Garoul: Silver Collar Part 4

Emily splashed onto all fours and crawled as fast as she could toward the cell with its bent bars and bank of solid mud. Sharp stones cut at her palms and knees. It felt like crawling across a riverbed, but her pounded body was too weak to stand in the slippery mess. Wind and rain slashed at her face, whistling in through the flapping tin roof. The sharp smell of pine cut clean and fresh through the sour pungency of the mud. Emily grasped the bars and regarded the mess inside the cell. How could the woman have survived? Emily's heart thumped in her chest and she felt a familiar tightness gather in her body, swarming like bees in her belly. What had she done? She had incarcerated a woman in this death pit, and now she was buried whole. Crushed to death, or drowned.

Emily began scooping away handfuls of dirt from where she had last seen the woman. She had to be here, pressed right up against the bars; there was nowhere else for her to go. She clawed at the earth, but every cavity she scooped out filled up at once with muck and water. Something squirmed and touched her fingers. A hand broke the slippery surface and grabbed at her wrist. Emily reared back with a cry and dragged the woman upright into a sitting position. They sat and blinked at each other in surprise. Then the woman's face cracked into a wide grin, gleaming snow white against her mud-plastered face.

"Hey there, Swampy," she said good-naturedly, as if adventures like this befell her every day. Emily splashed onto her backside, relieved to see the woman alive. They had both had a narrow escape. Above them, the roof creaked, as if to warn that they were not safe yet.

"W-we need to get out of here." Emily eyed the bent roof beams.

The woman shrugged. "I'm going nowhere unless you've got the door key."

But already Emily was pus.h.i.+ng her hands into the waterlogged pockets of her pants. She pulled out mud-soaked tissues, coins, and a pocket-sized flashlight. Everything spilled onto the dirt as she searched frantically.

"Here!" She jingled a set of keys.

"Yippee," came the flat reply. "Now get me out."

Emily hesitated. What if her captive ran away? The roof creaked again, louder and longer, and the mud under their feet s.h.i.+fted and flowed as if she were standing in a rolling river. To h.e.l.l with it.

When unsure what to do, Emily followed her gut, which was invariably always digesting moral fiber. She pushed the larger key into the cell door and turned it with a satisfying click. The door refused to open. She shouldered it with all her strength, but it moved barely an inch.

"Let me try." The woman grabbed the bars on the other side, and between them, they managed to wedge the door open several inches. The cell walls shuddered and mud swirled around their legs trying to suck them down deeper.

"I can get through this." The woman began to slip through the gap; she was remarkably thin. "You go. Get on out," she ordered Emily. After a second's hesitation, Emily moved for the cabin door.

"Not that way," the woman called after her. "It's holding up that entire wall. Go through the window." Sure enough, the sagging wall seemed to be resting on the doorframe and nothing else. Alarmed, Emily went over to the window and pulled it open. It was high up, and tall as she was, she had to scuff for a foothold to reach the ledge. She was hanging there scratching the wall with her toes when a firm hand on her bottom pushed her upward and through the opening with dizzying speed. Before she knew what was happening, she landed in a heap outside, a slimy mud bank breaking her fall. With an agile leap, the woman landed beside her. Emily lay sprawled at her feet, s.h.i.+vering with cold and shock. This is the moment she kills me, proving for all eternity what an idiot I was to trust her.

"Come on, Tar Baby. We gotta get away from here." A hand scooped under her armpit and she was hauled to her unsteady feet. She gaped in surprise at her former captive who seemed more intent on dragging her away to safety than caving her head in.

"Ouch!" She clutched the back of her thigh and limped alongside her rescuer who wasn't slowing any. They were several yards away when, with an earsplitting crash, the cabin collapsed completely.

"Told you it was going to go," the woman said, and kept on dragging her.

"Stop. Wait, just wait." Emily dug her heels in and refused to move another inch. "Where are we going?"

The woman looked at her, perplexed, then shrugged, dropping her hand away from Emily's arm. "Dunno. Just away." The rain ran in rivulets through her stringy, mud-drenched hair and down her forehead into dark eyes that blinked out rainwater and dirt.

"Well, I'm going to my RV for a hot shower," Emily stated a little huffily, and with that, turned in the opposite direction and limped away.

"Wait. You've got an RV? Where? I didn't see any RV." The strange woman was hot on her heels.

"You would if you'd gone farther north."

"What? How far?"

"About a half mile. I drove it in closer after you were locked up. It's there." Emily pointed to a small, beat up, orange RV on the far edge of the clearing.

The woman gave a low whistle and increased her stride. "Sweet."

"Hey," Emily called, anxiously. "I got the keys." Already, the woman was looking in the windows, smearing the paintwork with her mucky hands.

"This thing has a shower?" she called back. "It's miniscule."

"It's big enough for me." Emily puffed up to the side door and slid it open.

"It wasn't even locked," the woman objected.

"I n-never said it was locked. I said I had the keys." Emily sat on the side step and began to kick off her shoes, grimacing in pain.

"You pulled a muscle?" the woman asked.

"Yes. I was pushed headfirst out a window, remember?" Emily answered tiredly and shucked off her jeans, uncaring about the other woman. She was freezing to death in these mud-soaked clothes. She needed to get clean and drink something hot before she froze into an ice cube. "Once I get the engine started, I can warm the water. It heats up pretty quick."

"Tepid will do." The woman made to push past her into the RV.

"Hey." Emily grabbed at her arm. "Get those dirty clothes off."

The woman looked at her. "I'm naked."

Emily stared at the mud-coated body. Of course, the woman was naked. They were both so slathered in dirt it was impossible to tell the difference in the rain-filled, misty night. The woman pushed past her leaving a trail of muddy footprints.

"Don't touch anything," Emily yelled after her, and shed the last of her clothes. The sound of water alarmed her. Already, the woman had located the small shower and was running it. "Hey. I haven't got the engine started yet." She opened the driver's door and turned on the ignition.

"It's wet. That's all that matters," the call came back. "Do you have any shampoo-oh, here it is."

Emily stepped into the RV, anxious and unhappy that the woman had commandeered her little traveling home. She kept it pristine, but already it had muddy feet and handprints everywhere. The shower door was open and water splashed all over the linoleum floor.

"You're making a mess," she scolded her. Her anxiety tightened in her chest. This was a preposterous situation. A werewolf was in her shower. And using her best shampoo. Except it wasn't a werewolf. It was a muddy, messy, very naked woman who had absolutely no manners. Everything was out of control, and Emily was struggling to corral it back in. Between that and keeping her breathing steady, she was light-headed with exhaustion. She stepped in a puddle of cold water. "Do you have to thrash about like a p-porpoise?"

"Get in here. The water's warming up."

"Just hurry up and I'll go next." Her teeth were chattering. Coming in out of the rain had helped, but her chill went bone deep. She was so cold she felt unwell. A hand reached out and hauled her into the small shower cubicle where a dollop of her expensive shampoo was dropped onto her head. "You can't-ack," she spluttered on the soapy water.

"Where's the key for this?" The woman pointed at the collar around her neck. Emily reached for the chain around her own neck. It was missing along with the key to the silver collar.

"I-I don't know," she said.

"Get it off." The woman was tugging at the collar. "It's annoying."

"The key's g-gone."

"Typical." Then large hands began to roughly lather Emily's hair. "Nothing goes right for me," she groused. The cubicle was far too small and they stood all angles and elbows, and far too close for Emily's liking.

"Ouch." She winced and pulled away.

"You've got a lump on your noggin." Strong fingers probed her scalp. "It matches your black eye. You look like a winking racc.o.o.n."

"Well, you look like a p-proboscis monkey," Emily huffed.

"Ah. You caught me with a lucky swipe on the hooter." The hard fingers continued to probe Emily's bruised face and neck, checking out her bone structure for any more sore spots.

"Leave me alone. It hurts." She tried to step away but was blocked by a wet, slippery body, and teasing, challenging eyes.

"But you're not clean yet," the woman said. The suds from the shampoo were ma.s.saged over Emily's body. She was scrubbed behind her ears with rough fingertips digging out any muck lurking in the grooves of her ears.

"You need to look after your ears," the woman scolded her playfully. "How else are you going hear the Garouls sneaking up on you?"

So it isn't playfulness, Emily thought. It's torture. She tried to swat the hands away only to have hers grabbed by bigger hands and her palms and fingers brusquely ma.s.saged and soaped clean.

"Paws, too," said her tormentor. "Very important for running away."

"Stop it." Emily spat water from her mouth. "I can wash myself."

"Can you now?" The woman grinned down at her. "That might take a while. You got more muck on you than an earthworm."

Her protests were ignored, and Emily found herself too tired for even a token struggle. Her neck and armpits were soaped by calloused palms that stroked down her back to the flair of her hips in broad, stinging sweeps. G.o.d, I'd pay a hundred dollars for an exfoliation like this in a salon. Emily's unwelcome thought broke off into a squeak as she was spun around and her bottom was brusquely ma.s.saged.

"Hindquarters should be nice and silky for a good nipping," the woman said. There was suppressed humor in her voice. "Because trust me, you aren't going to outrun a werewolf."

Emily felt her face redden and turned away, but was pulled back against the woman's body and a huge soapy hand reached around to scrub the apex of her legs until the tender flesh on her thighs glowed pink. Emily tried to slap her hands away.

"I can definitely do this bit!" she said, anger and panic seeping into her voice. There came a deep rumbling laugh from behind her that as good as vibrated along her spine.

"Feels like good nipping there, too," the woman said, ignoring her complaints before somehow managing to kneel in the small s.p.a.ce and wash the length of Emily's legs, lifting each foot and soaping between the toes, and tsking all the time at the state of Emily's "paws."

The entire body scrub took all of four minutes and left Emily feeling as if a soap-fueled tsunami had crashed over her, but her skin sang and she was warm as toast, and best of all, thoroughly clean.

She squeezed around in the stall to stand almost eye-to-eye with a gaze as mischievous and sin-soaked as the devil himself. Her heart leapt into her throat. It was too unnerving.

"Me now," the woman said.

Emily tried to slide out without their bodies touching. "Um, I-I'm going to make some tea."

"Me." The shampoo bottle was thrust at her. Emily forgot about decorum and ran for it, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s sliding across the woman's torso, belly touching belly, and not caring at all in her scramble to get out. And she was free! Plopped out from the steamy cubicle and into the cool of the tiny RV. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself, trying to ignore the leery chuckle from behind. Tetchily, she reached over and swung the shower door shut, cutting off the laughter with a slam, though the thin plywood provided no real privacy.

Emily toweled dry and pulled on clean clothes. She a.s.sembled a spare set of clothing for her guest, a ragtag a.s.sortment of whatever she had left, which was very little. She'd be d.a.m.ned if that b.i.t.c.h was going to sit around buck-a.s.s naked and laugh at her discomfort. Emily was not a prude, but she felt completely out of her depth in every sense. She had so underestimated the nature of this adventure.

This would be the time a smart person would make a run for it, she told herself. But to where? Without her weapons, she didn't have a chance against this predator, especially in the heart of the forest. She'd be chased down in seconds, and she didn't want to find out any more about a "good nipping."

Emily mulled over her options as she lit the gas stove. She had no crossbow, no rifle, and her brain felt as organized as a tossed salad. The woman who was making a mess of her shower could turn back to werewolf at any time and kill her. It was obvious that for the moment, Emily was nothing more than a toy to her, to play with and mentally torture.

She had to get away. Emily eyed the small Tupperware canister lurking at the back of the kitchen shelf. She had one resource left. Thankfully, she would never run out of tea.

Chapter Eleven.

Luc rinsed her hair in the cooling water. This was an unexpected turn of events and very much in her favor. Best of all, the crossbow and rifle were now buried under a ton of mud. Her hunter was weaponless. Finally, they were on a level playing field. Luc knew she should make a bolt for it now that she was free, except she too had been under that same ton of mud. She was feeling very beat up and bruised. Not that little Miss Squeaky Clean out there needed to know.

Luc had to look invincible if she was to cow this human into working for her. This was a nice little setup, a sweet little RV that could take her all the way to the Canadian border. All she needed was for Emily to drive her. There'd be plenty of time for her to recuperate on a journey like that. And best of all, the Garouls avoided humans like the plague. They would not be expecting Luc to have a human in tow, never mind one chauffeuring her to freedom. There was a good chance, in fact a great chance, they would miss her altogether as she cruised out of the valley in this orange hippie mobile. After all, they're looking for a rogue werewolf, not Mama Ca.s.s. Luc was pleased with this new escape plan. It was bold and daring and something new to brag about. She exited the shower to see Emily preparing herbal tea.

"I left out some c-clothes." Emily blushed and nodded at a pile of clothing and a towel on the bench seat. Luc liked that she had an effect on Emily. It was something they could explore on their road trip north.

"Luc," she said, and began pulling on the old jogging sweats, ignoring the towel. "My name is Luc. You can use it."

"Oh." Emily looked fl.u.s.tered, but didn't use the name. "I made some tea." She s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably. Luc supposed it was not every day you had a werewolf for tea, though Emily seemed more than happy to prepare poisoned sandwiches for them.

She slid into the bench seat across the table from Emily and sipped from her cup. It was pitch-black outside, and Emily had lit a small lantern. The rain drummed on the roof, and the windows were all steamed up with raindrops tracking crazy patterns down the gla.s.s. She noticed the side door was slightly ajar.

"You're not closing that?" She nodded at it.

"I need to vent the gas from the stove," Emily answered in a terse voice.

Despite the faint draft, the RV had a cozy, intimate feel, and Luc could imagine it was fun to travel around in it, making camp wherever your nose led you. She contemplated the woman sitting opposite her. Her damp hair was dragged back and tied loosely at her nape. It only served to emphasize the angle of her jaw and the long curve of her neck. Her black eye blended with the shadows cast across her face. Luc zoned in on the small ear she had thoroughly scrubbed clean. It brought a sly smile to her lips. Emily s.h.i.+fted in her seat, and Luc noted her high color and discomfort. She still remembered the curves of Emily's wet body under her hands. The woman glowed in the dim lamplight, and Luc felt her blood quicken. She clicked her tongue against her teeth. She had a hunger and it was not for rabbit.

"What is there to eat?" she demanded.

Emily reached in a nearby drawer and pulled out a few bags of chips. "It's all I got. S-someone stuffed themselves with all the Trekker Bars," she said, trying to sound cool.

Luc pulled a bag apart and began to stuff chips in her mouth. She was starving, and at least these were pre-wrapped and couldn't have been tampered with.

"I think you've got w-w-" Emily watched her eat with dismay.

"Wisdom? White teeth?" Luc grunted around a full mouth. "What?"

"Worms," Emily finished.

Luc glared at her. "I do not! I'll have you know my sister's a vet."

"You have a sister?"

"A twin. But she's the ugly one, and we have to lock her away from polite society." Luc crumpled the empty bag and tossed it.

"A twin sister? I'm trying to imagine two of you in the world. It's n-not a pretty picture."

"Werewolves have twin cubs all the time." Luc was licking her fingers clean. "So." She was tired of the conversation. Time to change it. "You travel far in this bean can?"

She watched Emily focus on her tongue curling around her fingers. It was a fine, long, healthy pink specimen, and she was proud of it. However, Emily looked embarra.s.sed. Good. Luc was happy to crank up the s.e.xual tension. Emily looked away and tried to shrug nonchalantly, but it was more like a spasm.

"I-I drove here from Chicago," she said, trying to regain composure.

"Chicago?" Luc was surprised. "You came a long way to collect wolf p.o.o.p in little gla.s.s bottles."

"I'm visiting. I was b-born around here."