Silver Collar Read online

  “I need clothes. It’s fucking freezing.” Unimpressed, the woman changed the subject.

  “My spare clothes were in there.” Emily pointed at the tattered backpack. “You shredded them, so hard luck.” Though she knew she couldn’t leave her shivering in the chill air. Damn, the trick was working. Already, she was seeing a woman and not a monster. A skinny, undernourished woman. Her skin had an unhealthy waxy pallor and her dark hair lay in greasy clumps around her thin shoulders.

  “Gimme your coat.” The shifty black eyes probed Emily for any sign of weakness. Lord knew they were plentiful enough, and she didn’t need this hellspawn latching on to any of them. Emily averted her eyes then realized she’d made another mistake. A weakness had just been exposed. She was finding the woman’s nudity unsettling. There was a slight shift as the woman subtly rearranged her posture, leaning toward Emily belligerently. In a microsecond, she had picked up on Emily’s discomfort. That was spooky. Spooky and clever. Very, very clever. Oh, she’s good all right.

  “Not in a million years.” Emily made herself scowl disdainfully at the skinny, dirt-encrusted frame. It worked. She noticed a dull bloom spread across the jaundiced cheeks and the woman drew back. She may not be ashamed of her nudity, but she was ashamed of her condition. Emily knew for certain she had a sick creature on her hands, a sick, proud creature. Correction, she told herself, a sick proud human. Sickly and belligerent, what a winning combination that was.

  “What the fuck’s this?” Anxious fingers plucked at the collar, the fingernails bitten to the quick. Emily noted the change of direction. She was being wrong-footed. Forced her to see a human being, and forced to confront what she had done to her. Well, this woman was a monster, a werewolf and a killer, and she’d be damned if she would be manipulated into caring for a—

  A loud and uncontrolled sneeze blasted through Emily’s ruminations. She watched the woman shiver and wipe the back of her hand across her nose. Her brow was damp with sweat.

  Emily sighed and turned for the door. She needed to go get her second stash, the one on wheels about a mile up the road, and drag out some spare clothes. She didn’t have it in her to torture. She could disassociate from a monster and extract all the tissue samples she needed to implement the second part of her plan, but she couldn’t ignore the needy, morose woman glaring at her from behind these bars. That would be inhumane, and Emily wasn’t that. With a puff of annoyance, more at herself than anything else, she slammed out the door to make the short trek to the RV.

  “Hey. Where are you going?” The call followed her out the door; she tried her best to ignore its undertone of anxiety. She probably wasn’t supposed to hear it anyway.

  *

  Jolie heard Mouse go. The smallest sound had woken her, and her human ears pricked to attention. What was that? Tadpole lay on his blanket in the corner, his stubby legs stretched out, deep in sleep. The noise came again, a soft click that suddenly fell into place in Jolie’s mind. It was the door latch. She had been promising Hope for weeks to oil it. The metallic squeak was enough to get her out of bed and pad barefoot out into the hall so as not to wake Hope or their so-called guard dog.

  She was in time to see the door close. Jolie peered out the window into the darkness. Had someone been in their cabin? A soft growl began to rumble in her throat only to be cut off as her keen eyesight picked out a moving shadow. It was not an intruder; it was a guest. A guest leaving.

  Jolie opened the door just as softly and stepped out into the night. She followed Mouse into the trees and watched the youngster strip off her pajamas and crouch down. In no time at all, she mutated into her scruffy wolven form and scurried off deeper into the forest. Intrigued, Jolie dropped her drawers and flung off her top and did the same. She had to be quick or Mouse would outrun her in a blink once she hit an open stretch. She didn’t know Mouse very well, but like all the cubs in Little Dip, she was banned from running at night unless she was with an adult. Jolie didn’t feel that Mouse would be deliberately rebellious. She had a healthy enough respect for her elders, Ren and Isabelle especially, and for Marie Garoul in particular. Marie could put the living fear into any of the pups when she had to.

  So what had brought Mouse outdoors so stealthily? Jolie tailed her through Little Dip forest to the edge of the home valley. Mouse hesitated, sniffed the air, and after a slight stall, pushed on out of the Garoul homeland and into, for a cub, forbidden territory. There was no hesitation on Jolie’s part. Duty compelled her to follow, but now she felt a rising excitement. A monumental rule had been breached, and she sensed adventure. This was her excuse to disobey Marie and leave the valley. It was her responsibility to catch Mouse and find out what the hell she was up to, and, of course, to bring her back.

  *

  Luc rose to her feet and padded over to the bars, her keen hearing picking up the crunch of retreating steps. She gave a snort of derision that turned into a hacking cough halfway through, and spat a gob of mucus at the door.

  “Oh, where are you going, big bad hunter?” she called in a high mocking voice, once she knew the hunter was out of earshot. “Don’t leave me here all alone.”

  The hunter was tall, but not as tall as Luc. She was thin, too. Her clothes would fit nicely once Luc peeled them off her lifeless body. Luc slumped back onto the floor and plucked at the chewed buckle on the backpack. It was frustrating to be this weak. She wished she were home.

  Her shoulders drooped.

  Home. Where the hell was that? For Ren and Mouse, Little Dip was home now. Granted, she’d wanted Mouse there, far away from the virus that was rampaging through Singing Valley, but it meant Luc had little reason to go back north. And Ren would thump her if she ever got her hands on her. Where was sisterly love when you needed it? Luc felt abandoned without that particular safety net. Being a twin was a powerful bond. It felt strange, almost frightening, to be cast adrift without it.

  A small whine quivered somewhere in her chest and she quelled it. She was feeling mighty sorry for herself. She lifted the backpack and buried her nose in the coarse fabric and found strange comfort. From a long way out, she picked up the drone of an engine and grew anxious. It came closer and then stopped. Who had just driven in? Did the hunter have companions? She locked in on the silence and soon heard solitary footsteps approaching. She recognized the hunter’s footfall. That was a pleasant surprise; she’d expected to be left cold and hungry for at least several hours. That’s what she’d do to a victim. And now she knew there was a vehicle out there, too. Her data was building up. A car would come in handy when she decided to leave.

  She had some idea what the hunter’s plans were. The broken vials from the backpack and the small roll of surgical tools laid out on the windowsill told her this was serious. The hunting trophies this one wanted were a little more complex than Luc’s head on a platter. She had to escape before the woman could take specimen samples, or anyone else arrived to help her. If she could stay drug free, Luc figured she had a good chance. All she needed was to stay warm and well fed. If she could build her strength up, she should soon be able to mutate and be out of here in a blink.

  The footsteps came closer. She feigned an almighty sneeze to remind the hunter how sickly and unthreatening she was. The door opened and the woman walked in. She carried a small backpack and a thermos. Luc grinned. This was going to be a lot easier than she had thought.

  Chapter Nine

  Luc watched the woman enter. She set the backpack by the door and unbuckled it, pulling out a bundle of clothing. Next, she lifted a long pole from the corner; the sort of thing used to open high windows, and approached Luc’s cell. This was interesting.

  “Stand back,” she said, and dropped the clothes to the floor and began pushing them through the bars with the pole. She was keeping well out of Luc’s reach. Luc took a short step back, more a token gesture than compliance. Despite her weakened state, she was still stronger, faster, and in her opinion, smarter, than the average human. Luc lunged. She grabbed the pole,
and before the woman realized what was happening, dragged her rapidly forward. There was a lightning fast, unruly scuffle, but Luc managed to snag the woman’s wrist and slam her body hard into the iron bars.

  “Let go of m-me!” the woman yelled, her face a mask of terror inches away from Luc’s. Luc tightened her grip painfully. Excitement soared in her at the struggle. This was fun.

  “You’re dead.” Luc began to play with her prey. “I’m going to rip your—eep!” Luc yelped. With her free hand, the woman began to hit Luc repeatedly over the head with the thermos. “Hey. Stop that!”

  A lucky swipe caught her on the bridge of her nose. Blood gushed and her eyes watered. The woman’s panicked struggles intensified at the sight of blood. She was babbling nonsense, which Luc finally made out to be a stream of stammering. The woman was so frightened she was barely able to speak; she jabbered, and twisted, trying to jerk free. The terrified wrestling, along with the flow of blood from her nose, soon tired Luc out. Her excitement deflated, along with her energy. Maybe she wasn’t as ready for the game as she’d thought. She hauled on the hunter’s arm as hard as she could, pulling with all her weight, and slammed the woman against the cell bars. She slumped to the floor and Luc slid down with her, refusing to let go. The woman was out cold. Luc sat there, still holding her wrist, the pulse swimming under her fingertips. She counted the beats for a second feeling the heat of the woman’s flesh in her palm. What to do next?

  I should rifle her pockets. Wouldn’t it be nice for a key to the cell door, never mind this stupid collar, to fall out into Luc’s hand? Instead of a key, she pulled out a driver’s license, an inhaler, and a strip of pills from the only pocket she could easily reach. Not what she wanted but useful enough.

  “Well, hello there, Emily Jane Norma Johnston.” Luc smiled at the small color photograph. “That’s a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it, Emily?” She considered the pale hand clamped in her own. “And I’m sure you will be,” she said, sneering at her own joke.

  She threw the license into a far corner. The inhaler she slowly examined, twisting it around and around in her free hand, looking at it from all angles before tossing it after the driver’s license. The pills were another matter. She needed to think about them. She had no idea what they were but guessed they were connected to the strange odor she’d picked up on the backpack. These weren’t ketamine, the drug used to knock her out. Never once letting go of the hand, she set the foil pack next to her. These pills had something to do with that dark, dreamless place she could detect on Emily’s skin. Luc guessed they were antidepressants or maybe sleeping pills of some sort. What did that tell her about her enemy? Luc wished she had the emotional sensitivity to know. That would be a useful skill to have right now.

  Luc hauled the bundle of clothing closer but didn’t feel inclined to put anything on. It smelled of brash detergent and disinterested her. She’d rather be naked and interesting. She examined the hand she was holding. The skin was pale and the knuckles dusted with freckles.

  I bet you’re dappled all over. She raised the hand to her nose. Even with the blood clotting in her nostrils, she could make out the woman’s scent under the sour drug odor. It was…it was…She didn’t know what it was, but she sort of liked it. With another surreptitious sniff, Luc pulled a finger into her mouth and sucked on it. Taste flooded her. She rolled her tongue around the finger, drawing in a tinny flavor laced with salt, and a mechanical oiliness that probably came from the handle of the crossbow. Anxiety under-laced everything.

  Her gaze slid to the crossbow. It lay well out of reach by the door. It would be nice to have that inside the bars with her, too. She did not fear the silver tipped arrows. That was all superstitious nonsense. But she’d love to see this hunter’s face—this Emily’s face—when she came to and found herself on the wrong end of her own weapon.

  She withdrew Emily’s finger from her mouth and examined the palm. It was grimy and red. Acting on instinct, she licked along the lines, cleaning the fine ridged dirt, imagining she was washing away fate and the future, and replacing it with her own divinations, though what they were she had no idea. She squinted at Emily’s broken, bitten down nails. If she had the strength to turn Were, she would use her long fore claw to clean the stubby, dirt-laden things. Just look at those cuticles. This human was very neglected and unkempt; she needed a good grooming.

  Emily groaned. Luc tightened her grip on her wrist and waited. Nothing happened. Luc sat still, holding Emily’s hand, unsure of her next move. She felt as if she was on a cusp but was uncertain which line of action would be for the best. She should kill the hunter; after all, she had wanted to kill Luc, well, sort of. Luc glanced over at the surgical tools lined up on the window ledge. Whatever the plan was, it probably involved some sort of vivisection. But it was in Luc’s interest to keep her captor alive. She needed to make sure she could get out of this cell and remove this stupid collar. Then she would decide what to do with the human.

  She concentrated on the rain thrumming on the tin roof and on Emily’s shallow breathing. The rain came down harder and harder until the whole structure vibrated. Water seeped through the eaves and ran down the walls to pool on the floor. The drumming, the dripping, the steady measure of Emily’s breathing became almost meditative. And then she heard it, or thought she did, rolling in under the rattle of rain and the creaking of cabin walls…a lone howl. She sat up straighter and strained her ears, missing her wolven senses more than ever. Was it a howl? She cursed the incessant drum on the cabin roof. After several minutes, she decided she had heard nothing. It was just her mind playing tricks. But the imagined howling unnerved her. She was losing focus. What was she doing sitting in this paltry cellblock waiting to be hunted down and killed? She was ill and needed to recover as quickly as possible. The Garouls were after her, and the torrential rain would not slow them down for long. And what was she doing about it? Nothing, that’s what.

  She looked at the pale fingers enclosed in her palm. She was sitting here holding hands with a human. She was losing it; that’s what she was doing. Enough! She had to get out of Wallowa and somehow limp north.

  Emily moaned again and shifted but didn’t awaken. She seemed content to drift along on the verge of consciousness like flotsam on a tropical shoreline. Well, that was a luxury neither of them could afford. Luc lifted Emily’s hand and nipped hard on the soft flesh at the base of her thumb. Emily yelped and struggled to a sitting position.

  Oh? That got your attention. Excitement coursed through Luc, and her tongue tingled at the metallic taste of Emily’s blood. Emily pulled her hand away and gazed stunned at the bloody indents on her palm.

  “You bit me!” she screeched.

  “I was all out of smelling salts.”

  “Y-you bit me. D-does this mean—”

  Luc snorted. “You! A werewolf? A w-w-werewolf? I don’t think so, somehow.” She played on the stammer. “It’s only a little nip. If I’d really bit you you’d be looking at a bloody stump.” She was losing interest in the histrionics already.

  Emily shuffled backward on her bottom, staring at her hand. Luc regretted letting her go, but really, apart from killing her, it was pointless to hold on. There were no keys in her pockets, and the clothes and thermos were already on Luc’s side of the bars. In a few hours, she would have recuperated enough to transform and get the hell out. All she needed was a few more hours of rest, Garoul free.

  “You’re a b-b—” Emily began.

  “Babe? Beauty?”

  “Bastard,” she finished.

  “Ah, quit moaning. It woke you up didn’t it? What’s that for?” Luc nodded at the surgical instruments by the window. “You were planning to cut me open, weren’t you?”

  Emily had the grace to look embarrassed.

  “Who’s the bastard now?” Luc said. She lay back down on the dirt floor, uncaring for the cold permeating through it. She was bone tired. She lay there listening to Emily fuss over her piddly little wound.

  “Where
did you hear about us?” she asked.

  “There have always been rumors,” Emily answered tiredly. “The black yeti of the Wallowas is famous.”

  “Liar.” Luc’s gaze fell on the quiver of silver tipped arrows. “Who goes after yetis with silver arrows?”

  Emily ignored her.

  “Have you always been fascinated with werewolves?” Luc continued. “Or is it a recent obsession? There’s a name for werewolf groupies, you know. It’s dinner.”

  “My name for captured werewolves is stupid.” Emily rose to the bait as Luc had hoped.

  “So where did you hear about us?” Luc asked again, ignoring the jibe.

  “I knew what you were.” Emily’s voice was sullen. “I have an almanac. I’ve been studying it for years.”

  “You read an entire Garoul almanac?” Luc was surprised. “Good for you. I’ve never got past the first page without nodding off.”

  “It’s a beautiful book,” Emily sounded genuinely shocked. “And mine doesn’t even have the pictures.”

  “Wow, no pictures. You really are a scholar. So what was your plan? Cut me into chunks and auction me on eBay? Or maybe sell me to a zoo in one big living lump?”

  “The zoo was a last resort.”

  “Comforting, though I’d prefer the circus.” Luc sat up. “I can juggle you know.” She watched Emily dab some ointment on her palm. “It doesn’t work like that,” she told her. “You won’t become a werewolf with a little nibble like that.” Then a thought occurred to her. Perhaps she wasn’t so far off the mark with the groupie thing? “Now, if you wanted to become one, I could help. Just let me out of here and—”

  “Forget it. I’m more worried about tetanus than lycanthropy.” Emily continued dabbing at her hand. “Have you any idea how many bacteria are in the human mouth, never mind yours?”

  “Hey, I’m a natural balm. They say if you rub werewolf spit on the right place it can cure frigidity.” She shot a knowing look and saw Emily’s face burn. Ah ha, Miss Prissy took a direct hit.