Dark Side Of The Moon (BBW Paranormal Were-Bear Shifter Sci-Fi Romance) (2 page)

Wind
tugged at the end of her braid as she sped down Forty-Second Street. It was a month
before Fashion Week, and she’d been up and down this street more times than she
cared to count, ferrying slim envelopes between designer’s offices and modeling
agencies. The morning shift was brutal; everyone wanted their packages by 10:00
a.m. Now, she was picking up the signed documents, taking them back to where
they came from. Still the same number of documents, but the pace was slightly
less harried. The traffic easn’t; it was brutal.

Elite
Models
was the last stop
on her route. She’d been there enough to know she wasn’t comfortable leaving
the bike on the street. The receptionist, Nicole, was a slow-moving, languid
girl, and she wouldn’t sign for anyone’s package. The wait was interminable. So
she rolled the bike through the door and into the lobby.

Nicole
looked up, flashing her white teeth in a professional smile, but as soon as she
recognized Veronica, the smile faded.

“Oh,
it’s you.” She reached for the phone. “I have to call Ian. He has the contracts
still. I can’t sign…”

Before
Veronica could say anything, the phone started ringing. Nicole punched the
button, gave Veronica an eye-roll, and launched into a conversation with
whoever was on the other end. Veronica shifted her canvas bag, reaching inside
for the electronic signature pad, calling up the right entry so when Ian
appeared, she’d get the signature and be on the street in minutes, headed back
to her job, and then home.

Veronica
tapped her fingers on the counter. She really wanted to leave, but she
couldn’t, not without the package. Knowing Nicole, she’d be on the phone
complaining to the messenger company faster than she was about calling Ian. But
it was near closing, and Veronica had the sinking feeling Ian may have cut out
early.

The
lobby doors opened, and a trio of models sauntered in from the street, jostling
each other, laughing, cell phones on display. Veronica tried to hold her
ground, tried to edge her bike out of the way, but they crowded around the
counter, all talking at once. The radio playing behind the desk added to the
rising noise level. At this rate, she was going to be pushing to get back to
the agency on time.
So much for thinking the swing shift would be less
hectic.

Nicole
hung up the phone and turned to Veronica. “Have you ever thought about getting
your nose fixed? It’s been broken, right? In boxing or whatever it is you do?”
Classic Nicole, going for the perceived vulnerable spot. Some days it was the
nose, some days it was the hair color, or wearing make-up, or something else
that was vitally important to Nicole, but that Veronica could care less about.

Veronica
sighed. It wasn’t really necessary to explain, again, that her nose wasn’t
broken, again. “No, Nicole. I haven’t thought about it lately.”
Or ever.
She liked her nose. Sure, it wasn’t straight, but her father had told her it
gave her character and Veronica agreed. Her mother would have agreed with
Nicole though. Veronica sighed; this was getting ridiculous.

Shrill
voices suddenly rose around her, the models apparently upset about something,
all in unison. One held up her cell phone, a look of horror on her face.

“I
lost my call. It was Eduardo.”

Eduardo
must have been important. Nicole gasped; the other two models blanched white.
There was a moment of respectful quiet, and then the models started up again,
offering advice, their phones, commiseration.

“Nicole…”
Veronica leaned over the counter. “I’m kind of in a hurry. Can you call…”

Nicole
looked up at her, and for a moment Veronica thought the girl was going to burst
into tears. “Veronica, you need to wait a minute. Satasha lost her
call…Eduardo…” Nicole looked at her with wide eyes. She had trouble getting the
words out. “Just a minute…”

Apparently
Nicole needed a moment of grief for the lost call. The model—Satasha—was
punching buttons frantically, trying to reconnect with Eduardo. The other two women
were talking loudly, apparently under the impression the louder they spoke, the
less likely they’d be to lose their connections as well. The desk phone started
ringing again, and Nicole grabbed the phone.

“Hello?”
She scowled. “Hello?” She slammed the phone down with a bang. “I hate…”

A
sudden burst of static from the radio cut off Nicole’s complaint, followed by a
chorus of renewed complaints from the models about a universal cell phone
crash. Veronica leaned toward Nicole.

“I’ll
come back…”

Nicole
joined in, leaning over the counter to look at Satasha’s outstretched phone. The
radio static rose to a crescendo, then turned into a shriek, almost drowning
out the chatter from the models. Nicole joined in, leaning over the counter to
look at Satasha’s outstretched phone.

A
sudden diamond-sharp flash of light sent pain racing through Veronica’s head.
Blinking, she raised a hand to her eyes, but it was too bright, too painful to
even think about keeping her eyes open. Satasha, or one of the other models,
was crying, a high-pitched wail that, amazingly, overrode everything else.

Then
it was silent, blessedly silent. Models, radios…everything was silent. Veronica
let out a breath. She needed to get the hell out of this madhouse, package or
not.

She
opened her eyes.

Nicole
was gone. Everything and everyone was gone, the lobby, the models. The world
was blue, translucent. She tried to move, but it was like floating in jelly. Panic
swept through her; she didn’t know how to swim, and it felt like she was
drowning. She kicked, waved her arms, but the harder she tried, the more
difficult it was to move.

Finally,
she was just suspended, like a bug stuck in glue, heart hammering in her chest,
confused, scared. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out.
Blue…stuff filled her mouth, choking her. Then even the little light there was
faded, and she was in the dark.  

* * *

There
were voices. Not from the models, but male voices. Fire and rescue, it had to
be. There must have been an explosion in the building. She tried to move her
arms and legs. The floating feeling was gone, but she still couldn’t move.
Something was restraining her. She must be on a gurney, strapped down, being
taken to the hospital. Everything was going to be okay.

She
tried to open her eyes, but the lids were too heavy to lift. They must have
given her something for pain. But nothing hurt. Then again, it wouldn’t if
they’d given her something – a drug, perhaps. Her brain tried to make sense of
what was going on. If she tried, she could just feel her fingers, but not her
toes. Struggling to make a fist, she felt some sort of material under her
fingers. A sheet, someone’s uniform? She pulled hard, but the fabric slipped
out of her grasp.

Then
it hit her; she was paralyzed. The explosion…she must have been thrown against
something, landed on something. Broken her back, perhaps.

Her
dark world was slowly growing colder. She was dying. And they’d left her behind.

She
wanted to scream. She tried to fight against the restraints, wanted to tell
them she was alive, that she was still in there, still with them. They had to
listen.

“Help…”
Her voice was tiny, just a whisper. It hurt to talk, but she needed to scream, to
get their attention. “Please, help…”

From
somewhere she heard a man’s voice, but she couldn’t understand the words. They
weren’t garbled; it sounded like a foreign language. She tried to speak again,
but it came out more like a whimper. The male voice spoke sharply, angrily, and
then there was a bad smell and a sharp pain in her head. The world went away
again.

* * *

Voices,
far away. Rhythmic metal Clanking, somewhere near her head. Then voices again.
Male. In a language she couldn’t understand. Somewhere she could hear an
engine, hissing sounds. Like tires in the rain. It had to be a truck, she was
in a truck. Or an ambulance. She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t dead, after all.

She
breathed out a sigh, something like relief, but it trailed off into a ragged
sob. Someone would explain things to her. She just needed to be patient.

But
none of the voices sounded like they were interested in her. They sounded like
they were arguing. She struggled, finally able to open her eyes. This wasn’t an
ambulance. There wasn’t anything that looked like medical supplies. The walls
were bare, just light blue metal, but everything swam in and out of focus.

With
a huge effort, she turned her head. There was a man standing a few feet away,
arguing with another man, but her vision refused to focus. But it was clear
neither seemed interested in her. Then they moved out of her line of sight.
There was a hiss, a soft cool breath of cool air against her cheek, and they
disappeared.

“No,
wait…”

Chapter Three

Veronica
opened her eyes. Everything was now clear, in focus. She blinked. Everything
stayed in focus. Tentatively, she wiggled her fingers, then her toes. Then
lifted her arms over her head. Nothing hurt, everything seemed to work. When
she brought them back down, her hand brushed against her canvas messenger bag.
She closed her eyes, running her fingers over the familiar rough fabric. It was
comforting, the rough fabric. At least she hadn’t lost everything. At least the
messenger service wouldn’t fire her.

There
was a noise to her right, and she turned her head.

One
of the models, she thought it was Satasha, was sitting on a bench, sniffling as
she punched forlornly at her phone. The girl’s clothes were rumpled, torn in a
few places, but there didn’t look like there was any blood.

“Hey…”
Veronica sat up, resting on her elbows. “Hey, are you okay?”

The
girl looked at her with vacant eyes. “No bars. No reception. Nothing. The
battery is almost dead.” She went back to the glowing screen of her phone.

Veronica
sat up. “I meant are you hurt?”

The
girl shook her head. “I’m fine. I’m not sure about them.”

It
was then that she saw the other two girls on a bench further down, huddled
together. They looked up at her with identical blank expressions of shock.

“Okay.
Does anyone know where we are?” Veronica swung her legs over the edge of the
bench. A wave of dizziness made her close her eyes for a moment. Her messenger
bag fell off her lap, swinging from her shoulder by the strap. She pulled it
higher on her shoulder, afraid to let go of it. “Does anyone remember
anything?”

Satasha
looked up with a blank stare. She was still wearing the same clothes, short
skirt and skimpy blouse, but she looked rumpled, like she’d gotten undressed
and dressed in the dark. Buttons were mismatched, the zipper on the side of her
skirt gaped open. Veronica looked down at her clothes. They were still on the
way she’d put them on at the gym. Except…her left shoe was on her right foot. Satasha
finally came back from wherever she’d gone to find the answer.

“Just
bits and pieces. There was like this weird sticky blue stuff all around me…I
couldn’t move. I thought I was dead.” The last was delivered with another
sniffle. “But then we all woke up here. You’re the last to wake up.”

“We
thought you were dead.” That was from a petite red-haired girl on the bench,
wedged into the corner against the wall. Her clothes had the same disheveled
look. With a start Veronica realized the girl’s shirt was on backwards and
inside out. “You didn’t breathe for a really long time.”

Veronica
stood up, reluctantly dropping her bag on the bench. Stretching, testing her
limbs, she took a few steps. Nothing hurt, but her body felt heavy,
uncoordinated. She wanted to move, get oxygen into her muscles, but the room
was narrow, only six feet wide or so, and barely long enough to hold the four
benches lining the walls. There was nowhere to go, no room to move. The most she
could do was swing her arms, but that made her dizzy, so she stopped.

“Do
you know how long we’ve been here?”

The
red-haired model looked up, mascara smeared under her eyes. “We don’t even know
where here is. We could be anywhere. I think…” She sat forward, looking around
with wild eyes. “I think we’ve been kidnapped. I heard men talking, but it
wasn’t English. I read about it online.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “We’re
going to be sold as sex slaves.”

Veronica
wanted to laugh, tell her it was ridiculous, but something about what she said
made sense, in a weird kind of way. These were models, after all. Pretty, great
hair…great bodies. And all their clothes had obviously been removed and put
back on, and in a hurry. She wasn’t sure how they’d all been yanked from the
lobby of a busy New York modeling agency. But anything was possible. It was New
York, after all.

“Where’s
Nicole?” Veronica sat down. The seat of the bench gave underneath her weight.
The models stared at her with unfocused eyes. One shrugged, the other dropped
her head, sniffling.

“She
wasn’t here when we…when we woke up. Just the four of us.” Satasha started to
cry. “I think I saw her…but there was blood…”

“Damn
it.” Nicole might have been a thorn in her side, but still. Veronica hit the
bench with her fist; it gave off a metallic ring. She looked down, puzzled,
then squeezed the edge. It was soft. She wrapped it with her knuckle; it was
hard. She reached behind her, touched the wall. It was the same. If she hit it,
it was hard, but if she touched it gently, it gave way beneath her touch.
Wherever they were, this was some strange high-tech stuff. Maybe foreign, or
military.
But why would the military want pretty girls from a modeling
agency? Or her, for that matter.

Abruptly,
Veronica stood up, swinging her arms, taking three long strides, coming up
against the narrow end of the room. She looked up, ran her hand around the
corners of the wall. It felt solid, no seams, no nails or screws. Or hinges.
She turned, walked to the other end of the room, checked out that wall.
Nothing. The walls of the room were perfectly smooth.

“I
don’t think this is a semi…”

“How
would you know? You’re just a bike messenger.”

She
turned around. The red-head was glaring at her with a look that Veronica recognized.
Fueled by fear, the girl was ready to fight, for whatever reason, at the first
sign of a challenge.

“Look…what’s
your name?” Veronica sat down, tried to look less threatening. The girl stared
at her. “Your name?”

“Emily.”
The edge faded from Emily’s voice. “Emily Gallagher.”

“I’m
Veronica Maxwell.”

“Okay.”
Some of the tension left Emily’s shoulders. “Sorry about…before.”

“No
problem. I don’t know that this isn’t a semi…or if it is.” She shrugged. “I’m
just trying to figure this out.”

Veronica
nodded at the girl sitting beside Emily. She hadn’t said anything. “Is she
okay?”

Emily
poked the girl. She lifted her head, stared vacantly at Emily. “I’m hungry.”

“Her
name’s Marcelle. She’s French.”

Unsure
what to do with that information, Veronica smiled at the girls. “I’m hungry
too.” Reaching for her messenger bag, she started pulling out the contents. “I
have some food, snacks mostly. But it’s something.”

“I
have water.” Satasha pulled a plastic water bottle out of her huge leather
purse clutched under her elbow. “Almost a full bottle. And…” She dug around in
the bottom. “I have gum, some diet pills…” She came up with her wallet, held it
out to Veronica.

“I
still have this. Everything’s still inside. Driver’s license, money…social
security card.”

Veronica
reached into her bag. In the pocket on the side was her wallet. She didn’t have
a driver’s license—no need—but she had her state ID, pocket money. Library
card. Nothing was missing either. She dropped the wallet back into her bag.

“That
means it wasn’t a robbery, right?” Satasha sat forward. “And it can’t be a sex
slave thing or they’d have taken our identification.”

Emily
leaned toward Veronica, her voice low. “I don’t think anything...happened. You
know? I mean, I don’t...feel like anything happened. No sex, I mean.”

Veronica
nodded. Truthfully, she didn’t think anything had happened either, but how
could they be sure?

“I
don’t think anything happened either.”

Satasha
groaned, and then pointed to Emily. “But, she’s dressed inside out.”

That
brought a fresh wave of tears from Satasha, and a very disapproving look from Veronica.
It probably hadn’t been the most subtle way to tell someone they’d been
undressed. Food was easier to talk about.

“So
who else has something to eat or drink?”

“I
have water, too.” Emily sniffled and held up a silver water bottle. She shook
it. “It’s almost gone.”

Marcelle
just shook her head.

Veronica
dumped her bag on the bench. A can of pepper spray rolled away, and she grabbed
it, shoving it back in the bag. “I have half a sports drink, three nutrition
bars, and half a banana.” She held up the fruit in a plastic bag. “Let’s split
the bars and the drink…” She held out one of the nutrition bars.

Satasha
cringed, pulling away like she was being offered a rattlesnake. All three girls
were looking at her with varying degrees of horror. The impulse to look behind
her for something was overwhelming. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw there
was nothing. Then she turned back to the girls.

“What?
What’s wrong?”

“Do
you know how many calories there are in one of those?”

Seriously?
“Now isn’t the time to be worrying about
that.” She was still holding the bar, and Satasha was still pulling away.
Veronica shrugged. “Okay. If you change your mind…”

She
stashed the food, and then ate the banana, washing it down with a swallow of
sports drink. Until then, she hadn’t realized how thirsty she was. She should
really save this…but it was gone before she even realized it. And she was still
thirsty.
How long had they been here? How long had she been out?

She
glanced at her watch, but the dial was smashed. “Satasha? Can you tell what
time it is? Or what day?”

Satasha
clutched her cell phone, shaking her head. “I’m saving the battery life.”

“Yeah,
I get that, but I want to know how long we’ve been out.”

Reluctantly,
Satasha turned on her phone, staring at the screen. In the faint glow, her face
looked haggard. Veronica wondered what she looked like. Probably a mess.

“I
think it’s been more than a day. Maybe almost two.” Flipping the phone shut,
she shrugged, then flashed Veronica a startlingly normal smile. “I’m really bad
with dates and times. Really bad.”

“Okay.”
She smiled back. It felt good to smile, let off some of the tension. “Me, too,
sometimes. I get that.”

“So…what
do we do?”

“I
don’t know.” It was hard to say that. Harder than she wanted to admit. She
always
knew what to do, had always known what to do, most times anyway, but there was
no opponent here, no one on the other side of the ring. Not even a heavy bag to
direct punches at. Even when her parents had died, she’d had tangible things to
do: taking care of their estate, finding a place to live. Dropping out of
college. There had been lists of things to do, to check off, but here she was,
fighting blind.

“Yeah…I
don’t know what to do.”

Veronica
settled back against the wall. Whatever this was, she was way out of her depth.
As hard as it was to feel so helpless, she was just going to have to wait for
someone—or something—to show up to fight.