"But we're here to stop you," Uncle Travis said, then smiled seductively - and he was handsome enough that she would bet that a lot of women had followed that smile into a bedroom. "And for payment, all we ask is that we have a little fun along the way - right, boys?"
"Yes," said the big man. "Yes, fun."
It was weird hearing the simplemindedness in his speaking voice and smelling his lust. In her experience - and she'd volunteered in high school with a group that specialized in free babysitting for parents with autistic or special-needs kids - most people who were mentally disabled were pretty sweet as long as their parents hadn't totally spoiled them.
Benedict was not sweet, and he was something a lot more deviant than a spoiled brat. Listening to him and smelling his need gave him an oddly pedophilic vibe. It made her feel filthy by association.
Anna wondered if there had always been something wrong with Benedict, or if Uncle Travis had turned him into this...twisted soul.
"Look at her, Uncle Travis," said Heuter. "She's just staring. Is she too scared to fight? Or maybe she thinks she can get away, that she can fight us and win. Maybe she's not scared of a bunch of mere humans."
"No snarls or raging," agreed Uncle Travis. "Might mean she's already given up. Maybe we won't wait until she's human. She's not half as big as that last one was, and he didn't give us any trouble." He put his face near the cage, as if by accident, but she could smell his excitement. He was taunting her, trying to get her to attack. "We took that one apart, piece by piece, until the creature that was left was a mewling, broken thing. We put him down out of pity when we were done with him."
Otten hadn't been trained by Charles, Anna reminded herself firmly. Let success make them careless. She relaxed her ears and changed her posture until the glimpse she saw of the black wolf in the mirror showed a beast who was scared and alone, who knew there was no way her mate could find her - as if the reminder of what had happened to Otten had been enough to steal her confidence.
She had to remind herself firmly that she was only acting hopeless and afraid. That she was not a victim, that she would prevail over them.
Uncle Travis sneered. "Pathetic. But they all are eventually."
"I don't mind pathetic," said Benedict earnestly. "As long as they are pretty. And human. I don't screw animals. Screwing animals is bad."
But Anna noticed that he didn't get any closer to the cage than he had to. His scent was...uneasy. Charles had hurt him when they fought and now he didn't want to get too near her.
Uncle Travis ignored Benedict, studying Anna as though she were a puzzle. "I don't think we'll wait. Get the bang stick and the muzzle. We'll put her out again and get the chains back on her."
Uncle Travis didn't specify whom he was ordering around, but Benedict strode off to do his bidding while Heuter never even moved.
Bang stick. A bang stick was a long pole with a firearm that could fire bullets at sharks underwater. She'd seen one on some National Geographic show on TV. She'd been rooting for the sharks.
Benedict went into the office in the far corner of the barn and came out with a seven-or eight-foot-long stick with what looked like a hypodermic taped on the end with duct tape. It wasn't a bang stick - but it looked like one had inspired its creation.
Anna rocked back warily. She had no intention of being unconscious again if she could help it. Drugs might not work right on werewolves, but enough drugs could knock her out for a few minutes. She didn't want to be helpless with these men.
ISAAC WAS PRETTY surprised that the high-and-mighty Lord of the Elves didn't get how scared he should be right now, stuck as they all were in a car with Charles while Charles's mate was in the hands of a bunch of serial killers.
That the FBI agents didn't get it, either, was a tribute to the hellacious fine poker face Charles had on, but Isaac would have thought that the fae, being so much older and wiser in song and story, would have better instincts. He should know that the Marrok's Wolfkiller was about to lose it and lots of people were going to die.
Of course, Isaac had gotten the distinct impression that Beauclaire was a tough, tough bastard last night when they'd fought the horned lord together. Attacking an invisible monster with nothing more than a long knife was all sorts of gutsy and maybe a little crazy - though the fae was still alive, which might mean that he hadn't been as crazy as all that. Not that either of them, Isaac or Beauclaire, had done a tithe of the damage the bogeyman of the werewolves had managed. Isaac had been impressed even when he thought that Charles must have been able to see the monster, but Hally had disabused him of that notion.
"He might have seen a flicker," she had told him as they waited for the cops and officials to do their cleanup bit on Gallops Island. "But it's been nearly a week since they killed Jacob. Magic goes fast when you waste it the way these guys do. Like to like, the magic released by Jacob's death would have lit up a little, enough to tell him that there was something in the room, especially if it were a little dark, but not enough to see what it was."
And Charles had attacked as if he knew exactly where he was aiming. Fast. Freaking fast and powerful. Isaac had heard the thunk as the other wolf had landed on the beast, had watched him hang on after the creature had rolled over on him a couple of times. By that time Isaac's clock had been rung but good, so all he remembered were bits and pieces of the end of the fight - but it was enough to wow him.
Isaac had been in his share of fights, both before and after his Change. He knew without arrogance that he was damned good, and five years of karate before he'd been Changed - inspired by the desire to never let anyone throw him into a locker again - had proved useful in his job as Alpha. But if he ever went in a ring against Charles, he might as well roll over and show his throat before the first round of hostilities began. No wonder the Marrok used Charles as his cleanup man. Who was going to stand up to that?
Isaac drove the van because when Horatio, the wolf who owned the van - Horatio was not his real name, but he wanted to be an actor and his grasp of Shakespeare was really good, so the nickname stuck - got a good look at Charles's set face, he'd tossed Isaac the keys. Then he'd suggested that he could stop by Isaac's house sometime in the morning to pick up the van if they didn't really need him to come along. He'd waited to make sure that Isaac wouldn't order him to drive, but looked extremely relieved when Isaac gave him the nod. Horatio had more common sense in his little finger than anyone in this van had in his whole body - including Isaac.