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“We’re going to have to fight our way out of here.” Galen’s voice rubbed against the inside of my skull like velvet against my skin, soft and decadent, but there was an undercurrent of something else.
Something I wasn’t used to hearing in my mate’s voice - an edge of fear.
“Galen? What is it?” I asked through the bond, fighting against the nervous energy that circulated between us.
“They’re armed with more than just their claws and fangs.” His warning, which he’d spoken aloud, came just before the man our waitress identified as Lincoln drew a gun from his waistband.
“Right you are, and I’ll give you one guess as to what they’re loaded with.” Lincoln sneered, a glint of light reflecting off his gold capped incisors.
His other teeth had been filed to points and added to his menacing look and danger as an opponent.
We were a long way from home with no allies, limited resources and in the fight of our lives. The odds were stacked against us.
Galen reached out through the bond, sharing his thoughts with me before he conceded to Lincoln.
“Well, gentleman, it looks like we’ve got ourselves a good old fashioned stand off.” Galen uncrossed his legs and sat up straight; wood cracking as his hands gripped the arms of the chair.
Click, click, click. Lincoln and his friends cocked their revolvers and steadied their aim.
“I don’t think you understand the situation.” Lincoln turned his head to one side and focused zeroed in on me. “But you do, don’t you honey? You can see this isn’t any old revolver. You know what it is?”
He twisted his wrist, rocking the gun back and forth a little.
“This one’s an Alaskan special, named it after us because we hunt big game. This little Ruger snub nose will take down a bear. Now, imagine what it will do to a wolf when it’s loaded with silver bullets.” Lincoln’s upper lip curled in one corner and he sucked in air between his teeth.
“I think she’s getting the picture now, Lincoln.” The waitress snickered, fished a cell phone out from the pouch pocket on the faded green apron tied around her waist, punched in a number and brought it up to her ear. “Hey, John, yeah, it’s Lydia...Got it. The boys will bring them in...Yep, they’re on their way.”
Lydia pointed at Lincoln and his lackeys, and then to us. Her scowl and rough, aggressive motions seemed to indicate the person on the phone wasn’t happy and was in a hurry to meet us.
“Let’s go.” Lincoln jerked his head in the direction of the door. “And don’t even bother trying to make a run for it. If I don’t kill you, the weather will.”
Galen and I communicated through our bond, agreeing to do as we were told until the right opportunity presented itself for us to escape.
We needed answers to the questions we had about the demons and my family’s connection to them, but that information was useless to us if we were dead.
The men lead us out of the restaurant and boarding house to a SUV parked in the alley along the left side of the building.
“Turn around and face the truck.” Lincoln lashed nylon rope around our wrists, bound our hands, and then covered our heads with dingy, grease stained cloth sacks from inside his vehicle.
We were shoved into the back storage area of the SUV. The arctic cold penetrated the steel frame of the truck, seeped through my clothes and settled into my bones.
The accelerated metabolism which caused a werewolves abnormal body temperature was useless in below zero temperatures. My teeth chattered hard enough to chip a molar and caused searing pain in my lower jaw.
Three doors slammed shut, the engine fired up and radio blared a skull rattling base through the speaker system in the cargo hold. The throttle revved, and held steady at a high RPM for several minutes before the vehicle took off.
Ice and snow crunched under the tires. The SUV rumbled over the frozen ground for what felt like hours. My shoulders burned, threatening to pop free of the sockets as I struggled with the bonds and worked my arms beneath me and slid my legs through.
Galen did the same and we worked to loosen the ropes on each other’s wrists enough to provide relief and better circulation, and inched up our hoods to see, but stopped short of freeing each other.
Instead, we laid there, the short, abrasive automotive carpet fibers rubbing the small of my back where my coat rode up, and contemplated our next move.
Lincoln was right.
We could run. But we had nowhere to go. With no heat, shelter and food, death in the arctic was imminent. We could free ourselves and go for a surprise attack, fighting Lincoln and his lackeys in close quarters increased our odds.
It also increased the odds of an accident.
And then we would be in the same situation as if we’d made a break for it. Sure, the truck would provide some shelter but only if it sustained minimal damage and if it was in working order, the heat only lasted as long as the gas in the tank.
