Page 70 of A Malicious Menagerie
Chase is pacing the length of his cage as a wolf, a groove already worn from the past hour. He must hear me coming because he swings his head toward me, his golden eyes glittering with relief. He’s already shifting as I approach the door, and the moment I tap the key card to the sensor, he’s scooping me up into his arms. “Holy fuck,” Chase breathes, holding me so tightly it’s hard to draw breath. “I was sure I’d never see you again.”
“You should give me more credit,” I croak. Still, I’d rather have his warmth and comfort than air right now, and I wind my arms around his back to squeeze him back just as fiercely.
“What happened?” Chase murmurs into my hair.
“Let’s just say it involves a vengeful wendigo. I’ll tell you all about it later. First, we have to get Rory.”
“I’m happy to save you the trip,” a familiar voice says behind me, and I spin in Chase’s arms to face the Mothman himself. Instantly, that bone-chilling feeling of foreboding fills me.
Chase, too, tenses against me and fixes his wary golden gaze on the harbinger. “What the fuck?”
“It’s Rory,” I whisper, reaching up to pat his arm comfortingly. “He can predict when bad things are going to happen.”
“It feels like the day I was captured and carted here.”
“I’ve never been very good at first impressions,” Rory comments wryly. He turns his luminous ruby gaze on me. “Is it time, Anna?”
“It is,” I say gently. “You said you weren’t sure if you would go. Will you come with us?”
Rory shakes his head. “Since the night when you asked me why I don’t run, I’ve been trying to justify myself. But the true answer is that I’m afraid.”
“Of people hunting you?” I ask gently.
He waves off my logic. “Of her not accepting me.”
“Her?”
He smiles fondly, his eyes looking beyond me to something only he can see. “The one who gave me my name.”
When Rory said that before, I thought he was talking about his mother. Now, with his lovesick expression, I’m less sure. “So you won’t go?”
“I will go,” he disagrees, shaking his head. “But I will not go with you.”
Slowly, I nod in understanding. “I hope you find who you’re looking for,” I tell him sincerely.
He smiles fondly. “Thank you, Anna. I’d wish you the same, but it seems you already have.” Rory glances at Chase, and his lips turn down in a small frown. “Take care of her, wolf.”
“Don’t insult me,” Chase grumbles back, pulling me in closer.
“Good luck, Rory,” I say, nudging Chase with my elbow.
The Mothman gives me a wry smirk. “Never had much of that. But the same to you.”
As Rory wanders away at his own leisurely pace—he marches to the beat of his own drum, that one—I lean back against Chase’s shoulder to kiss his chin before grabbing his hand. “Ready?”
“To leave this hellhole?” Chase replies incredulously. “Fuck yes.”
“Then let’s do this.”
The path through the woods is deserted, though the sounds of men shouting and the eerie screech of metal echo from the front. Thankfully, we’re headed the opposite way, and Chase sets a grueling pace. I have to trot to keep up with him, and I wince at my raw, bare feet. Still, short of them falling off entirely, I am getting us the hell out of here.
“What happened here?” Chase asks, slowing as we pass John’s mangled corpse.
“Turns out the wendigo didn’t like John, either,” I reply, tugging him to continue.
He’s quiet for a moment, and I wonder if he’s actually upset over John’s death. Then, he finally says, “I feel cheated.Iwanted to be the one to killhim.”
“You’ve killed enough people for one night.”
