Kelley Armstrong - The Hunter And The Hunted

I crouched and studied the lock.

“You gonna pick that with your hairpin, sweetheart?” the biker chick sneered.

“No, I’m going to pick it with hers.”

I walked over to Jaime and held out a hand. She plucked two from her hair.

“See, you do come ready for trouble,” I said. “Mirrors, stilettos, hairpins. I get the feeling you’ve been in jail before.”

She flipped me off as she lay back on the cot.

I hunkered down by the lock again. Of course, there is no way in hell you can escape a jail cell with a hairpin. But it made a good cover story while I worked at the door with an unlock spell.

Two days ago I’d been told-by some mysterious otherworld entity-that my spells weren’t actually gone. My power supply had just been cranked way down. Like a neophyte witch, I could build power through practice, and so I’d been practicing.

I’d been able to successfully cast simple things like a light ball. And that fl are of magic with the biker chick had reinforced something I’d experienced once before- that if I tapped deep enough into my power, I could cast on emotion, without even reciting a spell. That was serious mojo. If this temporary power drain meant I could reach that level someday, then it was worth it. But right now, I needed all the juice I could get. I was determined to open this door, however much time and concentration it took. It took a lot. Twenty minutes later I heard a little click .

“Finally.”

I stood and pulled on the door. It moved about a quarter inch then caught, something inside grinding.

“You can’t open a cell with a hairpin, you stupid twat,” the biker chick said.

I turned to snarl at her, then gathered that frustrated anger and flung it at the door instead. Another click. When I yanked, it gave a little more, but still wouldn’t open.

“You’re getting there,” said a voice behind me.

I turned to see Jaime, wobbling slightly. She squeezed my shoulder.

“You’re getting it. Just keep-”

The door at the end of the hall flew open, a cacophony of shouts blasting through before it closed again. Silence. Then the thud of heavy boots.

A moment later, a man came into view. He looked like a stereotypical cop, right down to the mustache and lantern jaw. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, though. He was wearing blood. Bare chested. Skin dappled with red. More blood dripping from his hands, which were dangling at his sides, his fingers stubby, nails thickened to claws.

There’s not much I’ll back away from. A werewolf partway into his Change is one of those things.

I backed up into Jaime, my arms wide to shield her. She started around me, her chin going up, mouth firm, lower lip quivering slightly.

“I-I can handle this,” she said.

“Jaime…”

“He won’t touch me. I’m the Alpha’s…” Her voice dipped, uncertain, then came back stronger. “I’m the Alpha’s mate. He wouldn’t dare touch me.”

“Under normal circumstances, I’d agree. But I don’t think this guy cares.”

The werewolf stopped in front of the cell. If those partially changed hands didn’t confirm something was wrong, his eyes did. Pupils so huge his eyes seemed black. The whites suffused with red. His breathing came hard, ragged.

“Drugged,” Jaime whispered. “Who’s stupid enough to drug a-?”

“Hello, ladies,” the werewolf said, his voice a deep rumble, almost a growl, as if his vocal cords were changing, too. So was his face-nothing drastic, but the planes and angles were off-kilter, making him look disfigured.

“Wh-what’s wrong with him?” the biker chick quavered.

The woman who’d been silent so far-a thirtyish blonde in a suit jacket and slacks-had risen to her feet. “Shut up,” she hissed to the biker chick.

“Don’t we have some pretty ladies here,” he said, his gaze tripping over Jaime and me. “Pretty ladies in a cage.”

“Which is locked,” I said. “If you want in, you’ll need to get the key.”

“Yes.” Jaime stepped closer to the bars and raked back her hair. “If you want to visit us, you need to find the key.”

“Are you fucking-?” the biker chick screeched to a stop.

Frozen. Caught in a binding spell.

“Nice one,” Jaime whispered.

“That wasn’t me.”

The blonde stepped up beside Jaime and flicked open the top button on her blouse. “Go find the key,” she said to the werewolf. “Then we can play.”

He inhaled, nostrils flaring, then lumbered off.

When he was gone, the blonde whispered. “You know what he is?”

“Canis lupus,” I said. “Human variety.”

“And you are?”

“Savannah Levine.”

“Sav-?” Her eyes widened. Then she nodded. “Good.”

“Not so good. My mojo is on the fritz, so we’re going to need to rely on you.”

“What about…?” she looked at Jaime. “Wait. I know you. You’re-”

“Good on a stage,” Jaime said. “Lousy in a fight. We’ve got another necro.” She nodded at the old woman. “And I’m guessing one reasonably innocent bystander.” A glance at the biker chick, now huddled on the floor.

“Keiran Courville,” the blonde said. “My mojo’s not much better. Been sick as a dog since they brought me in. Drugged, I think.”

“Shit.” I looked at Jaime. Not food poisoning after all. Either Medina or Holland must have injected her somehow. My money was on Medina.

So we had four supernaturals in a cage, three probably drugged. A drugged werewolf on the loose. What the hell was going on?

“You ladies fighting over me already?” a voice asked.

We all fl inched as the werewolf sauntered back into view.

“You need a key ,” I said.

“Fuck the key-can’t be bothered. I want in now.”

He grabbed the door and yanked, neck tendons bulging, and the door snapped open.

I stepped in front of Jaime.

“Okay, big guy,” I said. “You know you’re in serious shit right now. That blood tells me someone’s dead. And considering this is a police station, that someone is a cop, meaning-”

He grabbed me by the shirtfront. “You like to use that mouth, bitch? I’ll show you where you can use it.”

“Let me guess?” I said. “Here?”

I kneed him in the groin. Yes, it’s a cheap shot, but I wasn’t really concerned with fighting fair right now. Or with preserving his ability to procreate.

He dropped me on my ass. And he should have dropped himself, because it was a helluva blow. But he only snorted, then came at me as I scooted back.

“Hey, handsome,” Jaime called. “Forget the little girl. I’ve got something you want.”

He looked from me to her, then lumbered toward her. Keiran hit him with an energy bolt.

“What was that?” the biker chick screeched as the werewolf fell back, a scorched spot on his side.

I launched a fire ball- well, more like a firefl y- but my aim was good and it hit him in the eye. He bellowed louder than he had when I’d gotten his crotch.

That shot of rage jump-started his stalled Change. His brow and jaw receded, mouth and nose jutting. Thick, black hair sprouted from his chest and back.

“What the hell?” the biker chick shrieked. “What the fucking hell?”

“Is that a werewolf?” the old necromancer said. “I’ve never seen a werewolf.”

He charged her. I cast a binding spell. It didn’t work. Keiran launched something and maybe it did work, but it didn’t stop him. Didn’t even slow him down. He grabbed the old woman by the hair and wrenched. Her neck snapped. He threw her across the cell. She hit the wall and collapsed like a rag doll.

The biker chick started to scream. Really scream. A high-pitched wail that caught the werewolf’s attention like the squeal of a rabbit. He turned on her.