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"Jaime . . ."
"He won't touch me. I'm the Alpha's . . ." Her voice dipped, uncertain, then came back stronger. "I'm the Alpha's mate. He wouldn't dare touch me."
"Under normal circumstances, I'd agree. But I don't think this guy cares."
The werewolf stopped in front of the cell. If those partially changed hands didn't confirm something was wrong, his eyes did. Pupils so huge his eyes seemed black. The whites suffused with red. His breathing came hard, ragged.
"Drugged," Jaime whispered. "Who's stupid enough to drug a--?"
"Hello, ladies," the werewolf said, his voice a deep rumble, almost a growl, as if his vocal cords were changing, too. So was his face--nothing drastic, but the planes and angles were off-kilter, making him look disfigured.
"Wh-what's wrong with him?" the biker chick quavered.
The woman who'd been silent so far--a thirtyish blonde in a suit jacket and slacks--had risen to her feet. "Shut up," she hissed to the biker chick.
"Don't we have some pretty ladies here," he said, his gaze tripping over Jaime and me. "Pretty ladies in a cage."
"Which is locked," I said. "If you want in, you'll need to get the key."
"Yes." Jaime stepped closer to the bars and raked back her hair. "If you want to visit us, you need to find the key."
"Are you fucking--?" the biker chick screeched to a stop. Frozen. Caught in a binding spell.
"Nice one," Jaime whispered.
"That wasn't me."
The blonde stepped up beside Jaime and flicked open the top button on her blouse. "Go find the key," she said to the werewolf. "Then we can play."
He inhaled, nostrils flaring, then lumbered off.
When he was gone, the blonde whispered, "You know what he is?"
"Canis lupus," I said. "Human variety."
"And you are?"
"Savannah Levine."
"Sav--?" Her eyes widened. Then she nodded. "Good."
"Not so good. My mojo is on the fritz, so we're going to need to rely on you."
"What about . . . ?" She looked at Jaime. "Wait. I know you. You're--"
"Good on a stage," Jaime said. "Lousy in a fight. We've got another necro." She nodded at the old woman. "And I'm guessing one reasonably innocent bystander." A glance at the biker chick, now huddled on the floor.
"Keiran Courville," the blonde said. "My mojo's not much better. Been sick as a dog since they brought me in. Drugged, I think."
"Shit." I looked at Jaime. Not food poisoning after all. Either Medina or Holland must have injected her somehow. My money was on Medina.
So we had four supernaturals in a cage, three probably drugged. A drugged werewolf on the loose. What the hell was going on?
"You ladies fighting over me already?" a voice asked.
We all flinched as the werewolf sauntered back into view.
"You need a key," I said.
