The house sat on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Strait of Georgia. Circling the house, I watched Angie leave the car and swivel her hips into the house guarded by large men dressed in black. One day I would like to meet a Master Vampire that outfitted his guards in a different colour, like lime green or bright fuchsia.
I recognized the area. Off Marine Drive, this neighbourhood contained the filthy rich and picturesque parks. Angling in the light wind, I banked my little falcon body toward the nearest green space. The shift to wolf was swift and not wanting to lose any more time, I loped in the direction of the house. I knew I had the right place a block before I got there. The air went from sea salt and pine to saturated with the tang of blood and death. Lucien’s unique scent was not entangled in the odour. This was the visiting horde. Pushing my excitement back, I circled the block before I dared a closer look. Sentries paced the surrounding area, but I slipped by them unseen. Although wolves weren’t as common to this area as coyotes, the sentries would check it out first before raising an alarm if they caught my scent, giving me enough time to escape.
A familiar smell reached my nose when I loped closer to the house—citrus and sunshine—more specifically, the same big cat from Landen’s apartment. Faint but present—and all the proof I needed. My wolf stood still and drank in the Wereleopard’s essence. A rich bouquet wrapped around me with a heady effect and my mountain lion surged up, demanding a change. I stopped the shift before it could start. What the hell was that?
My cat hissed in frustration. She wanted out.
Shaking my wolf head to clear my senses I trotted a little closer. Now was not the time to pussy out. Pun intended. Sitting across the street, hidden by the shadow of another house and massive trees acting as a pseudo hedge, I watched the estate. Not much to see, but there was no way I’d risk going in to find the killer. I had enough information.
An unexpected sting pierced me behind the ear and my hind leg sprung up by instinct to scratch it. Fucking mosquitoes.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
What is that pounding? Oh God. It’s in my head. Back in human form, I forced my eyes open to slits, and then shut them quickly. That stings! Taking a moment to pull out of the grogginess in my mind was like swimming through dense sludge.
When I rolled onto my belly, the insides of my stomach continued to roll, even after my body stopped. I clamped down on my tongue. Taking long breaths, I swallowed repeatedly to prevent the flux of vomit threatening to surge up and escape. Counting to ten didn’t work, so I continued until I reached one hundred.
Carefully, I pried my eyes open to stare at the ground, which was some sort of hard metal flooring. It smelled cold and clinical. Propping my body on all fours, I closed my eyes and waited for my quaking stomach to settle before I dared move again. I sat back on my butt and splayed my legs out in front.
Another wave of nausea floored me, but I ground my teeth and refused to part with the nice dinner I had earlier. Scratching the burning itch on my neck, I replayed my actions. The last thing I remember was using my hind leg to scratch what I thought was a bite. Not a mosquito, then—a tranq dart. I hated tranquilizers. They made me nauseous.
No shit.
I faced a wall, which told me nothing besides the lack of interior decorating. With a groan, I managed to shuffle around with a series of bum shimmying moves that would’ve made a gymnast cringe. The sinking feeling in my gut wasn’t from the side effects of the drugs alone—it was also from a deepening sense of impending doom.
I’m fucked.
I sat in a six by six foot holding cell: three of the sides cement, and if I had to put money on it, thick enough to withstand a Were. Bars made up the last side of the cell and the chains attached to massive pegs in each corner of the room confirmed my suspicions—this was either an S&M room designed by some minimalist freak, or it was a Wereproof cell. Lots of packs used these to contain Weres shifting for the first time, or ones that lost control of their beast and, of course, Weres considered enemies of the pack. I knew which category I fell into, despite not being a Were.
On the other side of the bars, more cells ran off the main room. Although there were no windows and this was obviously a basement, someone had gone to the effort to make the main sitting room comfortable, equipping it with oversized couches, tables, benches and what looked like well stocked bookcases. The only exit appeared to be the staircase on the far side of the room. Escape would be difficult, if not impossible.
I looked down at my arm to find a bloody bandage. The tape holding it down pulled at my skin. I ripped it off and it took a minute for me to register the two-inch incision stitched up on my arm. Right where my tracker had been.