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Using her peripheral vision, she was able to catch a glimpse of the space above her while still lying on her side. More bars. Oh God, she was in a crate. A large crate that was built to hold animals.
Motherfucker.
Although it was dark, her shifter enhanced vision allowed her to see just fine. Her mode of transport seemed to be a small van. With the exception of a crate, some boxes, and a few rucksacks, it was empty.
Her female rubbed against her, sure that Luke would come for them. Oh, he would. If he had any way of finding them. But Blair had no plans to wait for him or anyone else to save her. She intended to take care of that part herself.
The problem was … she was so weak she felt both light as a feather and heavy as concrete at the same time. More, the son of a bitch who’d taken her wouldn’t have put her in any old crate. He’d have purchased one specifically used to contain shifters. That meant there’d be no sense in trying to kick open the door or have her female chew through the bars. That would achieve one thing only—alert him to the fact that she’d woken.
Damn the bastard for putting her in a crate. He couldn’t have simply cuffed her wrists behind her back or something, could he? She could have freed herself by dislocating her thumbs. Which, of course, he knew.
Her pulse spiked at the sound of a low male curse. She felt the van slow until, eventually, it came to a halt. Shit, had she given herself away?
Keys jangled, and then a door creaked open. It shut with a clang, and she heard footfalls. They weren’t coming closer, though. No, they were fading away.
She froze, listening hard. Seconds of silence ticked by. Her female paced, urging Blair to move, move, move.
Deciding it might not be a bad idea to use the moment of privacy to try escaping, Blair kicked at the crate’s door. Ow. It was like booting a stone wall. Being barefoot made it hurt even more. Still, she gave it another admittedly weak kick, wincing at the ache in her muscles.
A loud curse rang out in the distance, making her heart slam against her ribcage. She tensed once more, hearing thuds and muffled snarls. What the hell?
A muttered oath preceded the snapping of branches, and then a quiet swiftly fell. But the silence was soon broken by the sound of yet more footfalls, and these were heading toward the van. Quickly.
Panic racing through her system, Blair practically attacked her crate, hitting and kicking it with everything in her—and she sadly still didn’t have much in her at all. The whole time, those footfalls came closer and closer, getting louder and louder … and headed to the rear of the van.
The double doors opened wide. Moonlight beamed into the vehicle, slashing through the shadows. A tall figure stood silhouetted in the doorway. But not the one she’d expected to see.
Blair double-blinked. “Finley?”
The female leaped into the van and crossed to the crate. “We’ve got to get you out of this now. I don’t know if I killed him.”
“What? What’s happening? Shit, you’re hurt.” The woman sported puncture wounds, rake marks, and a split lip.
“Back at the field, I saw him dragging you off, but I was too far away to do anything,” she said, her words coming fast as she struggled to open the crate, pain etched into her face. “I roared out a warning, but no one heard me while there was so much damn noise going on. So I followed the van, managed to climb onto the bike rack, and then held on. He stopped because there’s a dead deer in the road and he wanted to move it out of the way.”
Pausing, Finley cursed at her failed attempts to open the door, sliced out her claws, and tried using one to pick the lock. “I pounced on the opportunity to take him out, but he’s one tough mother. We tussled for a bit, ended up wrestling on the ground, and I hit his head hard with a rock. He rolled off the road and down the steep hill, but I don’t know if he’s out cold or dead.” There was a snick, and she smiled. “Finally.”
Blair’s stomach lurched as she rolled onto her front. More, her head spun and the edges of her vision smudged. Cursing inwardly, she nonetheless crawled out of the crate and went to follow the pallas cat out of the van.
“Come on, I’ll drive us out of here,” said Finley.
Something caught Blair’s eye. Crossing to one of the boxes, she pulled out a sweater. “This is mine. All the clothes in here are mine. It’s all old stuff that I bagged up last year for my mom to take to a charity store.”
