A little bit ago, she’d heard something large moving through the underbrush some distance away, but the sound had stopped. For the past God knew how many minutes, there’d been no movement. She wished she wore a watch. She wished John would come back. Or Grant. She wished she dared move from this spot and take control of the situation. But the truth was she was afraid.
She was all alone in the wilderness near the cave of a psycho. What if she simply left, went back down the mountain, found her way to the road and hitched to the nearest town not inhabited by werewolves? Would that be so wrong? Any sane person would do the same. She was no hero, hadn’t asked to be a savior. Perhaps saving herself was the best thing she could do.
But even as the very viable possibility flashed through her mind, she knew she wouldn’t abandon John and Grant. She had to find out where this road led and what secret Janus claimed to know about her.
Sherrie rose, took a deep breath and shook off her anxiety as if she was about to walk onstage. She could do this, adopt another persona, perhaps a cross between Indiana Jones and Xena, and march into the jaws of danger with bravery and panache.
Still, it would be nice to have a weapon. She pawed through the backpack and found a jackknife which she slipped into her pocket, then she shouldered the pack and headed through the trees following the path John had taken. There were no broken branches or bent ferns to mark the way, and she soon gave up trying to track him. Instead, she looked toward the mouth of the cavern, keeping it always in sight through the branches as she walked. Her face prickled with sweat, and she wiped away a slick of perspiration on her throat as she slapped a mosquito this time.
Sherrie stopped stock still when she came upon a spot in the woods where the underbrush was flattened. It looked like a fight or worse had taken place here. There was a narrow path where something heavy had been dragged away. Her chest was so tight she could scarcely breathe, and her heart pounded deafeningly in her ears. The path couldn’t lead anywhere good, but what was her other option, to wait for one of the men to return and tell her what to do next? She’d never been much good at waiting or at taking directions.
Sherrie followed the path that led straight to the clearing outside the cave entrance and there Janus stood. Their meeting was almost anticlimactic. He didn’t raise a weapon to threaten her. No minions rushed to seize her. Suddenly he was simply there in front of her, an average-looking man with thinning brown hair who stood with his hands crossed primly at his groin. He wore a charcoal gray sweater with a snowflake motif, a pair of brown trousers and black boots.
Sherrie fought a ridiculous urge to give him fashion advice about the sweater as she stepped into the clearing and faced her nemesis in the flesh. “Hello.”
“You came alone.”
“You didn’t give me much choice. Where’s John?”
“Unharmed and safe. I can’t vouch for the other one.” Her stomach did a slow barrel roll at the news—one of her would-be protectors imprisoned, the other one possibly injured or dead.
“Well, I’m here,” she said. “What do you want with me? What’s your big secret?”
“Come inside, sit down and have some tea.” He gestured toward the mouth of the cave. “The place is a bit primitive, but it suits my needs for now.”
Sherrie weighed her options. She’d be safer outside the cave with more chance to run away if necessary, but if she went inside she might learn something that would lead her to John. She followed Janus into the darkness.
Beyond the wide opening was a rocky chamber from which several pitch-black holes indicated tunnels leading in various directions. In the center of the space was an incongruous sitting area, a couple of canvas chairs and a camp stove on which a kettle of water steamed.
Janus waved her into one of the chairs. “This is only temporary, a base of operations, so to speak.
Someday I’ll have a house in the mountains overlooking the entire valley.”
“Mm,” Sherrie murmured, feeling as surreal as Alice down the rabbit hole. “What would an arch villain be without a lair, right?”
“Not the villain here, Ms. Stoltz.” He frowned as he filled a cup with hot water, setting a teabag afloat. “You of all people should understand that. The wolf clan kidnapped you, but I haven’t hurt a single human being and never would. Shapeshifters aren’t people. I don’t feel any qualms about siphoning off some of their power.”
Whatever you say, Dr. Evil. “What do you hope to gain from all this, Mr. Janus?”
“I’ve already gained it—a power source that makes me untouchable and the respect of all shifters.” Sherrie had known plenty of guys with damaged egos, struggling to be heard by the world. They despised those they considered average or inferior, but deep inside it was their self-doubts that made them weak. Plenty of her fellow actors suffered from the syndrome. Janus wanted to “be somebody”, and she could work with that by feeding his ego.