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“Why not? If Saskia and her pack find them, they are dead anyway.”
“Why not send a rescue team? Help them find their way back to the right trail.”
“Send who? We can’t have any witnesses, now can we?”
“Don’t you want PR? Imagine the headlines: ‘Billionaire rescues lost boys.’”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Hmm…” He smiled. “I think I should use infants, instead. There are plenty of hospitals around.”
Bolton didn’t need a drug to turn him into a monster, he already was. “Please, rescue the campers. Saskia will not know.”
“Rather than pissing her off, working with her is in my best interest.” He turned to leave. “Cook will bring you a good meal before your run.”
Her appetite had vanished. “Right, the last meal.”
Bolton winked. “I wouldn’t want her to catch you after only a few minutes.”
“Like running will help.”
“She’s giving you a half-hour advantage.”
“What about another alternative, like you let me go and I take you to a research lab?”
“I’m aware of all the research facilities around the globe. None are familiar with our drug. There will be no bargaining, Agent Emma York.”
“I prefer Agent York.”
Bolton left the room. He was just as psycho as Saskia. Emma went to the window and stared out. What if Nik stopped Saskia? Or had she once again trapped him? Even if he escaped the island, how would he find her?
Dinner arrived, steak, potatoes and a salad accompanied by a small pitcher of coffee and a bottle of water. Utensils included a sharp steak knife. A weapon, but not against a werewolf. It would be like attacking a wolf with a plastic butter knife. Emma sighed. Might as well eat.
Emma ignored the potatoes and salad and ate only the steak. The best steak she’d ever eaten. Or should she say the best undercooked steak ever? Ignoring the possibility of getting worms, she ate with gusto. Satisfied, she poured coffee into a mug. Think. How do I get out? She grimaced as her stomach cramped and her skull ached as if she’d been hit over the head with a sledgehammer. Her mug crashed to the floor, splattering coffee all over the carpet. She pressed her fingers over her temples. Then the sudden malaise passed as quickly as it had come. She rocked back and forth. Great, now I have food poisoning. Or could it be the change? She looked at her arms and felt her teeth. Nope, still human and most definitely prey.
Emma grabbed the bag of clothes. She slipped out of her island clothes and into the warm running outfit. Then replaced her sandals with running shoes.
She gazed at the digital clock. Three hours before midnight. She had to escape. Not only to save herself, but to save the campers.
Emma took the knife and worked on the sealed window. Every once in a while, she turned to listen, making sure no one came to check on her. She set the knife down and tiptoed to the door then pressed her ear against it. Silence. She checked the door, still locked. She returned to the window and finally pried it open. Cold wind slapped her face.
Emma climbed over the windowsill. The moon provided light to navigate. Unfortunately, there was scarcely anything to grip. The good news was no one seemed to patrol below her. She had to take the chance now.
She gingerly climbed down to the third floor. Two more to go. Voices in the front of the building startled her and she slipped.
Emma fell and rolled. Shit! Her ankle screamed in pain. She pressed her lips to keep from crying out. Her headache returned with blinding vengeance. Again, it passed before her head exploded. Her ankle took her attention. She touched it, swollen, like an eggplant.
Emma hobbled toward a tree and leaned against it. She looked back. Surely they heard. Odd. Only the dining area had light. Were they still eating? Of course, their highly attuned senses only worked while in werewolf form. Bolton would not risk his men going werewolf unless absolutely necessary.
The holler of a man coming from the front gate sent a cold chill down her spine. His screams continued accompanied by sna
rls and growls. The screams silenced. Poor man, no wonder they hadn’t noticed her sneaking out.
Emma picked up a branch and quickly fashioned it as a walking stick. Each step hurt, but oddly her head more than her ankle. Trained in night sky navigation by her werewolf nanny, she wondered what direction was best. Was there a fire tower somewhere nearby? She bit her lip, tasting the copper flavor of her own blood.
Emma plodded on. In the distance, men shouted. Not good sign. She inadvertently put weight on her ankle and cried out.
Chapter Twenty-One
Nik walked out of the pool house and set it on fire. All the mangled bodies of the werewolves he’d annihilated lay inside. His wounds had already healed from the battle. Rylee had ordered Nik to do a clean sweep. Nexus helped by shooting many with the wolfsbane rifle. Not bad for a new recruit. A well-aimed shot was unnecessary since a wolfsbane bullet anywhere on the body was lethal to werewolves.
