Bite: A Shifters of Theria Novel (11 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE MIDDLE OF SOMEWHERE

After a few trips, falls, and stumbles, a tree line materializes through the white haze. My body flails from side to side as I run, unable to use my arms to stabilize. Each time I try to look back, I lose balance. He's chasing me, but I have no idea whether I’m making ground or losing it. Judging by the giant’s fading calls, I’m making ground.

The shade of the forest is a welcomed relief for my eyes, even though the trees are thin and bare. It isn't long before the trucks and trailers are out of sight and the blinding light dims into a glimmer of hope.

The sun’s rays warm my skin, evaporating the cold sweat from my short meeting with the giant.

Around Ilium, the trees are ancient and dark, with thick, dense trunks. The trees here are thin, fragile, and straight—all equal, planted in a grid, like some vast tree farm.

I’m tired but I don’t slow down. I’ll continue running until my body won’t allow me to run anymore. I don’t care if I’m lost, if I have to sleep in the woods for a few days before finding the highway. Between my footsteps and the whistle of the breeze between the trees, the woods are silent.

A blunt intensity strikes my back, sending me face-first into the forest floor. The soft fallen foliage stops the force of the fall from smashing my face. The same blunt force that took me down now presses on my shoulder blades, holding me against the ground. Did a tree branch just fall on me? Is this what being shot feels like?

A plume of warm, humid breath washes over the back of my neck, sending a sharp chill down my spine. I would look back, but I’m paralyzed with fear. A long snout, complete with a black nose and long, sharp fangs, teases my peripheral vision. Its fur is a peppered grey, except around its mouth, which is jet black. It’s a wolf, and it’s sniffing me. I’ve been pounced by a wolf, and now I’m about to be mauled. I need to keep running.

“Y’ shouldn’t run,” the beast on my back growls.

So much for running. The paralysis spreads through my whole body—including my heart and lungs. If this is a nightmare, I’m ready for it to end. If it’s a nightmare, it’s the most vivid nightmare I’ve ever experienced. Another hot plume of breath tickles my neck. Did the wolf speak? The wolf couldn’t have spoken—that’s impossible. Wolves don’t speak. Animals don’t speak.

The giant is the wolf’s owner—that’s it.

The big man must be standing over me, holding his pet wolf back from ripping me to shreds. Animals don’t speak English. That’s absurd. What’s truly worrisome is that I even considered such a silly notion.

The pressure on my back vanishes as the beast steps off of me, allowing me to roll over. But the giant is not standing over me, nor is he standing anywhere near me. There is just me and the wolf—the biggest creature I’ve ever seen outside of a zoo. The ash and charcoal-coloured wolf must be five and a half feet tall, and three hundred pounds.

Standing on all fours, its white eyes stare into mine. Its paws are bigger than my hands. I’m willing to bet that my whole head could fit inside of its mouth—though, that’s not a bet I’m willing to settle.

“Easy, boy.” Making no sudden movements, I rise to my feet.

“Don’t call me boy,” the wolf snarls.

The paralysis returns. They drugged me.

It’s the only explanation; they’ve given me some sort of hallucinogen. They’re trying to scare me into speaking. I’m not saying anything.

The wolf pushes itself onto its hind legs. The charcoal hair recedes into its body and suddenly, it’s no longer a wolf. Now, the giant who confronted me in the trailer stands ahead of me. For the first time, I can see his face—the face that matches his voice. His lips rest flat, his eyes coated with an emotionless glaze. Sparse, wire-like hairs cover his cheeks, neck, and chin, but his upper lip is clear.

Once the paralysis leaves my neck, I look around. Every direction is identical. Which direction did I come from? I could run again, but I may just end up back at my trailer prison. I’m a lab mouse, trapped in a maze of mirrors.

“You’d be a fool t’ try n’ run ‘gain,” the towering man says. “Don’t make me pull y’all the way back.” He bends down and grabs my arm. The sharp handcuffs dig into my wrists.

The same wire-like hairs that cover his face cover the back of his hand, and his palm is rough like sandpaper. “Hold still,” he says, stepping behind me.

Click!
The sharp tension vanishes around my wrists and sensation finally flutters back into fingers.

“Y’ run, they’re back on.”

“Thank you.” I look at my hands for the first time in too long. My fingers are blue and ivory.

“Follow me, now,” he says. I do, keeping a full arm’s reach distance.

On the giant’s arm is a familiar tattoo—a wolf’s paw. It’s just a coincidence, Olivia.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Mert,” he says.

Mert? Did I hear that right? I’ve never heard of any Mert before. I ask him to repeat himself, in case I heard wrong, but again, he says “Mert” as if the name is totally normal. When I ask, he tells me it isn’t short for anything, and that he doesn’t know his last name. He is just Mert, and Mert is all he’s ever been.

“Where are we, Mert?” I ask.

“Ain’t s’posed t’ tell ya that.”

“Why not?”

Mert keeps his gaze forward, never bothering to look over at me. He seems to trust that I won’t run off again—or maybe he trusts in his ability to catch me if I do. “Ain’t s’posed t’ tell y’ anythin’.”

“Did Freddie tell you that?”

“Ain’t s’posed t’ say.”

As we emerge from the woods, back into the grassy clearing, I see the trailer caravan for the first time. A long line of trailers hitched to trucks extends far into the distance.

The trailers are vibrant, colourful; each painted a different colour. Even their long canopies are multi-coloured, with no clear colour scheme.

Every twenty-five feet is a tower of smoke. As we pass the final tree, the smell of barbeque hits me with force. When was the last time I ate? My stomach lets me know that it’s thinking the same thing, gurgling and moaning. My mouth waters.

Mert leads me to the back of the line, away from the delicious aromas, to an old, wooden trailer. Not only is my mouth watering, now my eyes are watering, too.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

PRACTICE

The inside of the long wooden trailer is dark, despite its two little barred windows, which allow two long beams of light to show the dust that seems to float motionlessly in the air. A layer of hay crunches at our feet, and nearby—
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Each dull thump is accompanied by a grunt.

I stop, but Mert continues into the dark lair. “Come on, now,” he says to me, without looking back.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

The air in the trailer is cold and foul. There are four wooden stalls, littered with horse shit but no horses. Further down the long camper, a familiar, tattooed man works away at a patchy, old punching bag. Focussed on the bag in front of him, he doesn’t bother looking back at us.

“Ah got th’ girl ‘ere.”

“Thanks, Mert,” Freddie replies between punches. He still doesn’t bother to acknowledge us. The edge of one of the dusty light beams teases his body, illuminating his slick muscles.

“Ah’ll be outside,” says Mert, turning to leave.

Freddie continues to work up a sweat, punching his well-used punching bag. He strikes the bag repeatedly in short bursts, catching his breath before striking the bag again, and so on.

After a few minutes of silence, save for the thuds and grunts, I turn to leave. I’m not going to stand around and watch him workout. I’d sooner take my chances with the wolf hallucinations.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Freddie demands, without looking back. He continues his exercise. I think he does just want me to watch him workout.

“If you’re trying to impress me, it’s not working,” I say finally.

“I’m not trying to impress ya,” says Freddie. He still doesn’t turn back.

“You aren’t intimidating me either.” I cross my arms and lean up against a wooden post.

“Ain’t tryin’ to intimidate ya.”

“Then what are you doing?” I say monotonously. I could honestly care less why he was making me watch him workout.

“I’m waitin’ for ya to tell me where my territs are.” In other words, he was just trying to intimidate me.

I say nothing, unless you count my sigh.

“Sooner ya tell me, sooner ya go home.”

I say nothing again. This time I scoff. This game is getting old, and it’s getting old fast.

“Did I say somethin’ funny?” Freddie still doesn’t turn back to look at me. “Ya think I’ll just kill you if ya tell me, right?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“You don’t trust me when I say I won’t?”

“I think you’re finally catching on,” I say, without moving from my stationary stance. I’m not sure what he thinks he’ll accomplish with his persistence.

He turns around to face me, grabbing a rag from a nearby table to wipe the sweat from his forehead. The humid shine on his body accentuates every muscle of his body, making him look like a Greek god—the Greek god of shit-tattoos. No surprise, as he turns to face me, he has a long grin on his face, as if he expects me to drop to my knees in a puddle of my own drool at the sight of him. I don’t, but still, his smirk persists. He follows up his workout with a series of stretches, staring at me the whole time.

“Ya think you’re pretty clever,” he says after a long silence.

“I think I just want to go home.”

“Then you know what ya have to do.”

I sigh, exaggerating my eye roll so he’ll drop it, and move onto another plan.

“Maybe this will get ya speakin’: tell me by tonight or I’ll kill ya.” As much as I believe he is bullshitting me, I can still feel a shiver run up my neck. He ripped those thugs up pretty well in my apartment. He steps up to me and places his hand on my side. His body-odour is made tolerable only by the days-old cologne that lingers on his body. “How does that sound for a deal?” He runs his free hand down the center of my chest, between my breasts and towards my crotch.

“You wouldn’t kill a lady,” I say, smiling.

Shing!

I didn’t notice the pocketknife in his hand, which is now extended between my legs. My instinct is to stand up onto my toes, not that it will do much.

“If that’s where ya want to put your money, be my guest, by all means.” His smirk grows again, this time in response to the dilating of my pupils, which give me away completely. “Let’s say midnight, tonight. If ya feel like speakin’ now, I’ll take ya back to Ilium myself. I’m headin’ back there today—assumin’ the territs are in Ilium, that is.”

I remain silent and carefully hide my trembling hands behind my back.

“You’re not so sexy when you’re not bein’ such a bitch.” The cool blade touches my inner-thigh.

“Fuck you,” I mutter, gambling my life on an impulse.

Freddie takes a deep breath in through his nose. “Ah! That’s what I like to hear!”

Freddie returns to his punching bag. “If there ain’t nothin’ else, I’ll have Mert take ya back to your trailer.” My whole body shudders at the mention of the trailer, at the thought of the lightless prison.

“The coins are in Ilium,” I say. “Or territs, or whatever you called them.”

Freddie stops and then turns around to face me. He stares at me, the smirk suddenly missing from his face. “Where?” he asks after a long pause.

I open my mouth and nearly tell him, but I come to my senses before I do. “I’ll tell you when we’re in Ilium,” I say. If I’m going to tell him, I’m going to tell him somewhere with witnesses—somewhere he can’t slit my throat without risking life in prison. “When I tell you, you let me go.”

“I’ll let ya go when I have my territs.”

“No—that’s not the deal. I can’t help whether or not you get them back. All I can do is tell you where they are. The rest is up to you.”

Freddie’s smile is nowhere to be seen. “You get this straight in your head: you’re going nowhere ‘till I get my territs.” His fist is clenched at his side. Whether it’s reserved for the punching bag, or me is anyone’s guess—though my guess is me. After a long, silent moment of deliberation, Freddie grabs his shirt from the table and walks past me. “C’mon,” he says as he heads for the door.

I have to jog to keep up with his long, determined strides. He doesn’t even look at Mert as he passes through the trailer door.

“‘Ey Freddie. E’rythin’ good in ‘ere?”

“Everything’s fine, Mert. I’ll be back in the morning. Get Mel. Tell him to meet me at the car.”

“Sure thin’, Freddie. Ah’ll go ’n get Mel, right ‘way.” Mert moves surprisingly slow, considering he’d managed to catch me without much effort earlier.

Freddie doesn’t look back at me until he’s reached and opened the back door of the old Cadillac Coup DeVille. “Get in,” he says bluntly.

Freddie closes the car door on me so fast; he nearly takes my arm clean off. I look out the window at Freddie, who paces impatiently He perks up when he sees Mel running from the distance. “Let’s go!” he shouts, jogging around the car and hopping into the passenger seat.