have a big, romantic adventure, but desperate times called for desperate measures. If it meant saving Jessica’s life, Phoe would gladly give it away to this dangerous stranger.
“Please. I’ll do whatever you want, but I need to get to Port Canaveral in time to catch a shuttle to New London in ten days’ time.” She fought back the tears that she’d been keeping at bay since she saw that Machine person on the holo-mail. She didn’t want this man to see her cry, but her desperation and fear betrayed her will, and she could feel fat drops tumbling over her cheeks.
At times like these, she was painfully aware of how alone she really was in the world. Jess was the only family Phoebe had left, and the thought of losing her was unbearable. Phoe knew it wasn’t wise to let others smell your desperation, but this time she simply didn’t know what else to do. This man, or whatever he was, was Phoebe’s only chance to save Jess.
He rolled his eyes, mouthing an incoherent expletive. “All right, all right. Don’t do,” he waved his hand at her face, “that. And put your money away before someone sees you.”
He glanced over her shoulder and she turned to see bright white police cars with their blue lights and sirens blaring as they drove up to the crash site. “I’ll take you to the spaceport. After that, you’re on your own.”
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