First Bite (The Dark Wolf Series) (31 page)

“Yeah? Waiting for what?”

They’d all laughed then and left the room without answering his question. Bastards.

Magic or no magic, Travis set to work trying to loosen each one of his hands and feet in turn. Christ, if he could reach the cord with his human teeth, he’d
chew
the damn thing. But there was no stretch in the strange material, no give at all. The act of shape-shifting alone might have torn the cord to pieces…but some strange spell still divided him from his wolf. He hadn’t grown up hating magic, but he was sure hating it now. The way that Meredith used it, it was more like cheating. Stacking the deck in her favor. If there was any way of getting the crazed woman’s magic off the table, Travis would welcome a fair fight.

He’d heard once that evil had to be resisted, even if you couldn’t win. At the time he’d thought that was a pretty dumb saying, one guaranteed to get you killed. Right now, however, he was in the mood to resist plenty. Travis reassessed the situation. He couldn’t do a damn thing physically. His wolf was out of the picture. The
cavalry wasn’t coming. All he had was whatever was in his head. Exhausted, he closed his eyes and thought of his grandfather. In his hands magic had been used to heal, to teach, to enhance and uplift.
Make your thoughts quiet
, said his grandfather.
See. Hear. Feel.
Travis saw the big quartz crystal again, plain as a chunk of glass and about as fascinating. Brows furrowing, he tried again to think of what his grandfather had said about it.
Amplifies…it amplifies something or other…

A Latino woman in a white lab coat came in, her black hair braided back into a long tail that hung to her hips.

What the hell. He gave his best Goldfinger impersonation. “So, we meet again, Dr. Zarita.”

“Zarita
Arandas
,” she corrected, apparently not noticing his lame attempt at humor. She rummaged in a red plastic tote and began assembling a syringe, rubber tubing, a number of empty rubber-stoppered vials, and more. “And what about your name, sir?”

“Trouble.”

“Ah, yes. Ms. Meredith said you were not very cooperative.” She wrapped the tubing around his upper arm and began tapping the vein inside his elbow. “I hope you will not give
me
any trouble today.” She was surprisingly gentle as she skillfully inserted a double-ended needle.

“I don’t seem to be in a position to give anyone much of a problem today.”

He watched as she filled vial after vial, and finally hooked up a tube to a vacuum-sealed bag. His blood dribbled into it as slowly and fitfully as fresh brew from a coffeemaker. “Hey, I need that stuff. Exactly how much do you plan on taking?”

“A little over a liter. Ms. Meredith has found it to be an excellent restorative.”

“I find it pretty damn restorative myself—what the hell is she doing, drinking it?”

“Of course. It will be chilled and waiting for her when she awakens.”

He stopped asking questions at that point.
Of course
someone who had mastered such dark magic would drink blood by the carton. Christ.

“Be sure to eat everything you are given, so you can replace what I’ve taken today and what I will be taking tomorrow,” the doctor said as she gathered her equipment. She paused before she left the room. “I’m sorry to tell you that it will likely be a daily procedure, Mr. Trouble.”

Every frickin’ day?
He felt drained—literally—and dizzy. Weren’t you supposed to get goddamn cookies or something if you gave blood? He slid into a dreamless sleep.

As Neva walked, she loosened her hips and lengthened her step, seeking that fluid runway gait that was so characteristic of her twin. Meredith never, ever failed to make an entrance, even when she was simply crossing a room. She was always on. And she was always in charge. There was an air of absolute authority that clung to her, as palpable and intoxicating as her Clive Christian perfume. Neva approached the gate at full stride and didn’t slow down a bit. Nor did she say anything—Meredith certainly wouldn’t bother to speak to whoever was behind the security camera. At most, she’d give a very slight but regal wave of her hand, and that’s what Neva did.
This is going to look really stupid if I walk face-first into the—

The gate parted before her immediately, with plenty of time to spare. Neva had to struggle to keep the surprise from appearing on her face. Instead she wore the patented Meredith mask—the look-at-me-I’m-beautiful blended seamlessly with the look-away-I’m-powerful. To anyone else, it would have been impossible to mimic such a one-of-a-kind expression, but Neva had witnessed it all of her life. She might not have the temperament for it, but nature
had
given her the same facial features as her twin. Neva now turned The Look on everyone, two-legged or four-legged, and they all responded the same way—with lowered eyes and utter deference. With her Changeling senses, she could smell the acrid tang of fear radiating from each and every one of
them. No one dared speak to her; they just hurried to get out of the way. So this was what it was like to be Meredith? She probably loved it, but Neva was sickened.

Right now, though, she had no choice but to keep up the scary-bitch act. Baker played his role perfectly, walking at her left side and slightly behind her like a heeled dog. They’d decided to leave his bloody wounds as they were—it created the illusion that Meredith had either beaten or bitten him. He’d managed to appear afraid of her, too, even as he glared threateningly at everyone else. Maybe it was because he was experiencing as much déjà vu as she was. The first and last time she’d passed through the front gates, she’d been wholly human.

The front door was opened as rapidly as the gate had been, and she passed through without slackening her purposeful pace in the slightest. This could all come to an abrupt halt if Meredith happened to be anywhere on the ground floor, but unless her sister was going somewhere, Neva thought it unlikely. There was a grand foyer and an opulent reception area the size of a small department store on the first floor—but the rest was devoted to vast kitchens and staff accommodations. Like a cruise ship, the best rooms were all upstairs, and that’s where guests were entertained.

Which meant that any kind of prison would be in the opposite direction.

Neva bypassed the main glass elevator and headed confidently down the high-arched hallway. Three people and two wolves fled from the area at her approach.

Baker was clearly puzzled.
We aren’t taking the stairs, are we? ’Cause I’m sure your sister wouldn’t do that.

You’re right, but she also doesn’t take the main elevator very often.
Neva rounded the corner and ducked behind a thriving group of tall potted palms, and voilà—another elevator. She’d
been in it many times over the three or four weeks she’d been held here. It was large and bright, more like a room than an elevator, with mirrored walls set in such a way that she and Meredith had been reflected into infinity. And still Neva had felt claustrophobic, as if her twin sucked all the air and the energy out of the confined space.

Ow!
Baker hadn’t gotten clear before she punched the down button, and he left a handful of hair from the tip of his tail in the door.
You could have waited a fucking second.

She shook her head. She
had
to stay in character.
Meredith wouldn’t wait.
Her twin wouldn’t spare a thought for anybody or anything. Her underlings had to fend for themselves—and if they weren’t fast enough to get out of the way of a door, a car, or an oncoming train, that was simply too bad. So if someone happened to see her pause even a fraction of a second to allow Baker’s tail to get clear of the elevator, it would be shocking enough to be memorable. Neva didn’t need the staff to start comparing notes on Ms. Meredith’s behavior.

Not until she found Travis and got the hell out of this place.

Baker slapped the stop button with his paw when they were just two floors down.
I think this is where it is. Us newbies were kept one floor belowground. But anyone who got out of line was taken down to the next level for a while. Solitary confinement. Riley went there twice.

What about the rest of the floors?
She had no idea how deep the mansion actually went. It was like Bruce Wayne’s house, dwarfed by the Batcave beneath it. Because
holy crap
, there were at least three more levels below this one. Maybe even more, because there were two keyholes directly below the row of buttons. She hoped fervently they didn’t have to search them all.

The big gray wolf shook his head.
All I know is that anyone who went to the bottom floors didn’t come back. Ever.

Thanks for that perky little thought. I feel much better.

Sorry.

The sumptuous elevator opened onto what looked more like a subway station than a floor in a luxury home. Floor, ceiling, and walls were lined in glaring-white tile that looked both antiseptic and cold under the fluorescent lights. Neva’s gaze fastened at once on two small red spots that marred the otherwise snowy tile grout. The color told her the stains were fresh—and although she didn’t know the source of the blood, she was chilled to the marrow just the same. Meredith had dragged her to many courtyard, and even
poolside
, demonstrations of power. Plus she’d killed casually in whatever room she happened to be in at the time. But her twin had never brought her to any of the floors belowground.
Why?

Corridors stretched away in two directions, lined with white metal doors.
Cells.
Each door was plain, boasting only a keypad above the handle and a metal grating on a six-inch window that was five feet above the floor.

Mimicking her sister’s runway gait on the tiled floor made a horrendous noise that echoed and reechoed throughout the entire story. She’d much rather have tiptoed, but it was too much out of character. Her twin never, ever tiptoed anywhere—and making noise that called attention to herself would simply be a bonus. Neva was just thankful she’d chosen the riding boots over the stilettos.

There didn’t seem to be anyone occupying the cells on this end. Baker was casting his nose back and forth like a bloodhound, occasionally standing on his hind legs and peering into cell windows. They detected nothing until they rounded a corner and entered an entirely different wing. Baker was just ahead of her when he suddenly broke into a gallop.

Riley! Hey man, are you okay?

Stop broadcasting! Dammit, I’m going to make you a tinfoil hat and glue it to your—

Neva stopped abruptly, drawing air along her palate, trying to sift a sudden mix of scents.
Travis!
She could smell Travis, that unmistakable all-male blend of earthen elements—mountain trails and high lakes, summer days and sex-filled nights. He was here!

She knew it was better to stay in character, at least until she got a better look at the situation. Couldn’t she just walk very briskly? But there was no holding back her inner wolf. It was determined to get to Travis no matter what she had to say about it. Neva managed to hold back from shifting to her animal form by her fingernails, but she couldn’t stop herself from racing down the bleak, white corridor at top speed. Her heart pounded in her ears; her boots pounded on the tile until she couldn’t hear anything else.

Which was probably why Neva collided with a small Latino woman wearing a white lab coat.

The impact of the collision sent the women careening against opposite walls of the corridor, even cracking a couple of the stark-white tiles before they both landed in heaps on the cold floor. Neva recovered first, getting to her knees and shaking her head to clear it. It felt like she’d hit a granite pillar, not another human being. Correction, she’d hit another
werewolf
. No wonder she’d gotten her bell rung. She held onto the wall as she got to her feet, and had to take a couple of breaths before she could spare a glance at whom she had run into.

Recognition made her heart sink to the very soles of her expensive boots. Meredith’s doctor, Zarita, lay unmoving, and Neva could see that her lip was split and bleeding badly. A red plastic tote had burst open, and she scooped up some of the gauze pads, tearing open packages until she had a thick bundle to press
against the injury. “Are you okay?” she asked, leaning over and gently shaking the woman’s shoulder. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Zarita’s dark eyes flew open and then widened considerably. The worst of all possible words spilled from her bleeding lips. “You are not Ms. Meredith!”

Crap.
Neva had forgotten to stay in character—obviously she should have kicked the woman when she was down or something. Looking to save the situation, she adopted Meredith’s trademark smile. “Of course I am, Zarita, darling. You poor thing, you’ve hit your head. Now you know I simply can’t do without you, so please tell me you’re all right.”

Slowly, Zarita took over holding the gauze pad to her lip, staring at Neva’s face the entire time. Gradually she sat up and leaned against the wall, but suspicion still flickered in her eyes. “Are
you
all right, Ms. Meredith? I checked on you not long ago and you were sound asleep. You asked not to be disturbed until nightfall.”