Panther's Claim (Bitten Point #2) (16 page)

T
he tunnels
that led from the secret fireplace entrance were long and twisty. They also branched off a few times, but they could have branched off a dozen more. Daryl would have still followed her scent.

His four paws ate the tunnel in giant strides, his feline for once not protesting the fact that it got its feet wet or that they didn’t explore the interesting scents permeating the place.

Urgency drove him to run faster and faster, probably because, from a side tunnel, the fresh scent of the dogman overlay that of Cyn’s. It seemed there was more than just one person using these hidden corridors. The lack of steady lighting, and the twists, made it difficult to predict what lay ahead. It didn’t help that, in a few spots, parts of the tunnel had caved. While someone had dug an opening through these spots, they proved tight, especially for Constantine, who, being a rather bulky kind of fellow, couldn’t always fit his broad shoulders through with ease. As for Princess, she dashed along not daunted at all, her sideways gait and lolling tongue expressing excitement at the chase.

The biggest dilemma came at a fork in the tunnels. Via one, Daryl could scent Cyn, and yet Princess dashed down the other.

“Princess! Come back to Daddy,” Constantine called.

But the little dog was off, barking in the distance.

“Shit,” Constantine cussed as he loped off after the dog. He shouted, “Dude, I gotta go after Princess, but you should keep going after Cynthia. I’ll catch up.”

Constantine would have to because Daryl wasn’t about to wait for him, not when he heard the echoing howl from the tunnel holding Cyn’s scent.

I know that sound.
The hunting call of a predator. He put on a burst of speed, pushing himself harder and faster, almost running past an open doorway that suddenly appeared. He slowed his mad dash, but was still caught by surprise by the hairy body that hurtled from the room.

He’d found his recent nemesis—dogman.

Had Daryl worn his human shape, he might have snapped something witty like, “Hey, dog breath, eaten any shit lately?” But cats were more suave than that, so he settled for a
Meowr
and a snarl as they wrestled for dominance.

This time, he kept his panther form rather than resorting to a half-shift. His teeth were sharper this way, his claws more deadly. When the dog thing tackled him to the ground, he paid for it in blood, as Daryl tore the thing’s skin to ribbons.

Unlike a normal creature, dogman didn’t cry out in pain. He only got madder.

And more slobbery.
Like, ew, wear a fucking bib.

Then Daryl felt it, an electric sizzle as if someone had touched him with a lightning bolt, except it came from the creature or, more likely, the creature’s metal collar.

Daryl released the monster, who hissed and snarled as its fingers grabbed at the ring around its neck.

“You know that won’t work, Harold.” The man who stepped into view wasn’t a stranger to Daryl. While the guy was a few years older, he recognized him as Sheriff Pete’s son, Merrill.

The knowledge went a long way and explained why Pete wasn’t keen on people finding out what was happening. His son was involved, and not in a good way, judging by the revolver in one hand and the remote in the other.

Given staying a cat wouldn’t get him any answers, Daryl swapped shapes and hoped Merrill wouldn’t use that moment to shoot him. Bullets hurt. Having gotten shot at a few times when he was younger and liked to play chicken with hunters, Daryl preferred to not explain to his mother, again, why she had to dig bullets out of his flesh.

Stretching to his full height, Daryl eyed the sheriff’s son, sparing only a passing glance at the dogman crouched at his feet.

“What are you up to, Merrill?”

“Just doing my job.”

“Does doing your job involve killing people and kidnapping others?”

The guy shook his head. “If this is your attempt to get me to talk and spill my guts, then you might as well stop now. I’m not telling you a damned thing. Why bother, when you’ll soon be experiencing it? We need new subjects. Your girlfriend will make a good one, but you’ll be even better. We don’t have any felines to play with.”

“I won’t be a lab rat for your sick game.”

“It’s not a game. Everything I have done is fully sanctioned.”

“You can’t tell me the council agreed to let you kill people.”

Merrill’s lips twisted. “A regrettable accident. We’ve had a few recently. But nothing we can’t hide. We’ve been doing it for years. And, now, enough chatter. Get on your knees with your hands behind your back.”

“Or what, you’ll shoot me? I’d rather die than go willingly with you.” Actually, he’d rather chew Merrill’s face off and then pee on him, the ultimate feline disdain.

“Who says this gun has bullets?” The smile on the other man’s face was anything but reassuring. “The lab prefers its subjects uninjured. Hence why this gun is charged with tranquilizers.”

Uh-oh.
Before Merrill finished talking, Daryl dove to the side, avoiding the first shot. A narrow tunnel, though, didn’t give many options for movement. With nothing to lose but his life, Daryl did the only thing he could. He charged Merrill, taking the guy off guard.

They tumbled to the floor, hitting it hard. A metallic clatter let Daryl know Merrill lost his grip on the gun, but he’d kept one on the remote.

“Kill him,” Merrill screamed, and Daryl didn’t have to hear the low snarl from behind to know dogman—a man who used to be called Harold—rose to the command.

Wrapping his hands around Merrill’s throat, he managed one hard tap, two, before instinct had him rolling to the side, and just in time, as Harold pounced.

The impact knocked the remote from Merrill’s hand, and Daryl caught a moment of panic flashing in his eyes.

Before he could think on it, Harold jumped on him, hairy paws and claws slashing at him. Daryl caught the fur-covered wrists and held him at bay, barely.

Their struggle pushed him back, the dog-like creature strong, strong enough that Daryl lost ground. His foot stepped on something that crunched. It was enough to make him stumble.

“Fuck. “ He grunted the word as he felt himself fall to the floor and then thought it again as he strove to keep Harold from ripping out his throat.

I’m a goner.
In that moment, Daryl began mentally saying goodbye to a few people. His position under Harold definitely placed him at a disadvantage.

The slavering jaws lowered. The wild light in Harold’s eyes held not an ounce of humanity, nothing but a killing hunger.

It might have been lights out at that moment if something hadn’t hit dogman and knocked him off balance.

Stumbling to his feet, Daryl noted a small wolf facing off against the much bigger Harold.

He could smell the fear radiating from her, see the fright in her eyes, yet she stood there, hackles raised, lip peeled back in a snarl, attempting to defend him.

Ah, how cute.

“Don’t you worry, honey. I’ve got this.” Daryl shot the dogman in the back with the tranquilizer gun he’d scooped off the floor. Shot him a second and third time, just to be sure.

Harold snarled, took a staggering step toward Cyn, then slumped to his knees before slamming face-first into the floor. Daryl didn’t waste a second longer watching to see if he stayed there. He swung around looking for Merrill, but of the other man, he couldn’t find a trace. The bastard had slipped away.

Relief suffused him as he turned back to Cyn and realized she was safe. Safe, yet why did she huddle against the wall, head hanging?

“Are you hurt, honey?” Daryl stepped over Harold and crouched before her. Stretching out his hand, he meant to stroke her, but she swung her head away from him. “What the hell? What’s wrong?”

He gave her space as she changed shape, fur getting absorbed by skin, bones cracking and reshaping. A few blinks of an eye, an agonized moan, and then his mocha honey was slumped before him.

He dragged her into his arms, ignoring her squeak. He squished her in a giant hug. “Fuck me, but I’m glad I found you.”

“You came looking for me.”

“Well of course I did. You didn’t really think I’d let you get kidnapped and not do anything, did you?”

She tilted her head and gave him a small smile. “You’re the first man, other than my daddy, to ever rescue me.”

“Do you often need rescue?”

She shrugged. “I panic.”

“Not this time you didn’t. You saved me, Cyn.”

She ducked her head. “I couldn’t exactly let him eat your face. It’s kind of cute.”

“Only kind of?” He laughed. “Wait, don’t answer that. I’m just glad your wolf came along in time. She’s a cutie, by the way.”

He felt her stiffen. “You don’t have to pretend.”

“Pretend what?”

“That there was nothing wrong with my wolf. I’ve come to grips with it.”

“Grips with what?” He frowned. “I didn’t see anything wrong with your wolf. Four paws. Fur. Ears. Great big teeth.”

“A stubby tail.”

He snorted. “And? What of it?”

Her turn to frown. “I don’t have a proper wolf tail, just a little wee stub of one that the doctor says came from my dad.”

While it didn’t happen often, sometimes interbreeding of the species mixed up some traits. But Daryl didn’t get the big deal. “So what if you’ve got a bear’s ass. I happen to like your ass.”

“It doesn’t bother you that I’m not perfect?”

Daryl squeezed her tight. “That’s where you’re wrong, honey. You are perfect. Just the way you are.”

“If we weren’t in a dark tunnel beside a snoring dog thing, I would so reward you for that remark.”

“Don’t think we can manage a quickie?”

A shout from up the tunnel. “No, you don’t have time. None of us do. We need to find a way out.”

Before Daryl could ask why, a rumble shook the tunnel. Then another.

It didn’t take a healthy fear of fire for him to realize the smoke he smelled, even if still faint, probably didn’t bode well for them.

Constantine appeared, jogging toward them with his little dog tucked under his arm. “Something’s happened to the tunnel we came in through. We need to find another way out and fast before the smoke gets any thicker.”

“What about him?” Cyn pointed to the slumbering Harold.

Given the trouble dogman had caused, Daryl’s first impulse involved leaving him. However, with Merrill having fled, they still needed answers.

“We should bring him.”

“I got it.” Constantine heaved Harold into a fireman hold and led the way through the tunnel, but not very far, as another rumble shook the tenuous structure. The flickering light overhead went out, and the next one, yards away, didn’t provide much illumination.

Water hit Daryl in the face, a stream of it that got thicker as the ceiling overhead spiderwebbed with cracks, cracks he couldn’t really see because of the thick gloom, but could easily imagine.

“Run!” Constantine yelled.

Run where?

They took off sprinting, Daryl holding Cyn’s hand tight lest he lose her in their mad and dark dash.

A faint light ahead showed one of the few light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. But more important than that, there was a ladder bolted to the wall nearby it.

Constantine dumped Harold and his dog before he scrabbled up the rusty rungs so he could shove at the trapdoor overhead. It didn’t want to move at first. Yet, assaulted by Constantine’s determined, shoving shoulder, it creaked, it groaned, and finally inched open. Mud slid into the cracks, but Constantine gritted his teeth and pushed again, heaving past the layer of swamp on top of the hatch to reveal a night sky.

Leaping to the floor, Constantine jerked his head at the opening. “You two go first. Then I’ll grab this guy and follow.”

With the smoke getting thicker, and an almost visible shiver vibrating the tunnel around them, Daryl wasted no time shoving Cyn at the ladder. He also couldn’t help but gaze with a bit too much interest at her bare ass as it wiggled up.

A smart man, Constantine looked the other way. Daryl clung to the rungs next, moving quickly and lithely until he emerged in the swamp. He immediately turned and knelt.

“Hand Harold to me,” he told Constantine.

“Princess first.”

The little dog didn’t seem impressed they were handing her around like a football, but at least she didn’t try and tear Daryl’s arm off.

Next, Constantine bent down to grab the hairy bastard, but it seemed it wasn’t just opossums who could play dead.

With a snarl, Harold leaped and swiped at Constantine. The big man managed to avoid a deadly swipe from those paws, but, in so doing, missed a chance to grab Harold before he bolted away down the hall toward the thick smoke.

Constantine took a step, two, after him, and Daryl barked, “Don’t even fucking think about it. This place is about to collapse. He’s not worth dying over.”

With a sigh, Constantine turned and grabbed the ladder just as another tremor shook the place, a tremor that kept going as something in the distance exploded. Smoke suddenly billowed from the hatch.

Without further ado, Constantine emerged from the ground, yelling, “Move away from it before it collapses.”

Eyes wide, Cyn scurried to obey, and with Princess once again scooped off the ground, the three of them ran away, feet sloshing through ankle-deep muck, and didn’t stop until they reached a copse of trees with thick trunks. Under its boughs, they huddled as the tunnel they’d just escaped gave a final belch of smoke. The hidden structure collapsed, sucking in a pile of water and muck with it.

The swamp took back what belonged to it, but it hadn’t fed on Daryl and his friends, not tonight.

Hopefully not ever.