Something was happening. Something had to be happening. I crept back from the door and crouched, waiting. As soon as it opened, I’d be ready. Not exactly sure what I was going to be ready for, but there you go.
I waited. The drumming continued. Nothing happened.
Human hands definitely made these beats. Over time, the pair of drums grew more out of synch, then back into rhythm. A scattered hiccup of sound, a rumble of thunder put on an endless loop. I started counting beats. Stopped after two hundred. The drumming went on a long time, until my headache grew, my temples throbbing in time with the pounding, on and on.
Yeah, something was happening—someone was trying to drive me crazy. On reflection, that was probably exactly what was going on. So I had to make sure I didn’t go crazy. I caught the burr of a growl in my throat. I could decide not to go crazy, but Wolf, I wasn’t sure about.
The next hour or so I spent on my back, pounding my feet against the door, shoving into it as hard as I could until I was sweating, gasZora had opened a door tcping for breath. The door must have been braced from the other side; however much the wood bowed, something held it fast. It would have just taken a couple of crossbeams. Those weren’t budging.
The drumming continued. While I struggled with the door, it faded to background noise. I could almost forget about it, so much white noise. I had to admire the stamina of the drummers. They lost the rhythm, changed it, picking up a new one to replace the old as they maintained their noise.
I was so preoccupied by the drumming, I almost didn’t hear footsteps approach—different footsteps from the ones who’d brought the water. Heavier ones, from a larger person. A scrape on stone that jarred against the drumbeats simply because it was different. My ears pricked, straining to learn more. Holding my breath, I listened to the shallow breathing on the other side of the door. Male—and wolf. He was trying not to draw attention to himself. The skin down my back prickled, fur and hackles stiffening at a potential threat. Strange wolf, strange territory, all of it strange, and we couldn’t see our enemy. He was watching us, but we couldn’t match his challenge—we could only stare at the blank door.
I stayed still, crouched and frozen, not wanting to give him any kind of clue about my apprehensive state of mind. I kept my breathing calm, even though I felt like I wasn’t drawing in any oxygen at all. I didn’t shout, though I wanted to.
What the hell did these people want with me?
I waited for him to open the door, but he never did. He stood for a long time, no doubt smelling me, listening to me, studying me, the way I was trying to study him. I could stay quiet and calm, but he had to smell the anxiety on me.
The longer he waited in silence, the more I wanted to scream. I wanted my captors to do something, anything. Well, not anything. But I couldn’t fight darkness and a barred door. Continually throwing myself against the barriers was only going to make me bruised and exhausted.
I wanted to pace, just to be doing something. But I didn’t want him to know I was pacing, that the anxiety was getting to me; I didn’t want to give away anything.
Then he walked away. Just like that, without a word, without a sign.
This was some kind of test, wasn’t it?
A moment later, the drumming stopped. The silence throbbed in my ears, a memory of noise that would take hours to fade. I sank to the floor, lay down, pressed a flushed cheek to the cool stone. Only felt a faint and distant itching from the pervasive trace of silver. Pressed my arm over my head to try to still the throbbing.
So, I’d been kidnapped. Apparently for the express purpose of driving me crazy. Really, that didn’t bother me so much.
But what happened if my captors really did manage to drive me crazy—that worried me.
* * *
ANYTIME THEY approached, their footsteps began to sound like thunder. I had nothing else to listen for, so when I heard them, they broke through my muddled awareness, sending shocks along my nerves. My now-constant headache throbbed with every hint of noise. I jerked into a crouch and watched the door, glaring at it as if I could challenge it.
The woman, the were-lion who’d brought the water, returned, her steps soft and hesitating. She stopped outside the door and I clamped my mouth shut, to keep from shouting. I wanted to and Amelia tcwait to see what she would do. As ridiculous as it seemed, given our respective situations, I didn’t want to scare her off by being belligerent. More belligerent. The bolt or latch or whatever it was on the panel clicked. The seam split open.
I bolted. Dived forward, hands out toward the gap made by the open panel, reached through and made a grab. What did I have to lose?
My hand closed on a wrist. I held tight, squeezing. The limb was solid, not particularly dainty. The muscles and tendons flexing under my touch were strong. Bracing against the doorway, I pulled, trying to drag that arm in with me.
She grunted but didn’t scream, and yanked away from my grasp; I held on. A tug-of-war ensued. Both of us braced against the door and pulled against the other.
I shouted through the door. “Please, just talk to
