Lilith Saintcrow: Taken

A motor started. “Get us out of here,” the man said, and tossed her into the van as if she weighed nothing. She landed on something soft, her elbow sinking in, and there was a yelping as if she’d kicked a puppy.

“What the hell is this? ” A girl’s voice, young, and there was a sudden sound like a sheet popped smooth before being laid over a bed, resolving into a low rumbling growl much different than an engine.

“Keep your mouth shut, Julia, until I tell you to open it.” He sounded furious. The voice was familiar. Sophie struggled to sit up as the van—it was definitely a van—pulled away from the curb.

What the hell? Someone grabbed her shoulders, shoved her so she half flew across the narrow space and landed hard on something softer than metal but more solid than upholstery.

“Ooof.” A hard huff of expelled breath. “Careful, there,” the man continued. “Be easy with her, dammit!”

“Who is it?” Another male voice.

I’ve been kidnapped. Oh, God. Lucy — “Lucy!” she gasped, and erupted into wild motion. Her elbow whapped something soft, and he oof ed again. It might have been funny—if it hadn’t been happening to her. Her wrists were grabbed, and the hand clamped down over her mouth again. He held her still as if she was a little kid.

He was terribly, hurtfully strong, and fresh panic turned everything behind her eyelids red.

“This is our new shaman.” Silence greeted this statement. The sound of growling swallowed the hum of the engine, shook through her before settling down into something like a purr. “You can smell the potential on her. She was back there, near the upir . I think it ate her friend.”

Lucy! She got a good mouthful and bit, as hard as she’d ever bit anything in her life. So hard her jaws ached, and there was a hiss of indrawn breath. Her eyes rolled in her head, and she worried her teeth back and forth. Something warm and coppery filled her mouth. It was too thick and slippery to be spit.

“And she’s blooded me,” he continued, without any discernable change in his tone. “Which takes care of that. So all of you behave yourselves, or I’ll have your hides.”

A sharp intake of breath passed through them all, like wind through wheat. The charged silence reverberated. The van’s tires hummed.

“A shaman?” A very young male’s voice, and it sounded shocked enough for everyone involved. “A real one? A real live one?”

“A potential.” The man’s voice rumbled against her back. “She’ll trigger to us soon enough.”

It was dark inside the rocking van; it took a corner at high speed and she was tipped back against whoever was holding her. Lucy, oh, God . The image of Lucy’s body on the pavement just wouldn’t go away. Sophie made a low, despairing sound in the back of her throat and struggled, getting exactly nowhere. Her skirt was riding up, adding a whole new problem to the situation.

The stuff in her mouth coated the back of her throat. He didn’t move his hand, and she felt his skin quiver against her lips. A weird, slight movement, as if it there were small legs under the skin.

There were glitters of eyes. A reflection of streetlamp light boiled through the interior, outlining a young girl with long dark hair, her hand clapped to her cheek as if it hurt, and a slim young man who looked enough like her to be a twin, with the same narrow nose and winged eyebrows. The young man was actually crouched on a bench seat, easily swaying back and forth with the motion of the vehicle, the pale streak over his left temple reflecting streetlight.

“Slow down, Eric,” the voice behind her rumbled. The growl was coming from his chest, and his hand jammed her glasses uncomfortably against the bridge of her nose.

It was him . The guy who had bumped her at the bar.

The van slowed. “What the hell just happened?” the driver asked.

Think, Sophie! Three men and a woman. They’d just kidnapped her, for God’s sake. And Lucy…Lucy was…

“Kyle took on a rabid upir . Least, I think it was rabid—it acted like it was.” He paused, his hand peeling away from her mouth. “And Julia had to go and get involved.”

“I didn’t—” The girl cowered back as the man holding Sophie made another deep, weird sound.

It was definitely a growl. She froze, her brain struggling, attempting to deal with this new absurdity. It was more distant and dreamlike the more she thought about it.

Lucy’s white face, the horrible gaping below her chin, the blood-drenched thing with the twisting, plum-colored face—it was the Latin Lover who’d been grinding with Lucy on the dance floor, there was no mistaking that white shirt. What had he done to her?

The taste in her mouth, Sophie realized, was blood. She’d bitten him hard enough to break the skin.

Oh, God. What is he going to do to me?

“Kyle’s dead? Really dead?” The very young male voice again. “What will we do?”

The man sagged a little bit. His arms were still iron around her. “I’m working on it. For right now we’re driving, and we’re going to get the hell out of Dodge with our new shaman.” The arms around her loosened fractionally. “Now. What’s your name, honey?”

The blood smeared over her mouth crackled as cooler air hit it. Sophie took a deep breath, filling her lungs, and screamed.

He silenced her almost instantly, his bleeding hand over her mouth again. “All right, we’ll do it the hard way. Head south, Eric. Don’t stop for a while. What’s the take?”

Immediately, the two on the seat began digging in their pockets. The boy wore a denim jacket and the girl reached down into her bra, coming up with an impressive roll of bills. “Good pickings,” the boy said, his eyes glowing in the dimness. Tears glittered on his cheeks.

The girl bit her lip. She was visibly shaking, her hands jittering as the money fanned out. She threw the rest of it down as if it burned her fingers.

“Kyle…” The driver sighed. Banged his fist sharply on the wheel, once. “What about his body?”

Body? Sophie tried pitching away from the man. It was no use at all.

“He died in battle. The majir will take him home.” He didn’t even have the grace to pretend he noticed she was trying to squirm free of him. Her nose was full and the blood and spit smeared across her mouth sealed her up pretty effectively. Her lungs burned, her throat crawling with iron-tasting slickness.

She’d tasted blood before. Plenty of times. It always made her sick and light-headed, bracing herself for the next punch and hoping Mark would run out of steam. The past threatened to close over her head, a weight of black water against every muscle. Her ribs heaved as she tried to breathe, the panic attack looming over her.

Breathe, Sophie. Breathe. Don’t think of the past.

But she literally couldn’t get any air in with his hand over her mouth and her nose full, and the blackness was so close.

Then, thank God, he eased up on her a little. “Be nice and quiet, shaman. Take a deep breath.”

Shaman? What the hell? She sucked in a lungful of blessed air. The panic retreated, with a vicious little thump under her breastbone that promised it would be back.

Sophie’s eyes were beginning to get used to the inside of the van. It smelled of musk and fast food, and with each mile slipping away under the tires she was farther and farther away from Lucy’s car—and Lucy’s body. The police would be there soon, but nobody would know she’d been out with her friend.

If she could just escape, get to a phone, something, anything—What did these people want with her? She was a nobody. At least, now she was.