Moonlight (By My Light, Book One) (Werewolf Shifter Romance), Page 3

The next thing I knew was waking up with a hangover like I'd spent the weekend with Dakota. I sat up in bed and rubbed my head.

  "What did I let her talk me-" Then I realized it wasn't my bed. Hell, it wasn't even Dakota's bed.

  My eyes widened as they tried to take in the full view of the strange environment around me. I was in a cell that was twenty-feet by fifteen. The rear, side walls, and even the floor were made of single sheets of thick-looking, cold gray metal like steel. The front of the cell was made of a thick glass. I sat on a cot attached to the wall and suspended two feet off the floor. On the opposite wall was a sink and toilet. The only source of light came from beyond the glass.

  I stood and caught the wall. My head swirled like I'd drank one dozen too many vodka shots without chasers. I glanced down at my wounded arm and saw that it had a tight, white bandage around the wound. I tried flexing the muscles, but only once. They burned like I'd lit a lighter to my skin.

  I shook my head, clutched my arm, and stumbled over to the glass. I placed one palm against the glass and looked beyond the glass at a long, wide hall that ran to my left and right. The light was from overhead florescent lights that stretched down the hall in either direction. The floor was the same metal, and on the opposite side of the hall were more cells like mine. I could see three other cells, but there wasn't movement in any of them. The cell opposite me didn't appear to have anything different in it from mine except a large wooden rectangular box.

  I couldn't see a door knob or release latch, even on the cells and walls opposite me. I pounded against the glass. The stuff didn't even quiver.

  "Hello? Is anyone there?" I yelled.

  I heard a heavy metal door open and shut, and footsteps walked down the hall. Fox came into view and stopped in front of the glass.

  "Good evening," he greeted me. "I'm not sure if you know who I am. My name is William Fox." He gestured to my cell. "I brought you here after your little mishap in the alley."

  I glared at him. "What the hell am I doing here? Let me out!" I demanded.

  "I'm afraid I can't do that," he refused.

  "Why not?" I growled.

  "You see, you've become what's commonly called a supernatural creature, or, more precisely, a werewolf," he explained.

  I leaned back and looked him over. He didn't look particularly insane, but his calm, even voice gave me the shivers.

  "Listen, I don't know what you're thinking, but it's wrong," I insisted. "My name's Gwenneth-"

  "Gwenneth Rogers, age twenty-eight. You live at 112 North Second Avenue. Would you like me to recite your social security number?" he asked me.

  "No, what I want you to do is get me the hell out of here!" I insisted.

  He shook his head. "Like I said before, I can't do that. You're now a danger to the-"

  I slammed my fist into the glass. That vibrated it. "I'm not a werewolf, now let me out or the police are going to come and-"

  "The police did come," he revealed.

  "And?" I questioned him.

  "They asked me about my being seen with a large dog. I merely told them I was doing the city a favor by ridding it of a dangerous dog, and they left. A small donation to the officer's fund with patch up the rest," he told me.

  My fist opened and my hand slid down the glass. There went my last hope of outside help. Now I had to convince the psycho in front of me to let me out.

  "I can see I haven't convinced you of your new changes," he mused.

  "The only thing you've convinced me is you're nuts," I quipped.

  "I see. That will make two nights from now all the more difficult for you," he commented.

  I frowned. "What happens in two nights?"

  "In approximately two nights the moon will be full and you will experience your first transformation into a werewolf," he revealed.

  "I'm not a werewolf! I was just bit by some stupid dog!" I argued.

  "Really? Your have been unconscious for exactly twenty-four, and yet your arm is almost completely healed," he told me.

  I gestured to my bandaged arm. "Does it look healed to you?"

  A small, crooked grin slipped onto his lips. "Prove it to me. Unwrap your arm."

  "And then you'll let me go?" I questioned him.

  "If you prove me wrong, I will let you go," he promised.

  I stepped back and clawed at the bandage. My fingers caught on the lip of the bandage and I furiously unwound the white cloth. In a few seconds the last of the bandage fell to the floor at my feet. I held up my arm and my mouth dropped open.

  My wound was almost completely healed. There were only a few angry red marks where the teeth had sank into my flesh.

  "Now do you believe me?" Fox asked me.

  I cradled my arm in my other hand and shook my head. "I. . .this isn't right. I'm sure it bit me."

  "You're not wrong. The wolf did bite you, but werewolves have incredible healing powers, or so some legends say. I'm glad for your sake that bit of myth was true," he commented. I ran a hand through my frazzled hair. I was still in the filthy clothes from my time in the trash heap and on the ground of the alley. "I can see this is very upsetting for you. There's a fresh change of clothes at the foot of your bed. I'm afraid we can't shut the hall lights off, but you'll get used to it."

  Fox turned and walked away from me.

  "Wait!" I yelled. He paused and half-turned to me. "What are you going to do to me?"

  "For now, nothing. Your transformation will be finished in two nights, and then we'll go from there. Goodnight." With that he turned and walked out of my sight.

  "Fox! Fox!" I yelled. I heard a metal door open and shut, and then there was silence. "Let me out!"

  A sob broke from my throat. Tears poured down my cheeks as I slid down the glass and onto the cold floor. I curled myself into a ball and balled my eyes out for I don't know how long. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour. What I know is that I got the sense of being watched. I looked up and started back.

  A man stood near the glass in the cell opposite me. He was as pale as chalk and wore a dark business suit with a red tie. His eyes were a strange autumn color mixed with an impossibly red hue. I thought maybe he wore contacts. He stood at six feet and looked about thirty. His black hair was cut short and a few loose hairs dashingly hung over his forehead.

  The pale man pressed one of his fingers against his pasty lips. I noticed he had unbelievably long fingernails. He reached down and used one of those fingernails to cut a long, deep gash across his own arm. The man tipped his arm down and bright red blood flowed from one end. He dipped his fingers into the blood and pressed the mess against the glass in front of him. I barely registered that his wound healed in no time before he wiggled his fingers above the glass.

  I scuttled back when the blood began to form words.

  Hello there. The moment the words formed they congealed back into a blob of blood.

  "W-what the hell?" I gasped.

  The man shook his head and pressed his bloodied finger against his lips. He waved his hand in front of the glass and the blood shifted again. New words formed, and I noticed they trailed down the glass just in front of his body.

  Don't speak. They can hear our every word.

  I have to admit that by then I was shaking even worse than before. This was all so insane. First I'm kidnapped by a crazy rich guy who thinks I'm a werewolf, and now a pale guy with the power over blood and a wooden box behind him wants to strike up a conversation. I swallowed some of my fear and edged towards the glass front of my cell.

  Brave girl, he complimented me.

  I shook my head. I was scared out of my mind, but that meant I didn't have much else to lose from talking, or reading, a guy's blood words.

  We can help each other, you and I, the guy wrote.

  How? I mouthed.

  He shook his head and wrote out a few words. Write what you want to say and erase it. They can see your lips, but the sur
face of the glass reflects the camera views and is more difficult to catch.

  I looked around for something to write on. The only things I thought I could use were my finger and the toilet water. I hurried over to the toilet. It was clean, but the thought of dipping my fingers into the bowl wasn't tempting. I looked down at my fingers. They were pink with cold, and I blew on them. That gave me an idea. I hurried back to the glass and blew on it. My warm breath stuck to the surface. I used my finger as my pencil.

  Hi, I wrote to him. Then I realized it was backwards for him, so I stuck in an 'i' at the front of the 'h' before my breath vanished from the glass.

  He grinned and waved his hand to spell out more words. Hello again.

  I took a deep breath and blew a large cloud over the glass. Who are you?

  A prisoner such as yourself, but we haven't time for full introductions, he wrote. They may come back any moment, and we must plan our escape.

  How can I help?

  Tomorrow night you may be able to escape from your cell, he wrote.

  Why tomorrow night? I asked him.

  Your strength will be close to its zenith, but your weakness will be hindered by your human self.

  I blinked at him. Huh?

  He pursed his lips and wiggled his fingers. The closer the approach of your first full moon, the greater your physical strength, but since you have not yet changed into a full werewolf the wolf's bane will have less effect on you.

  I threw my arms up. Another wacko that believed I was a werewolf. Then again, I was writing to someone who could twist his blood into words.

  Am I really a werewolf? I asked him.

  If Fox believes you are, then you must be, he replied.

  I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. Oh god, did I need a drink. One of Dakota's goon juice drinks would've been great about then. I took a deep breath and blew again.

  But how do I get out? I wondered.

  The glass front delves four inches beneath the floor. You must wedge your fingers into the small slot in the floor between the glass and floor and pull the glass door up, he instructed me.

  I looked at my hands and then at the floor at my feet. I could see what he meant by the eight of an inch gap between the glass and the floor. A strange odor wafted from the gap.

  You're joking, right? I asked him.

  He shook his head and his fingers moved madly over the blood. This was becoming so normal as to be surreal. With your strength you can widen the gap between the glass and floor, and grab the bottom lip of the glass. You need only lift it high enough to squeeze under and go to the panel down the hall to your right. The controls to open the doors are there. Destroy the controls and you will free us all.

  That sounded way too easy. And if I fail?

  Then you will never get another chance to escape, he wrote to me.

  I ran a hand through my hair and shook my head. This was just too much. I was now supposed to be the savior to a whole hall full of-hell, I didn't even know who else was trapped in there. I hadn't seen anyone but the pasty guy in front of me.

  What is this place for? I asked him.

  A holding cell for those captured by Fox, he told me. We are all at the mercy of his experiments. They are too numerous to list, but know that he won't have any mercy on you. He won't see you as a fellow human being, but as a monster, and he will treat you as a monster.

  I slid onto the floor and leaned my back against the cool metal wall. My life was gone if I didn't take this one chance of escape. I took a deep breath and wrote on the glass.

  I'll do it.

  CHAPTER 4