"Let me go!" she yelled, fighting him when he took her other wrist and gripped them both hard. He dragged her backwards to the closet. "What are you doing? Let me go!"
"I'm sorry but I can't let you go," he said, his voice calm, frighteningly so.
She looked around the large walk in closet. It had been destroyed, clothing lying everywhere, shelves broken. He pushed her against one of the walls and took a tie from a shelf.
"I think," he began, wrapping the tie around and between her wrists, securing her tightly. "You lied when you said you didn't remember anything about last night. I think you remember quite well."
"I don't. I swear! This is just a misunderstanding. Please let me go!"
He turned her around but his hand on her faltered as he blinked in what she thought was pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and made a sound, but it must have passed because in the next moment, he straightened again, his face strange, his expression dead serious, his eyes far away.
His eyes.
She stared at them. "You're it," she managed, goose bumps covering every inch of her. "You're the thing from last night."
"I told you remembered," he said. He pulled her along, his hand painful on her arm, her wrists bound too tightly.
She opened her mouth to scream for help but he was faster, pressing her up against a wall and covering her mouth with one of his huge hands. He stood with his body pressed against hers.
"Don't scream. Don't make me gag you. Just … " he paused. "Please don't make me mad, Rachel."
She stared at him wide-eyed. That pain flashed in his eyes again. He was desperate, she could see it, and that made him dangerous.
"If I take my hand away, you're not going to scream, do you understand?"
She made a sound and tried to nod. She would have to wait for Elijah. Hope he checked his phone and noticed the unknown missed call. Hope he could find her.
"Be good and you won't get hurt," he said, easing his hand off her face.
She nodded again, breathing hard, her heart racing.
"We're going to go downstairs. You'll be safe there," he said.
She hesitated with every step, looking around her, trying to see if there was any way to escape him, trying to see if she was close enough that someone would hear her if she did scream before she pissed him off.
He didn't look at her as he led the way down, his grip hard on her arm, pulling her along, tugging harder when she resisted. He led her to a heavy door, the only door that didn't fit with the rest of the surroundings. He turned on the lights and led her down the stairs into the basement. It was a large, wide open, and almost completely finished space. On one side stood a large desk and what looked to be a science lab-a long counter with beakers and other things she couldn't identify. The other side of the basement was unfinished where the laundry machine and dryer stood. He took her in that direction and set a wooden chair in the middle of the space. He pushed her down onto it and untied her wrists only long enough to rebind her to the chair. Once he was finished, he stood back and looked down at her.
* * *
She was a pretty girl. Young and quite petite. Her long straight dark hair was tangled and he could see from her eyes that she was afraid. Good. If she were frightened, she would be more likely to behave.
Behave.
What was he doing? What had he done?
He turned away and ran a hand through his hair.
"Please, just let me go. I won't say anything. I don't know anything," she begged.
"Shut up," he said quietly without turning. He needed to think.
"Please," she continued. "I … "
He turned. "I said shut up!" he snapped.
She trembled and shrank away from him. But at least she stopped talking. He looked at the chair, wondering how long he could keep her bound like this, knowing he would need better equipment.
He turned away again. What was he thinking? He had kidnapped a girl and brought her back to his house. But she wasn't just any girl. She was the scent he had picked up earlier in the house and she smelled different than other women. Was that why he had sought her out? He could remember parts of the night and the one thing that was clear was the moment he had picked up her scent when he had been in the woods. He had been drawn to her like an animal would be drawn to mate. He had been unable to resist.
He turned to her. "Are you a shifter?" he asked.
She shook her head, her eyes still wide, scared.
"You smell like one," he said, recognizing her scent was similar to the samples he had been working with for so long.
"I'm not."
"Then why do you smell like one?" he asked, coming closer.
"Please don't hurt me!" she begged, once again shrinking away from him.
He winced with the sudden pain in the backs of his eyes. Was it happening again? So soon? Was he shifting again? He needed to get out of the lab, get away from the girl in case that happened. Once the pain subsided, he looked at her. "I won't hurt you if you do as I say."
She nodded.
"You obviously knew what I was asking when I said shifter. How did you know?"
"I don't know. I just said it."
"Don't lie to me either." The pain came again, short but sharp.
"What's happening to you?" she asked.
"You're going to need to stop talking," he said, suddenly feeling very angry. His emotions were up and down, all over the place. He walked to the counter and opened a drawer. He took out a syringe and a vial of clear liquid, wondering all along what he was doing, why he was doing it as he prepared the needle.
"What is that?" she asked when he came toward her, depressing the plunger so some of the liquid squeezed out until there was no air left in the barrel. "What are you doing?" she almost screamed as he squatted down by her side and held one of her legs tightly, stabbing her with the needle.
"Ow! What are … "
He emptied the stuff into her, knowing he was bruising her as he held her, but needing her to be quiet, needing her to be still so he could think. He pulled it out and stood, looking down at her. It worked quickly, the stuff. He'd probably given her more than she needed because within moments, he could see her eyes were losing their focus.
"Just to help you sleep," he said softly, caressing her face.
She tried to pull back but her effort was clumsy. "What … " her head fell forward and she tried once more to lift it but was unable to.
Lance checked her pulse, which was fine, but he knew she would be out for a while. Leaving her there for the moment, he went upstairs and retrieved a mattress from the guest room. He carried it down to the basement and set it in a corner near one of the support beams. He then went into the garage and rummaged through an old box, retrieving a pair of handcuffs an ex-girlfriend had given him years ago before returning to the basement. He untied her and laid her on her back on the mattress. He then cuffed her by her wrists to the support beam, ensuring some freedom of movement. He pushed her hair from her face and caressed her cheek, inhaling her scent once more. He was drawn to her for reasons he couldn't quite explain. It was a base animal instinct.
Chapter Nine
Something wasn't right.
Marcus sat up and looked around the dark motel room. The clock read just after 6:00 a.m. This was a similar feeling as to what had happened the other night, although not quite the same. This was closer. He would need to shift to hear more, he knew it. Unless he picked up the phone and dialed Elijah, but he wasn't ready to do that just yet. Besides, this wasn't about Elijah. It was something to do with Rachel.
He stood and pulled on the pair of jeans he had draped over the back of a chair. The last months had been worse than the previous of that year. He still missed her-that hadn't changed. The way he was dealing with his self-imposed isolation, his chosen separation from Rachel, was what had changed. He had become freer and freer with himself, drinking too much, taking different women to his bed almost nightly, refusing to keep in touch with his brother. He justified not calling Rachel with the fact that he wanted her to forget about him. He wanted her to have a normal life. But it wasn't working, at least not for him. And from what Elijah had said, it wasn't working for her either.
In fact, if he was really honest with himself, didn't he have to admit the fact that he was being a coward by staying away? Not to mention the other things. It was time to face the past rather than run from it. The thought of seeing her again warmed him but it also terrified him. She would be angry with him and she would have a right to be. But now that he was here, what if she wouldn't take him back?