Shifters’ Captive(2)

My people? Was he some kind of crazy cult leader?

“You can help me by taking me home. Or don’t take me home. Put me out on the street somewhere. I promise I have no idea where I’m at or who you are. I’ll go on with my life and you go on with yours.” There was a long pause, and when the voice continued, it was closer, as if he’d squatted by her side.

“I’m sorry. That’s not going to happen.”

His hand touched her shoulder, and Sherrie flinched. This was it. Whatever he was going to do to her was beginning now. Visions of all the possible tortures a serial killer could inflict on his victim before he killed her flashed in her mind. She’d seen too damn many detective movies and too many sequels to Saw.

“Please, open your eyes and sit up. I’ll get you a cup of tea or coffee or a bottle of water if you want—

sorry, I don’t have any soda—then I’ll explain everything.” Laced with what drug? Sherrie weighed the consequences and decided it didn’t much matter at this point whether she saw him or not. He wasn’t about to let her go. She cautiously lifted her eyelids and looked at the face of her fate.

Brown eyes with a golden cast gazed into hers. A frown drew his dark brows together. A ragged fringe of walnut brown hair fell over his forehead and grew in thick sideburns, framing his strong-boned face. His nose was long and straight, his mouth wide with thin lips pressed tightly together. He curved his lips into a smile, and white teeth showed between them.

He’s going to eat me up. Instead of filling her with terror, the thought precipitated an insane flare of arousal. Her body tingled as if hit by an electric charge. Her breasts were tender, nipples pebbled hard, and her pussy clenched as if he’d touched her there rather than merely looked at her. What the hell was wrong with her body?

“You’re safe. We mean you no harm.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Sherrie thought of the man who’d left and wished she’d caught a glimpse of him too.

From the conversation she’d overheard, it seemed this man might not have wanted to take her. Perhaps she could work on him and convince him to let her go.

He smiled wider, showing more gleaming teeth. “That’s all part of the story. Why don’t I make you more comfortable first? I’m sorry about the conditions here, but I didn’t know where else to bring you.” He rose and walked away from her.

She eyed the distance to the door then his broad back as he opened the door of a mini-fridge and took out a bottle of water. How much time would it take to jump to her feet—or stagger because she still felt woozy—and run for the door? Despite his polite manner, she guessed the man would grab her before she could clear the doorway. Better to bide her time, listen to his story and let him think he could trust her.

Meanwhile, she glanced around her prison, a primitive cabin with a kitchenette, a couple of chairs, a futon against one wall and a wood burning stove. That was all the furnishings. There were two windows: a tiny one in the kitchen above the sink and another beside the door. Through it she saw tree branches and sunlight, indicating she’d been passed out for awhile.

“Here.”

She jumped. She hadn’t heard him approach her. He held out a water bottle. Sherrie took it, uncapping and guzzling the cool liquid that soothed her parched throat.

“My name is John Walker.” He held out his hand and she took it, struck by the ironic display of manners under the circumstances. His hand was cool from the water bottle and stayed wrapped around hers for a few seconds longer than necessary. An uncanny charge tingled through her body straight to erogenous zones, horrifying her with its inappropriateness.

Walker released her hand to sit on the floor beside her, his long legs folding gracefully beneath him.

He regarded her as he sipped from his own bottle. “Sorry about putting you on the floor, but it actually seemed cleaner than the cot.”

She didn’t reply.

He drew an audible breath. “I’ve practiced what I was going to say to you, but no matter how I say it, I know it’ll sound crazy.”

Never antagonize a crazy man. Show him sympathy and trust. “I have an open mind and I’m listening.

Go ahead.”

“There are beings in this world that humans tell about in horror stories, but they’re real—

shapeshifters, people who transform from human to animal form. In movies they depict werewolves as killers, but in reality we hunt like any other wolf pack, roaming wild lands and catching game. The rest of the time we live and work alongside humans.” He smiled, again showing that mouthful of teeth. “But we aren’t human.”