Panther's Claim (Bitten Point #2) (15 page)

If a dog could give a disgusted look, Princess did. Very deliberately, she turned from Constantine and scratched the wall. Then she turned just her head to shoot her owner an expectant look.

“She thinks there’s something there.” Impossible given the dining room was on the other side of that wall.

Daryl took the few strides needed to peek through the archway. Big wooden table, straight-backed chairs, a chandelier. No Cyn. Just a plain dining room…that was narrower than the room he’d just come from.

A frown pulled at his features. He strode quickly through to the kitchen, a kitchen the same size as the back room.

An idea glimmered, and he returned to the sitting room, more specifically the fireplace. He crouched down to peek at the edges.

Princess gave him her first approving look ever, and it occurred to Daryl that maybe the dog was kind of cute.

“What are you looking for?” Constantine asked.

“Seams. See them?” Daryl traced the line up the jut of stone then across the mantel. His hand brushed a statue, which wobbled.

It didn’t fall, but was it him, or did the fireplace tremble?

He knocked the statue over, and it stayed flopped as the fireplace shifted to the side, revealing a dark entrance.

“I’ll be damned. Secret passage.” Every young boy’s dream.

A whiff of mildew and dust wafted but, of more interest was a familiar scent. “Cyn and that fellow went this way.”

“It looks like it goes down,” Constantine observed, sticking his head in. “I wonder if this links to the tunnels I hear they built.”

“What tunnels?”

“My grandfather told me about them when I was a kid. Rumor has it pirate smugglers built tunnels under the bayou, linking them to an oceanside cove.”

“Surely they would have caved by now.”

Constantine shrugged. “Maybe, except rumor also has it they were used back in the eighties and nineties to move drugs.”

“That’s insane. How the hell would we not know about tunnels under the town?” Daryl prided himself on being a smart guy, or at least an observant one. It burned he didn’t know about this possibility.

“No one knows, for the same reason humans don’t know we’re right under their nose. A well-crafted lie is sometimes easier to believe than the truth. And let’s be honest, we might be half-beast, but even we can’t know about everything that’s going on. The swamp is too big, and we are too few.”

“And not everyone gives a shit.” Just like some people could be bought. Greed wasn’t just a human failing.

Daryl began to strip out of his clothes just as Constantine turned around. “What the hell, dude?”

“I’m going after Cyn. Since neither of us has a gun, I’d rather be prepared to fight.”

“We could ask the cops for help,” Constantine suggested.

No way could Daryl have held in his snicker.

Constantine joined him. “Okay, so we don’t want to share the fun. I’m cool with that, but unlike you, I am going to keep my clothes on and rely on these two things.” A big fist met the palm of his other big hand. When it came to fisticuffs, Constantine proved deadly and very light on his feet, something most of his opponents didn’t expect. They had a chance to regret their mistake usually for about two seconds before Constantine knocked them out.

Daryl loved the money he collected on those wagers.

The change from smooth skin and two legs to four tipped in paws with claws wasn’t a whoosh and a blink-of-the-eye procedure. It didn’t take long—nature’s way of ensuring they weren’t vulnerable in between shapes—but the rapidity of an entire body changing its cellular structure to a new shape was not exactly pain free.

However, the pain proved fleeting, the excruciating agony in but a few blinks of the eye that was quickly forgotten in the thrill of wearing his other shape.

As his panther, all of his senses were sharper. The world might come to him in a slightly different way, yet there was nothing strange about it. He understood what the different shades he perceived meant, from the air currents to the heat, to the sharpness that allowed him to discern even the faintest of patterns in sifted dust.

As he padded into the hidden entrance, he did not yet bother to lower his nose to smell. No need. The trail practically blazed before him.

With each step, his cold fury grew. Felines might prove disdainful by nature. They might seem like good time tomcats with no cares, but that just hid the cold predator within. Cats were territorial, and if there was one thing Daryl thought of as his, that was Cyn.

She’s my mate.
And she needed him.

He just hoped he found her in time.

R
egaining
consciousness with a throbbing head was either a sign she’d had a really, really good time and drank a few too many or, in this case, seeing as how she was chained to a ring hammered into a cement wall, really, really bad.

Cynthia groaned as she pushed herself to a seated position, all she could manage given the circumstances. The metal rattle of the handcuff on her wrist kept her on a short leash. Her captive status also seemed a clear indicator someone wanted her to stay put. Given Cynthia counted herself a normal woman with normal reactions, she didn’t take it nicely, or quietly.

“Let me go! Help! Someone, save me. Help!”

Scream as she might, no one came. No matter how she abused her vocal cords, no one answered. All she could hear was the steady
drip drip drip
of water.

Bummer—and it gave her quite the urge to pee. No urinating would happen until she got loose, though. She tugged at the metal bracelet holding her prisoner, heaving and ho-ing, to no avail. Even propping her feet on the wall and pulling with all her weight didn’t budge the ring firmly embedded in the wall. It did, however, dig the metal into her wrists, and in turn, her inability to free herself depressed her.

It’s useless.

Breaking free using brute force wouldn’t happen. She slumped, with her back resting against the cold, dank wall. Such a barren and icky place. How had she gotten here?

One minute she’d peeked in a secret passage, and the next, she’d woken here with a throbbing head. Where was here, though, and how long had she been unconscious?

Without a watch or a phone, she couldn’t tell how much time had passed. This place had no window to gauge the position of the sun. For all she knew, bare minutes or hours could have elapsed. One thing she could probably count on was that the longer she remained here, the more likely it was that whoever chained her would return. It didn’t take a refined sense of smell to note the strong stench of a dog left out in the damp.

Even more disturbing was the hint of the same type of meaty decay she smelled at the B&B.
Please don’t tell me there’s a body in here.
The feeble light from the one dangling bulb didn’t exactly illuminate the shadowy corners piled with moldy boxes and crates.

The skitter of tiny feet didn’t reassure. Where there scampered one rat, more surely followed.

We have to get out of here!
Her wolf’s insistence only served to heighten her own anxiety. Surely there must be something she’d missed, some way to escape. She’d already tried brute force and failed. What of a tool, an item she could use to pry at the metal links?

A crowbar would be perfect.

Her rude kidnapper, however, had failed to provide anything she could use within reach, or so she discovered when she visually catalogued every inch of the space. A very strange place.

It resembled a bomb bunker with concrete walls, sturdy shelving bolted to it, and metal cans, rusted on the edges, the labels long since molded into obscurity. The corners held leaning piles of boxes, most of them collapsed and spilling moldy straw. Packing material before those popcorn Styrofoam pieces came along. Whatever the room’s use, it seemed as if it had been abandoned a long while ago.

Which really doesn’t bode well for rescue.

Clink
. Cynthia tugged again at her manacles and then glared at the cuff ringing her wrist. If only she could shrink her hand.

Hold on. She eyed her body—her very human body. There was a way to make her wrist smaller.

Stripping down wasn’t easy one-handed and crouched on the floor. It also proved chilly in this dark place, lit by only a single light bulb flickering from the ceiling. How nice of her kidnapper to leave her light. It would have been nicer if he’d left her alone.

With her arm bound, Cynthia could only partially remove her shirt, but with it hanging off her shackled arm, she didn’t fear getting caught in the fabric. Nothing more rookie than getting bound in clothes during a shift. It had happened during her teenage years when she found herself self-conscious about stripping down on a full moon for a run with others.

As naked as she was getting, she sucked in a deep breath.
Ready?
She couldn’t have said if she aimed the query at herself or her wolf. Teeth gritted tight, she allowed the change to happen. It drew a sharp cry from her. Expecting the pain never made it any easier. However, much like childbirth—or so her mother claimed—the pain soon faded, leaving behind only the unpleasant memory.

In her four-legged form, her wolf took the driver’s seat, but Cynthia remained very much aware. The deciphering of things proved a little odd. Her vision wasn’t quite the same. The things she found interesting did not grab her wolf’s attention at all unless it happened to be a nice pair of leather shoes—mostly because her wolf did enjoy chewing them. But still, a love by them both for fine leather products gave them something in common and a reason to go shopping.

As her wolf, things like scent, the visible evidence of tracks, and other things took precedence. Even better than this different perspective of her situation was the fact that her slimmer paw slid from the manacle with ease. Freedom!

But a freedom to go where, and what shape should she keep? As her wolf, she proved fleet of foot and definitely tougher. Right now, survival trumped her wolf’s vanity over their appearance.

Poking her head out the door proved easier than expected, as whoever had left her here didn’t latch it all the way. It took a bit of pawing, but she managed to wedge it open, only to find herself in a dark tunnel. The only light came from the bulb in the room. Out here, she noted a hum to the air, a machine-like hum probably from a generator that would explain the electricity to the room.

Lifting her nose, she sniffed. Cement. Dogman. Mold. Somebody else’s scent, the same one that she’d vaguely noted in the room with her. Decay also permeated the air, along with something familiar.

Aria?

Her eyes popped open, and she took a step in the direction of Aria’s scent. She took another. After a few steps, though, she realized she was going in the opposite direction she’d come from.

I might get lost.
She paused, torn between finding her friend and going back for help.

Aria would never turn back. She’d find me.
Because Aria was a true gangster with no fear. For her best friend, Cynthia would pretend she was brave, too.

Now just tell that to her racing heart.

On paws that really weren’t crazy about the cold and dirty concrete, she tread, passing a few doors, most of them closed and, those that weren’t, dark inside. The tunnel had very few lights working, the single bulbs spread few and far between, but at least she could see. Not exactly a good thing in this case.

The farther she went, the more her oh-poop meter waggled and wiggled and begged her to run in the opposite direction. Reminders that Aria needed her, that Cynthia could be brave, bolstered her.

Long gone, though, was the intrepid kidnapper and needle jabber. Things had gotten so dire with the discovery of the body. The adventure Cynthia had boldly gone on had turned sour.

Not entirely sour; we did find Daryl.

And now, even if by accident, she’d found the trail for her friend. The familiar smell teased Cynthia into going on, forcing her to rely on a courage that trembled in fear. Finding a second lone slipper didn’t help her shaky confidence.

What if I find her dead body?

Cynthia doubted she could handle that alone. What if she ran in to dogman? She still didn’t even have single Scooby Snack. What if she saw a giant rat? There wasn’t a single chair to stand on and scream if she did.

The what-ifs piled on top of each other, slowing her pace, until she stood shivering in the dank corridor.

Poop on a stick. What am I doing?

Running off blind again, that was what, and look at how much trouble that got her in most of the time. Perhaps she should do something smart for once, make a mature and informed choice such as going back the way she came and fetching some help.

The dilemma of what to do kept her frozen until she heard the hair-raising howl of something on the hunt. Instinct screamed it came for her.

Eep!