Iawoke in a hole in the ground. And, in case you're a Hobbit fan, let me assure you—it was a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell. Plus,
my prison was as dark as the grave.
Perhaps it was my grave.
The image of dying there, with no pack mates around to
mourn me, filled my mind. I'd rot alone in this hole, my bones jumbling together as carrion beetles rolled my flesh into tiny balls to feed to their offspring. Snakes would slither down to capture the tiny critters drawn to feed upon my decomposing flesh and tree roots would eventually invade the pockets of fertility left behind.
At least then I'd be good for something.
I shuddered, my head pounding as I tried to push through the drugged fog and remember what had happened back in that farmer's field. The turncoat, the needle prick, the car doors slamming...I'd obviously been captured, but surely Lia and Savannah had gotten away?
No, I distinctly remembered my youngest pack mate's screams as she was forced into the vehicle nearest me. Thought I might have recalled her cradling my comatose body against her own slender form as we sped out of the lot, my head jiggling nervelessly on my neck just before unconsciousness fully claimed me.
If Lia and Savannah were prisoners like I was, then I needed to find and help them.
"Is anyone there?" I whispered into the darkness, reaching my hands out in search of other living beings. One arm grazed a skinny, damp object that might have been a root...or a severed finger. I jerked away, hitting my head on
a protruding rock in the process of reeling backwards into the void.
My stomach was too queasy to risk opening my mouth even so far as to swear. Instead, I held perfectly still, listening to the way my breathing echoed within my ears. Hyperventilation was soothing in its own way, I decided. The heaving breaths proved I was still alive, that the earth hadn't yet swallowed me whole.
Get it together.
My wolf's whisper shook me out of the mindless terror I was falling into, and I didn't even care that she'd joined me behind our shared eyes without invitation. It wasn't as if there was anything for her to see in the pitch black hole anyway.
"Look for escape," she whispered aloud with my lips. And I nodded, proving that I really was crazy—not only talking to myself but replying as well. Right, escape.
I patted myself down first, finding that I was still wearing the clothes I'd started out the day in. Or perhaps that had been the day before? With no light in my hole, I didn't know if it was today or tomorrow—and now I was just confusing myself with my own words. The pounding headache didn't help matters either.
Focus. Surely I have some weapons left.
My trembling fingers brushed across jeans and t-shirt, found Crew's collar still stashed away in one bulging pocket. I'd never gotten around to examining the item, I now realized, never taken the time to decipher the source of the rotten-banana odor that had allowed the SSS shifters to break through Hunter's iron grip.
Well, now I've got all the time in the world. That wasn't really true—even in my somewhat altered state, I realized that Quill wouldn't just leave me down in this hole to molder. No, the outpack male had likely stashed all three of us halfies away for safekeeping until the time was ripe to rip out our hearts like he'd harvested organs from the
unfortunate Daisy Rambler. I might have days, hours, or only minutes alone. Best get to the task of escaping.
This would have been easier in daylight, I grumbled. But the wolf only snorted within my skin and brought our shared hands up so we could sniff at the collar while running light fingers down its length. There was the faintest hint of rotten banana yet present, the odor emanating from a little plastic indentation that currently held the smallest iota of moisture.
What do you think? I asked my animal half, then waited what seemed like an eternity for a reply that never came.
She was gone, I realized. Even the barest essence of rotten banana remaining had been enough to momentarily banish my wolf. Which meant I did have the tiniest ace in the hole—a way to force myself out of an alpha compulsion, if necessary.
Assuming, of course, that I was able to pull the collar out of my pocket and bring it up to my nose while a shifter stronger than me tried to force my muscles to act otherwise. Not likely.
Pushing the collar back into my pocket, I fought down the terror that threatened to rise back up in my throat now that my animal half had gone missing. Wolf or no wolf, I wasn't a damsel in distress and the collar wasn't my only possible escape hatch. There was the tracking device for one....
Fingers slipped down toward my left sock, seeking the tiny sliver of plastic and metal that Glen had purchased as an auxiliary safety measure. "We'll be able to find you anywhere there's satellite reception," my stalwart second had promised, his veiled eyes doing their best not to ask me to think up a strategy that didn't involve being taken back to the enemy's lair as bait.
In all fairness, that hadn't actually been my plan. The tracking device was for backup only.
Or it had been for backup. Because my frantic fingers found no bump beneath my left sock. And when I tried the other ankle, hoping my drug-addled brain had just forgotten
precisely where I stashed the device, no chunk of plastic turned up there either.
I closed my eyes, allowing the voluntary darkness to erode away the newfound rush of adrenaline that was threatening to turn me into a quivering mass of jelly. Breathe, I reminded myself, wishing my wolf would show back up to keep me company.
It was no big surprise the tracking device was gone. After all, Quill had been privy to its installation just as he'd been privy to every other aspect of our planning process.
Won't Ginger be pissed when she realizes she went after the wrong outpack male after all?
I tried to smile but was pretty sure the expression on my face was closer to a grimace. Okay, so no one will be riding to the rescue. No biggie. I'll just find my own way out.
I stretched out a tentative arm once more, this time steeling myself to face the slimy, unknown objects that met my touch. It's like being in a haunted house, I told myself. A kid plunges his hands into a vat in the dark and is sure he's fingering entrails. But the lights come on and it's just spaghetti.
Somehow, though, I didn't think the nasty, slithery objects around me were spaghetti.
Not the point, I rebutted my own rebuttal. The point is to figure out where my prison cell starts and ends so I can find a way out. Remember—it's up to me to rescue Lia.
Even the faint memory of the girl's prideful chin as she was yanked away from the SSS member's car made me smile. And my upturned lips in turn gave me strength to reach out again to feel the walls of my prison.
I didn't even have to stretch, it turned out, because the hole I was imprisoned within must have been dug in a hurry. It was rounded at the bottom, with clods of dirt littered here and there, and the total width was less than the length of a single arm.
That's a good thing, I told myself, ignoring my childlike fear of the close, dark space. It means I can brace myself against the far wall and climb back out.
I straightened, preparing to suit action to words...and hit my head painfully on a wooden ceiling.
Could it really be so easy? Just push off the lid and pop up like a jack-in-the-box? Putting my back into it, I spread both hands across the damp boards and pushed with all my might.
The ceiling didn't so much as budge. The hatch was either locked tight or covered with an object so heavy there was no way I could dislodge it.
Or maybe I really am buried alive.
My heart rate began to pick up, but I refused to be defeated so easily. Taking a deep breath, I decided: So I'll carve my way out around the edges instead.
Glad my fingernails were cut short, I scrabbled at the earth beside the wooden ceiling. Dirt fell into my hair, caught in my eyes, and settled around my feet. Blinking painfully against the invasive particles, I cupped my fingers into mole-like claws and dug yet harder.
A tiny stone tore at the soft flesh of one cuticle, but I paid it no mind. Splinters embedded themselves in my skin as I continued to disinter more of the wooden boards that topped my lair, but it was too dark to see if I bled. I yanked the offending slivers of wood out with my teeth and kept going.
Further and further I dug. I would break through.
Only when I'd filled the entire bottom of my prison cell with six inches of debris and the air had grown decidedly moldy from a dislodged I-didn't-want-to-think-about-what-it- was did I pause. I'd carved out an indentation on one side of the wooden ceiling large enough to fill with my head and shoulders. In other words, I'd created just a hair more breathing room...but there was no sign of daylight creeping
through the cracks and the boards above my head felt never-ending.
I'll never see daylight again.
I tried to breathe, tried to swallow down the massive knot in my throat. But I couldn't even force myself to bend my knees and settle back into the dirt. Instead, I shifted forms without meaning to, my wolf emerging tangled in a mess of human clothing.
Caught, tight, stuck.
Terror-stricken, I lashed out at the bonds that held me in place.
Then, relief, as my animal spirit woke and pushed my human brain aside. Pushed my consciousness back down into her lupine belly. Took complete command of the body that we no longer shared, that she had instead claimed for her very own.
Happily, I sank into a new kind of darkness.