step was finding out who was on the damn boat with me. I lowered some shields and carefully reached out, telepathically searching for minds—human or not. There was an odd sort of blankness coming from what I gathered was the front of the ship, given we were moving in that direction, but other than that, I might as well have been alone. Which I wasn't, so either the boat driver was mind-blind, or he was wearing a psychic wire to protect him from telepathic intrusion.
With that avenue of investigation going nowhere, I checked my pockets to see what I had to work with, but they'd been cleaned out. The laser, my wallet, phone, everything was gone. The only thing left was lint and the remains of what had once been a tissue, and neither of those were going to be a whole lot of use for anything. Not even blowing my nose. With nothing else to do, I laid back down and waited.
It was a long wait. The engine droned on and on. Footsteps would stride across the deck above me occasionally, but I couldn't hear voices. Couldn't hear anything to indicate there was another living soul on this boat besides me and the owner of those footsteps.
The day stretched into the evening, a fact I knew only by the lengthening of the shadows and my own innate awareness of the night and the moon.
Eventually the aroma of earth began to run underneath the scent of fish and ocean. The ship bumped against something hard and the footsteps moved across the deck and then disappeared. A few seconds later, the thumping of the engine stopped. For a while, there was nothing breaking the silence but the creak of the boat and the lapping of the waves.
Then a car—maybe even a truck, given the low note of the engine—approached and came to a halt. Doors opened, footsteps echoed, and then, finally, I heard Rhoan—swearing like a trooper.
I sat up quickly and looked through the hole my fist had made. Nothing. The cover was still well and truly in place over my hold. 'Rhoan! Where are you?'
The swearing stopped. 'In a goddamn box,' he yelled back. 'It's silver meshed. You?'
'Same. You know where we are?'
'I think it's safe to assume we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.'
I snorted softly. If Rhoan was making wiseass remarks, he was neither hurt nor worried.
Another engine fired up, this one more spluttery. Rhoan cursed again, then, his voice barely audible over the noise, said, 'They're hauling me up from the hold. There's a truck waiting.'
So obviously, we had not yet reached our final destination. Part of me wanted to ask what plans he had, what he wanted me to do, but given our captors were close, that would be pretty damn pointless.
'You any idea what is going on?'
'Nope. Hang on, Riley. I'll get us out of this.'
He would, or I would. One or the other of us would find a way to get free, of that I had no doubt. We'd been through too much together to let a couple of murdering thugs defeat us now.
There was a thump, another curse from Rhoan, then chains rattled and the truck reversed away, the sound of its engine quickly fading into the distance.
I waited in my dark little hold, wondering when my turn would come. I could hear movement and the rattle of chains coming from what had to be the dock, but so far, no other truck had appeared.
An hour passed, my awareness of time sharpened by the rising of a moon that I couldn't actually see. The power of it burned through me, a silvery warmth that flowed through my bloodstream and offered me strength. Offered me comfort. The full moon was some days off yet, but its beauty still filled me.
Not that it would do me much good here in my little wooden prison.
I hoped they didn't plan to keep me penned until the bloom of the moon. I'd felt the fury of a bloodlust once before. I didn't ever want to go through that again.
After another few minutes, the sound of the truck began to bite back into the silence, drawing closer. Obviously, they only had the one to move us.
Above me, doors crashed open and moonlight filtered in. Someone jumped down into the hold, and the thick, musky scent of a human filled the air. I peered through the hole, and saw grimy jeans and grimier work boots. He was tall and thin, with hands that were so covered in dirt, grease, and God knows what else, they looked black. Because of the darkness, it was hard to get a definite image of his features, but he wasn't young. His hands were the hands of an older person.
Chains rattled around my prison, then straps were drawn up over the box and suddenly I was rising into the air. I gripped the floor of the box hard, not liking the way the thing swayed. It felt too much like falling.
Goose bumps trembled across my skin, and bile rose. I bit it back and closed my eyes, trying to remain calm. It was only
The crate thumped down on something solid, making me jump. But it didn't ease the crazy fear running through my system, so I continued to breathe slow and deep, trying to keep calm as gears crunched and the truck began to trundle away from the dock.
The scent of eucalyptus gradually replaced the salty scent of the ocean. I shifted, peering out one of the holes, watching trees and thick ferns pass by. Oddly enough, this island looked almost tropical. The plant life was thick and lush, and many of the plants weren't the types to survive in the colder climes of Victoria.
The truck bumped along the track, occasionally bogging down and sending sand spurting into the air as the wheels spun then gripped. The incline got stronger, suggesting we were going up.
After about half an hour, the road flattened out and the crunch of stone under the tires replaced the squeak of sand. Light twinkled tantalizingly in the darkness, and the scent of barbecuing meat touched the air, making my taste buds water and my stomach rumble.
Unfortunately, I didn't think we were going to be the recipients of that barbecuing meat.
And indeed, the truck trundled past the lights and the smell, coming to a halt in an area of darkness. We weren't in the middle of nowhere, though. Through my peephole I could see the shadowy form of a building. It seemed more barnlike in structure than houselike—though if it was a barn, I couldn't smell any of the usual scents that went along with it. Definitely no horses or hay, that was for sure.
Then another engine kicked into gear and the box was on the move again. I gripped on tight as it swung into the air then around to the right, swaying crazily as it was lowered. I let out a relieved breath when the box hit something solid, then I was being wheeled toward the barn. My box was dumped, doors slammed shut, then footsteps retreated.
Alone again.
This was making no sense whatsoever.
'Rhoan?' I said into the silence. 'You here?'
I didn't hold much hope that he was, simply because I couldn't smell him.
The continued silence was my only answer. I peered through my hole again, seeing concrete and heavy metal bars. The type even a werewolf would have trouble getting through.
It actually took me a moment to realize that my box was no longer covered by the silver mesh. I kicked out with a bare foot, smashing open the box in an instant.
Even though my cage hadn't been small, the feeling of freedom that hit when I was no longer confined was immense. I sucked in the cool night air, then stood up and looked around.
The barn was a large one, and had at least a dozen pens just like this one. Some had hay, some didn't. Some had the silver mesh nets covering the heavy metal bars, others had nothing but metal and concrete floors. Some, like mine, had bunk beds in them—though given the filthy state of the mattress, it'd be pretty much a given I'd be sharing the bed with more than a few bugs. I shivered. Give me cold concrete any day.
I turned and walked closer to the front bars, giving them a shake to test their strength. They didn't budge. They might not be meshed like some of the other cages, but there wasn't a hope in hell of me breaking out of here. Which made me wonder just what the meshed cages had been designed to hold.
I leaned my arms against the metal and studied what lay beyond the open doors of the barn. A wide road swung away down the hill, lined on either side by thick greenery. The house and lights I'd seen earlier weren't visible through that door, and the one to my left was shut.
I stepped back, my gaze rising to the ceiling. Even that was barred. Which meant a lot of thought had gone into construction of this cell, and that sent a chill skittering down my spine. This wasn't just a one-off, nothing-left- to-lose capture. This was something else entirely.
