Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Monkey Wrench ❯ In the Belly of the Beast ( Chapter 15 )

Thursday, January 13, 2005

6:25 p.m. EST

Elkton, MD

Lisa's Brother's House

 

Lisa waved goodbye to her oldest brother Josh as he exited the house in a flurry of rushed expediency. He had to pick up his wife from the airport in Baltimore and wanted to make sure he got there in plenty of time; punctuality was a strong trait throughout the McKinley family. He thought she was temporarily staying here because Rid-a-Roach was fumigating her apartment complex. Lisa was just happy he had a spare bedroom available. She was not taking any chances with Dom and the army of memory erasing goons at his disposal. She couldn't believe she wanted to sleep with that creep!

 

After talking with Theryn that night (and listening to a half hour of her best friend's vehement denial of any involvement in such a dastardly plan) Lisa had decided to lay low for little while. She wasn't exactly comfortable in her own apartment, what with recent memories of knocked out mages and charming-imposter-designer-appreciating werewolf assholes trying to make her amnesia girl fresh in her mind. Theryn had offered up her own vacant apartment but Lisa knew the Uig Pack was familiar with its location and right now, werewolf evasion was a top priority. Therefore, staying in rural Maryland with her brother sounded like a smart logistical move.

 

There was one interesting thing she had discovered because of Dom's nefarious deeds, one she didn't think she'd have ever found out had he not decided on a little spell assisted lobotomy. Turns out, her old college friend Joe, is a Snib. Lisa had been stunned when Joe finally confessed to being a warlock, and not just some run of the mill Spell Caster either, a full blown Warlock Mage. She'd didn't buy his “I had a feeling you were in trouble” cover story so she'd needled and nagged until he finally declared his own secret Snib status.

 

It was unbelievable, at first, then Lisa started remembering little things like how he never got cold, his fluid, graceful, preternatural movements, and of course, his decidedly superhuman post-breakup devotion to Theryn. He had begged and pleaded with Lisa not tell her best friend and finally, after Rowan told her he thought it would be for the best, agreed to let the ever repentant and reluctantly pining Joe off the hook. Poor bastard thought he still had a chance with Theryn. Oh well, wasn't up to her to help Joe finally realize the futility of holding on to that fragile hope.

 

Thinking of Theryn, Lisa decided to give her a call. She remembered that tonight was supposed to be the first newly furry Thompson family reunion and if she knew Theryn, it was right about time to disrupt the domestic event. Lisa had known the Thompsons since she was in grade school, meeting Seth when he was still bald and in diapers, so she didn't feel like she was intruding. Hell, they were probably wondering why she wasn't there.

 

Picking up her brother's wacky train shaped telephone Lisa dialed the Thompson's house number, not taking any chances with Theryn's cell phone being on. She wasn't quite prepared for the panicked voice of Theryn's Mom answering half way through the first ring.

 

“Theryn, is that you?! Are you okay?!” Mrs. Thompson screeched into the receiver.

 

Oh shit, this didn't sound good, especially with vampire abductions and evil brain voodoo on the rise. Theryn's Mom was the type who made her daughter check-in when she got home from work every night, even though she was 24 and living in her own apartment. She would not take Theryn in distress very well at all.

 

“No Miss Isabella, its Lisa. What's happened to Theryn?” she asked worriedly.

 

“Oh Lisa, we don't know. She was outside walking Barnaby with one of the werewolf bodyguards and now she's gone. We can't find her anywhere; and the werewolf that was with her has been knocked out. He can't tell us anything. Seth's scouring the woods and Galen's driving all around town…”

 

Nearly dropping the phone on its truncated red caboose, Lisa stammered the only thing she could think of, “Have you called the police?”

 

Although she silently suspected they wouldn't be much help if Snibs were involved.

 

“No, that werewolf…I don't remember…Alistair? He said he called his Alpha for support and that the local police wouldn't know what to do. The Snib Task Force is over two hours away; she could be dead in a ditch somewhere by the time they got here!” Theryn's Mom wailed.

 

Lisa was beyond concerned. Miss Isabella was on the verge of a breakdown, so there was only one thing to do.

 

“I'm coming to the house tonight, I can help you guys look for her,” Lisa declared.

 

“Oh, thank you so much. I feel so helpless right now; nobody's letting me do anything!” Mrs. Thompson cried.

 

“Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can. Call my cell if you get any updates.”

 

After hanging up the phone on its railroad track shaped cradle, Lisa quickly grabbed her purse and car keys, then called Josh's cell, letting him think she was going to Theryn's for the party. She didn't tell him about Theryn's disappearance, knowing he'd want to come down to Seaford with her.

 

Theryn was just as close to the McKinley family as Lisa was to the Thompsons, so naturally Josh and her other older brother, Jacob, were just as protective of Theryn as they were of their own blood related sister. It made for a few, rare uncomfortable situations, like when Theryn had told them about Joe. The cheating magician still avoided running into her brothers, he was scheduled for a serious butt kicking. Although now that Lisa knew he was a big, bad, Warlock, maybe she shouldn't let her bros dole out the “ass whupping of justice” they'd been looking forward to for the past five years…

 

Jumping into her Jeep with gusto, Lisa revved the engine and threw the car into reverse, whipping around the driveway in a torrent of squealing tires. She had to help search for Theryn. No way around it now, she was inextricably linked to her best friend's Snib issues and they weren't going to go away on their own. She just hoped Theryn kept her head on straight and her impetuous temper in check.

 

Most of all, Lisa wished that Rowan would come save the day like before. She didn't know the particulars surrounding Theryn's rescue from the vampires, only that Rowan had done it single handedly and that afterwards, Theryn was a lot more tolerant of the bodyguard's domineeringly possessive ways. Whatever the case may be, Lisa had an awful feeling that Rowan was the only one who could save her best friend.

 

But one nagging thought stuck in her mind like an irritating splinter just beneath her reach as she flew onto the highway at breakneck speed.

 

Where was Rowan?

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7:05 p.m. EST

Seaford, DE

The Thompson House

 

Dom, Gage, Katie and Doc Mitchell waded into the Thompson's kitchen amongst a cacophony of yelling. A petite forty-ish woman, with a passing resemblance to Theryn, was screaming at a tall forty-ish man, with a passing resemblance to Seth. Seth was screaming at Alistair, Alistair was screaming at a seemingly asleep Frederick, and Frederick wasn't doing much of anything in response. Dom knew they had just stepped into the hysterically human domestic uproar resulting from Theryn's disappearance.

 

Doc immediately went to the living room sofa where Frederick lay and began examining him for injuries. Dom could already see three shallow claw-like gashes on the side of his forehead and a swollen black left eye. Heading back into the kitchen, Dom watched as Katie introduced herself to the frazzled brunette, while Gage pulled the haggard patriarch aside to tell him about the plan for Theryn's rescue. It was much like walking into the aftermath a natural disaster, things needed to be done, but the propinquity of what had just happened to their daughter was all they could think about.

 

Dom's cell phone rang and he picked it up, walking back outside where there were less distractions.

 

“Marsetti,” he greeted.

 

“We've done a sweep of the perimeter. There's some shallow tire marks on the northeastern side of the property by the woods. The tracks continue onto a nearby road but they could've gone anywhere from there. Wayne, Scott and Nathan are following a couple of fairly fresh werelynx tracks to see if anything turns up.”

 

“Thanks for the update, Lee. Call me when you get something we can move on.”

 

Dom listened for a couple of beats as Lee's hesitance became palpable.

 

“Sure…but what's up with the werelynx? I thought we were dealing with an ambitious rival wolf pack not some stray cats?”

 

“Just keep doing your job Lee. Stay on the trail; see if you can find a clue as to where they took her. Gage will probably send Alistair out to meet you in a few minutes. Frederick's out of commission at the moment.”

 

“Okay, I see, it's on a `need to know' basis, no problem. Hey Dom, has anyone told Rowan that his mate's been kidnapped?”

 

Dom cleared his throat loudly, “Let me worry about telling our Beta Guard the bad news.”

 

Lee made a low whistle that rattled in his ear over the phone, “Man, I don't envy you. He's going to kill the Gammas for letting her get captured, I mean, how hard is it to keep one human female from--”

 

“Lee!” Dom exclaimed, thoroughly exasperated with the chief of the investigative unit, “I'm sure Rowan will manage to restrain himself from murdering his seconds. Focus on the trail, I want an update in a half hour, give me something concrete.”

 

He flipped the phone down with an exaggerated slap. He reminded himself that Lee was a good investigator, they're best after Rowan and “the Gammas” a.k.a. Frederick and Alistair. The Pack had nicknamed the two brothers after the third letter in the Greek alphabet when Rowan had taken them as his chief backups when they were fourteen. Dom always wondered what he was called behind his back… something complimentary he was sure. Technically he was second in line for the Alpha position, perhaps that made him Vice-Alpha?

 

Heavy footsteps made him turn around and face a looming Alistair as the bodyguard walked up behind him on the front patio.

 

“How's Frederick doing?” Dom asked with concern.

 

“He's fine. Doc injected him with something and he woke up instantly,” the intimidating werewolf responded.

 

“Good. Does he know what happened?”

 

“No. He remembers getting knocked down by a bunch of big cats. He heard the sound of a car being started, and finally a stabbing sensation in his thigh. Doc said the lynx gave him enough Thorazine to put a T-Rex to sleep.”

 

Dom shook his head in disgust. Those pussy bastards had resorted to tranquilizers.

 

“I'm sorry Alistair. He'll recover okay?”

 

The guard cracked a tentative smile, “Yeah. He's already gunning to get out there and head up the search.”

 

Then his face fell and he added quietly, “Rowan's going to kill us you know.”

 

Dom avoided his declaration and gazed up at the stars, as if he could look toward answers from the heavens. He knew all too well that place was an unlikely source of information.

 

Slipping his hands into the pockets of his Marc Jacobs wool trousers, he responded, “I'm not going to lie to you. He's going to be pissed. You know, Gage or I could tell him when he gets back--”

 

“No Dom,” Alistair said forcefully, “It was our fault his mate was abducted on our watch, and he trusted us to see to her safety. We'll take whatever punishment our Beta feels is necessary.”

 

Dom stifled the urge to sigh loudly. The Gammas worshipped at Rowan's feet. They'd probably see it as an honor to get killed by him, or something equally ridiculous and maudlin.

 

“All right. Until then, why don't you go meet up with Lee, he's out on the northeastern perimeter investigating some tire tracks and the lynx trail…”

 

Alistair was gone before he finished his sentence, running with all the speed and agility of a 23 year old lupinara. He remembered what is was like to have all that excess energy to burn, it was like a shot of pure adrenaline. He'd long outgrown such youthful enthusiasm.

 

Taking one last look at the night sky, Dom turned around to head back into the house, hoping it had returned to some semblance of order. Instead, he heard the sound of tires over gravel and craned his neck around the trees to investigate. He watched as a black Jeep Liberty flew down the lane like a bat out of hell, a dusty maelstrom of dirt and stones left lingering in its wake.

 

What was she doing here?

 

The car door banged opened and a slim, charcoal grey cashmere clad leg topped by a burgundy leather sling back peeked out briefly before the rest of the venomously hostile human female followed.

 

“What are you doing here?” Lisa spat viciously at him from over thirty feet away.

 

“I was just about to ask you the same question.”

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7:30 p.m. EST

Milford, DE

Nikolai's House

 

The van had finally stopped. I thought we'd been driving forever and I had no idea where I was because there were no windows in the cargo hold and it was already dark outside. I'd just spent what seemed like hours huddled up against the far corner of the van in pitch black darkness. I was hoping the werelynx would start talking to each other so I could figure out what the hell was going on. Unfortunately these guys must have done this kind of thing before, not a peep out of them.

 

So it was in this deathly silence that the doors opened up and I was greeted to slightly more illumination by the crescent moon hovering high in the night sky above. I was really scared now; this was my second spontaneous seizure in four days! Rowan was MIA somewhere on “business,” Lord only knows what happened to Fred back at the farm with those two leftover lynx and my family must be freaking out in panic. I was grateful they had been spared from my previous encounter with involuntary abduction; it would only make them more upset. I hoped Al had contacted Gage and figured out what to do.

 

Oh damn, I wish Rowan had been with me. Somehow, I thought all of this wouldn't have happened had he been there, but I guess we'd never know. Right now, all I had going for me was that I was fully clothed, not the best advantage in the world but it sure made me feel better.

 

All of the naked Weres exited the van in a nimble and surprisingly un-jiggly fashion. I knew if that had been me trying to get out of a truck this high in the nude, I would have shaken like Jell-O on the San Andreas Fault. Thankfully the world was spared from such a sight, as my fully clothed self was forcefully pulled from the van by the ever so accommodating Tail Boy. He kept whipping that furry appendage around, I think to intimidate me. Again, not sure of the particulars here, but he shouldn't of bothered. I was already as nervous as long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

 

Tail Boy decided I had been given too much freedom, with my ankles and wrists being unbound and all, so out came the rope. What's this, no handcuffs like the vampires? Clearly these guys needed to get with the program, rope was so very passé. Maybe he was going for an old school feel? Whatever the case may be, I was now bound, hand and foot. I plopped down on the pavement with a resounding thud. Ouch! That was going to bruise in the morning.

 

It was still very dark and I was surprised I could see a line of evergreen trees, in a three-quarter square surrounding the yard we had parked in. They were those really fast growing trees that grew to at least a ten foot height within a few years. People used them in suburbia as “natural fences” and so it seemed was the case with wherever I had been taken. Yeah, guess we better keep the neighbors from suspecting we're kidnapping people here, so up with the crappy conifers!

 

Why was I being sarcastic even at times like this? I'm beginning to think it was my crutch. As I looked around Tail Boy to see if I could ascertain any more information about where I was, he pulled out a massive blindfold. Seriously, this thing was big enough to cover my entire head four times over. I flinched away from his approaching figure and he grinned at me, incisors picking up the limited light to gleam their malicious intent.

 

“What're you scared of little girl? `Fraid I'm gonna bite ya?” Tail Boy asked.

 

I narrowed my eyes at him; certain he could pick up my facial features as well as I could pick up on his leering taunts. I probably should have figured out what was up with my recently cured myopia but again, that wasn't a priority right now. I refused to be cowed by this hulking Were-freak, (“little girl,” please, I was so not petite). Nevertheless, my heart was beating a mile a minute and he could hear every frantic thump like a military tattoo. Sometimes, you've just gotta bullshit.

 

“Just put the damn blindfold on Garfield, I don't have all night,” I managed to say cheekily.

 

Tail Boy stopped dead in his tracks, then cocked his head and smirked at me. I really, really didn't like that smirk. Then suddenly, one second he was five feet away, the next I felt a stinging blow to my face. It was like getting hit by a baseball bat, with Babe Ruth behind the swing.

 

“Aaaaaaaah!” I screamed in pained agony. I pitched over onto my side and curled up into the fetal position, my bound hands wrapping around the top of my head in anticipation of future blows. Okay, note to self: abort bullshitting technique, method has proven unsuccessful.

 

What was strange though, seconds after I came to my profound conclusion, the mark on my back flared to life, just like when Katie had broken my fingers, which by the way were still wrapped up like a Leonard Nimoy tribute sign. The burning pain of the mark was not quite so intense as before but I felt it just the same. Tail Boy looked at me in astonishment, and then started snickering loudly.

 

“You've been marked by a werewolf, haven't you little girl? Ain't that interesting? Wonder what sort of charms you've got to bag a wolf with that much juice?” the Were sneered at me from above, “Lucky for you it ain't worth my trouble.”

 

So with that heartfelt compliment, he swung me up with my back to him and tied the blindfold around my head. I realized the covering was actually a black t-shirt, thick with the scent of deodorant. Great. Not only was I stumbling around unfamiliar territory as a werelynx hostage, but I had to do so with the olfactory equivalent of rented bowling shoes. Gee guys, thanks for the consideration, a worn, sweated-in, Speed Stick laden t-shirt for a blindfold. Really? Is it too much to ask for clean sensory depravation devices?

 

The Ike Turner of werelynx decided it was time to lead me toward the direction of my captivity, so I was again hurled up onto his shoulder and carried to God only knows where. As far as I knew we were heading for a pup tent in the tree line, that was how useless my eyes and ears were right now. I felt the hilly sensation of moving up a set of steps so at least my tent theory was proven incorrect, or they were making some pretty swanky camping gear nowadays.

 

I didn't have time for any more inane musings on my hidey hole because I heard a door opening and a man with a distinctly non-American accent ordering my captor to do something in muted tones. I strained to hear more of what he was saying but the t-shirt covered my ears completely and all I got was some more muffled exclamations. I did however get the impression Mr. Accent was in charge.

 

Tail Boy was still carrying me around like a caveman's prize and I was at least grateful for the fact that he didn't bump me into any doorways or convenient table top corners. I heard a very loud creaking noise; as if a movie set's sound guy had just been prompted by the director to make the “spooky haunted house effect.” I felt my werelynx transport shift me on his shoulders, angling me farther down his back, and then the impression of steps. We were going downstairs.

 

When we finally reached the bottom I was swung around so swiftly I felt like one of those haplessly trusting female figure skaters depending on their slightly less effeminate Pairs partner to catch them before they landed headfirst on the ice. Seconds later I was forcefully deposited on what felt like a thin, stiff mattress of some sort, covered in scratchy, cheap cotton sheets. Huh? This shit just kept getting weirder and weirder.

 

I heard some more of the stifled accent and then a very loud clang. The sound an iron gate makes when slammed, it reverberated throughout the room as if it was acoustically designed for maximum ominous effect. Well no need to tell them it was working.

 

I hadn't been expecting my blindfold to be ripped off so quickly but when it happened I sure was grateful. Helen Keller had a bad gig folks, and that is the truth. I took a few frantic breaths of untainted air, blessing its aluminum and talcum free existence in my mind. Unfortunately, it was still nearly impossible to see my surroundings; he might as well have kept the damn shirt on my head except I could now hear much better than before.

 

“What are those marks on her face Eric?” said the other man; his voice was a quiet whisper in the dark.

 

Tail Boy, whom I now knew was Eric, made a non-committal sound, something between a grunt and a moan. It was cut off abruptly when I heard a snick sound, like a knife sliding out of metal; it was followed by a wet, squishy noise. My mind had conjured up all sorts of possible scenarios and all of them would have been quite at home in a Stephen King novel.

 

There was thud, and then a high pitched cry of agony. Somebody was in some serious pain and it might have been horribly selfish, but I was damn glad it wasn't me.

 

“I used a pure silver knife Eric, with something a little extra on the blade courtesy of my mage friends. I suggest you remember to heed all of my orders in the future. I distinctly remember saying she was not to be harmed,” claimed the stranger.

 

Because he'd spoken quite a few words just then, I was able to pinpoint the accent. It was the exact same accent I had heard from the Russian characters in The Hunt for Red October, at least before they switched over to speaking English. This guy was Russian and I had a sneaking suspicion I was listening to the doubled fanged menace himself, that brother biting bastard Nikolai.

 

Eric was now making a high pitched keening yowl, which I stupidly thought sounded much like a dying cat. How apropos, if that was indeed what Nikolai had just done to him. Just then, I heard a gate scrape open followed by footsteps, then a few seconds later, a body being dragged away. The threatening clash of the closing gate temporarily drowned out Eric's mewls. They were much quieter now and my eyes grew wide as I realized he really was fading from this world, all because I'd goaded him into slapping me in the face. I wasn't exactly feeling sorry for my kidnapper, just upset that I had been the catalyst for his murder. Nikolai really was a heartless killer, and I was locked in some sort of cage with him. My breathing became uncontrollably labored.

 

“Do not panic, I will not harm you. You are safe within these walls,” Nikolai spoke in a soft voice.

 

I figured since he'd turned all stab happy at the sight of bruising on my face, I wasn't in any immediate danger. I tried to look at this pragmatically; maybe we could negotiate a deal? I obviously had something he wanted, and I was more than willing to give it to him if it meant no more kidnappings and using my family members as chew toys.

 

“Could you turn on a light or something, I can't see a thing,” I asked in a most placating tone, like I was trying to talk a suicide jumper off a twenty story window.

 

“Of course, I apologize. I forget dru—humans cannot see as well in the dark,” he murmured.

 

After a few seconds, I saw a match flare to life and caught my first impression of the famous lupinara as he went about lighting a series of antique oil lamps and large beeswax candles. It seemed oddly romantic, or more appropriately, archaic. I chose the latter because the former was insanely preposterous, as if Nikolai would break out a bottle of Asti Spumanti and crank up the Barry White with a come hither look on his face.

 

As the second lamp was lit I got my first look at the elusive werewolf and nearly gasped in surprise. He defied my expectations, especially since I'd spent a few days in the Uig Pack stronghold and had gotten used to the “good genes” being a Were often gave somebody. Weres in general were good looking people; they had a healthy freshness to them, an overall robustness that screamed “attractive!”

 

Nikolai's face was pale, not pale as in having a fair complexion but ashen, almost chalky. His straight black hair was a lank and dull substitute for Dom's glossy ink curls. Even those amazing werewolf eyes were a dead, murky navy, when they should have been a brilliant shining sapphire. His figure, while still obviously powerful, was near gaunt. Cheekbones stood out too prominently from the sunken flesh of his face. His 5'10” frame was stooped in a painful parody of Quasimodo. Clothes billowed out around him in voluminous layers, the cuffs around his wrists dangling low and limp. Even his voice was not the bombastic bass notes I was sure he should have had, but the hushed tenor of a Gregorian monk.

 

This was the feared almighty mega-wolf? This guy was the one who had bitten my brother and sent the Uig Pack's top level management into a secret frenzy of terror? He looked like a cancer victim, not the most powerful lupinara of his age. But I'd just seen him ruthlessly murder a werelynx three times his size without so much as a flicker of exertion. Maybe Nikolai was so damn scary because he did look like this and was still able to beat the shit out of any challengers.

 

Bloody hell.

 

Nikolai carried a lamp over to a small table near the hospital gurney I was sitting on. He proceeded to place the lamps and candles throughout what I now saw as a caged domicile. I could see the bed I was on and the presence of another bed just like it to my left. There were more machines and monitors then in most hospital rooms and I got an eerie sense of déjà vu remembering the Uig Pack's basement ER. It was obvious I was here for some medical purpose but as to what I couldn't possibly fathom. Maybe he needed my blood for something? Snibs were always needing blood for one thing or another.

 

Once he finished putting all the lamps and candles around the room, he came around the front of the bed and stared at me. He just stared at me, like I was one of those computer generated Magic Eye images and would morph into something 3-D and nifty. Sorry to disappoint you dude but all you're going to get out of me is crossed eyes and a headache.

 

“You have no idea, do you?” Nikolai asked me quietly.

 

“Um, why I'm here? You're right, I have no clue,” I admitted, matching his hushed tone as I answered.

 

“No not just that, you know nothing about your heritage, about the scarcity of the blood that runs through your veins,” he insisted, with slightly more inflection.

 

My eyebrows rose up in indignation. Uh, last time I checked, I was still an American and as for blood, I was your average Heinz 57 mutt. A charming European mix nonetheless, my maternal grandparents still spoke German and Italian, having immigrated to the States in the late 1920's. My Dad's Scotch-Irish side came over before the Revolution, so yeah I was pretty sure about my heritage and didn't appreciate Mr. Pureblood Russian telling me otherwise.

 

“I know my ancestry if that's what you're asking. I don't see what it has to do with anything--”

 

“Ah, but it has everything to do with me. Let me introduce myself, I am Nikolai. Although something tells me that is not news to you? The Uig Pack has told you of me, no?” the werewolf leaned in closer than I liked with that question.

 

“I took a wild guess from your accent Nikolai,” I responded, deciding against telling him said accent reminded me of a whispering Boris from the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show.

 

Before he could respond, I added, “And just what are you talking about, this `scarcity of blood' stuff sounds strange? I'm pretty sure there are some more people out there with my bloodline's combination--”

 

“No!” he corrected emphatically, nearly shouting the hoarse declaration as he leaned in even closer. “There are no others, you are the last. I am sure of it. Now that your brother is lupinara, you are the last fey blooded human of any import, the last druid.”

 

To quote my favorite movie character, “Alrighty then,” that just about summed up my feelings on being called a pagan tree worshiper, the very last one no less. Hate to break it to ya Niki old boy but a nature-loving, solstice-celebrating, hooded-robe wearing devotee I am not. Man it would royally suck to have this whole Snib fiasco based on Nikolai's bad intelligence; he really shouldn't have put all his eggs in one basket.

 

“Um yeah, about that, I'm not a druid. I mean, I know I haven't been to church in a while but I'm a Christian Protestant. Christmas, Easter, Lent, I go then…” I tried to qualify convincingly.

 

Shaking his head intensely Nikolai rebuked my assertions, “No, not your religion, your blood,” he confirmed breathlessly while staring at me with newly intense eyes, “You have the magical blood of the fey in you.”

 

I stared wide eyed at him, my mouth gaping open in shocked realization. He had called me a druid and I had immediately picked up on the religious meaning of the word but he meant it in its racial expression. I learned a little something about the fey from my reading in the Uig library. Druids were a race of the fey, the progeny of a human male and a fey female. But that was impossible; I knew my mother and father were human, plus the fey were famously blonde. None of the pure bloods had hair darker than wheat. My immediate family was dark haired, my own a few shades short of black, there was no way I had fey in me.

 

“I think you're mistaken--”

 

“No my dear, I am not,” Nikolai interjected emphatically, “But this is not the time to convince you of such things, for there is much work to be done tonight.”

 

I heard the gate opening again and saw a tall, cloaked figure enter the room with deliberate steps. The dim light of the room picked up his outline first and I was suddenly more scared of him then the werewolf I'd just seen murder someone standing not three feet in front of me.

 

I had called Nikolai pale, went so far as to say ashen. The bald man entering the room was worse; he had skin like wax paper, transparent in its pallid papery drape. He wore a high collared black robe, leaving nothing but his head and hands to the naked eye. His fingernails were the hardened yellow ones of the elderly, but his claws were much longer than was deemed decent for a man in this era.

 

“Hello Theryn,” the man's colorless lips strained as they stretched over pearly ivory teeth. He offered his hand for me to shake and I looked at him like he was insane and something told me that wasn't too far off the mark.

 

He smiled an easy shark's grin, finally showing me the long pointed incisors that marked him as a vampire (for Weres only had them when transformed or partially transformed and they were nowhere near this long).

 

“I don't think she likes me too much Nikolai,” the vampire joked.

 

The lupinara narrowed his eyes, a touch of irritation clouding his face, “Let's get this over with Darastus. I don't have much time to spare.”

 

Oh shit, this creepy vampire was Darastus? The guy Rowan and that Viking vampire were talking about? He must be something special because Nikolai was still respectful to him, not derisive like he'd been with the werelynx, despite his frightening me.

 

I was still bound by my hands and ankles; the cast iron cage surrounding the area was closed and looked awfully hard to escape. My heart was beating frantically because I could tell by the look in Nikolai and Darastus' eyes I wasn't going to like what they had in store for me.

 

Unfortunately I never got beyond the anxious agitation phase because I felt a cool, almost vapor like mist enter my nose. It was like a fine haze of lavender and valerian as it wafted up to my brain and my eyes drifted close in a magically herb induced sleep. Inside I was screaming, “Not now! Not now!” but I had no defense against the potion. So it was with a deceitfully calm sigh that I lay on my back, knees curled slightly to my right side and fell into a deep, coma-like sleep in the belly of the beast.

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The Gaea Dimension

 

Rowan's violet eyes flicked over the faces of every one of his apprehensive team members. Edgar and he had just broken the news to them moments ago and were now in the process of somehow trying to figure out how to get a hold of Alden. Unfortunately it was damn near impossible and with every second that slipped by feeling like an eternity, they didn't have time to waste.

 

Edgar was talking with Meliora, the Portal Technician, who just happened to be a fey with psychic abilities. The plan was to use her combined gifts to get a message through to the IDPC and let them know what had happened. As it was, Alden merely thought he'd open up the portal in seven hours fifty-five minutes Earth time; there was no way for him to detect any strange manipulations in Gaea's chronosphere.

 

As Rowan prepared to walk to a nearby tent with Edgar and Meliora, he felt the burning fire of the claiming mark sear through his brain, a bolt of white hot rage that was unmistakable to any male lupinara.

 

Theryn was in danger.

 

It was all he could do not to scream out loud his frustration for the whole IDPC inquiry team to hear. He knew intrinsically that Darastus or Nikolai had gotten to her. This wasn't some run of the mill injury, the mark would only flare when Theryn truly felt she was threatened and a paper cut or a clumsy fall down the stairs wouldn't have garnered such a reaction.

 

Dammit! Where were Frederick and Alistair? Something must have gotten to them, because he knew his men wouldn't have let her get captured otherwise. Rowan just prayed that Gage was hot on the trail. God only knows what that bastard vampire or crazy Russian werewolf had in store for her. Shit, he wasn't going to be able to keep his cool--

 

Suddenly, it was as if the fire in his head extinguished, a torrent of icy emptiness obliterating its distressing presence. This was not good. Theryn was either unconscious, or …

 

No, he wouldn't believe that. She couldn't be dead; he'd know if she was because the Daoine Maithe union charm would have lifted and he still felt its comforting weight on his aura. If only they could open this damn portal! He could track her to the ends of the Earth; he had a permanent scent imprint on her. Gage had only the Pack's three best trackers and the dubious chance of a viable trail.

 

“Rowan, are you all right? You looked like you've been punched in the gut,” Meliora questioned worriedly, mint green eyes narrowed in noticeable concern.

 

Edgar was looking at him shrewdly, the silent question he was asking evident in his eyes. Rowan met Edgar's look and nodded curtly, the lupinara knew what his reaction meant.

 

“I'm sure he's fine Mel,” Edgar stated calmly, despite the obvious tension, “Let's get moving on opening up this portal.”

 

The werewolf Di-Chrono expert snuck a hurried glance at Rowan's seething form and added, “Something tells me there's much more at stake here then before.”

 

Meliora knitted her flaxen eyebrows in bewilderment, “What do you mean? What could possibly be worse than dropping back to Earth in the middle of September?”

 

Rowan's whole body tightened and he scowled at the now cowering delicate fey, “Let's hope you don't have to find out.”