Cry Wolf (Wolves of Angels Rest #7)(34)

“Yessir. My cousin’s daughter was infected, and I knew I had to put her down.”

Infected? Put her down? What the—?

“And you are ready to shoot again?”

“Yessir. Without hesitation.”

No really, what the f*ck? Willow stared at them, knowing her eyes must be wild with confusion. And the rage.

The professor pointed. “Watch. It’s on the verge of changing.”

“I can’t change,” she snapped. “You perverts took all my clothes.” She dragged in a breath. So much for her attempt at meekness. “If you’re doing this for a ransom, give me back my cell phone and I’ll call—”

Enoch the cousin’s-daughter-shooting freak slammed the bars again. But this time he waved his lanyard in front of the lock, and the latch clicked.

Willow tensed when he stepped back and leveled the gun.

“Junior,” he said. “Bring the catch pole and open the cell. Be ready with the prod. Don’t want to dart it again if we don’t have to.”

She scrambled to her feet, not caring how much bare skin she exposed to these bastards. “Why are you doing this? What—?”

Enoch took the catch pole from Junior, watching her the whole time. “Shh,” he said, his gaze glittering viciously. “Quiet, and this’ll go much easier on you.” He reached into the crate with the long, heavy pole pointed toward her. A stiff loop dangled at the end.

Willow dodged back. She’d seen such things used to catch loose dogs. She wasn’t a rabid animal! Although she was feeling almost crazy. What was happening to her?

“Junior, teach it to mind.”

She’d been so focused on the catch pole that she missed that little sneak waiter coming around the back of the cage. The hotshot in the small of the back drove her to her knees with a guttural scream.

“Don’t break it,” the professor warned. “Not yet.”

Through the pulsing waves of agony spreading out from her spine and beyond the insane drama of their little tableau, Willow was somehow aware of the utter silence of the other beasts caught in their cages.

They’d been through this.

She was one of them now.

Her gasp cut off mid-sob as the loop of the catch pole settled around her neck and tightened in one jerk.

She clawed at the nylon-coated wire biting into her throat, but Enoch tugged her upright.

The professor was standing well back from the door, arms crossed and fingers drumming impatiently. “Bring it along,” he ordered. “I don’t understand why it didn’t change, but I want to get the first round of injections started.”

It took everything she had to hold herself upright against the quivering in her muscles, but Willow knew if she stumbled the wire would choke her. Maybe to death, in the hands of a man who’d apparently shot his cousin’s daughter.

“Why?” It was all she could force out, but she had to ask.

“Your kind are a scourge,” Enoch hissed from behind her. “I’ll kill every werewolf I find, god willing.”

Her steps faltered. “Werewolf?” The word was barely a squeak past her constricted throat.

“Enoch,” the professor said sharply. “Don’t speak to it. They have powers of mesmerizing and you could be ensnared.”

Now she was a witch too? None of this made sense.

Except… The strange shape of the creature in the cage next to her. Sort of like a bear, but with the hands, the tattoo, the eyes of a man.

And somehow they thought she was a werewolf.

They marched her past the row of cages. Peripherally, she was aware that a handful of the cells were occupied, though she couldn’t focus on what was inside. Werewolves and were-bears, oh my?

These people were crazy. Acting non-threatening and pretending to go along with them was going to get her nowhere. Except locked up like these poor creatures.

But what could she do, half naked and choking?

They forced her into a smaller room contained within the warehouse. The harsh, clinical lighting made her eyes tear; it looked like a hospital room, all plastic tubes and sharp steel.

And it smelled like death.

In the middle of the room was a stainless steel table. Worse than a hospital operating table, this had a higher rim around the edge and drains. An autopsy table. With heavy straps all the way across it.

Despite the loop around her neck, Willow tried to break away. She threw all her weight backward, hoping to snap the pole or wrench it from the hands of her captor.

Enoch swore as he wrestled her for the pole. She swung sideways, smashing into a crash cart. A tray of scalpels and syringes went flying.

“Junior!” he shouted. “Shock her!”

She wheeled at the end of the noose, kicking out at the little f*ck behind her. She lashed the cattle prod out of his hands.

But when she had only one foot on the ground, Enoch jerked her back.

She fell. The nylon burned the skin of her throat, and underneath, the wire tightened another notch, cutting off her breath.

She scrabbled at the strand, trying to get her fingertips underneath, but it was too tight.

Her vision went gray, black stars blooming at the edges.

“Shock it again,” came the professor’s chilly voice. “It needs to be in animal form before you strap it to the table.”

Only a gurgle of agony emerged past the noose when Junior zapped her again and again. She writhed at the end of the loop and caught a glimpse of Enoch’s gloating rictus of a smile.