The cabin was small—why did they need such a big generator?—and I couldn’t see any movement through the windows. So after several minutes of nothing, I eased my pack off my shoulders and onto the ground, then ran hunched over to crouch beneath the uncovered front window, painting a square of untamed forest floor with light from within.
A couple of minutes later, when no one charged out of the cabin wielding a knife, I dared a careful glimpse through the glass—and nearly melted with relief.
Robyn lay on the floor against the back wall of what looked like some backwoods hunter’s private retreat, bound with duct tape now, but still fully clothed. And completely alone, except for the half dozen disembodied deer heads staring down at her from the rustic paneled walls.
The trophies were grotesque and gratuitous, a horror only humans would find tasteful. At least werecats ate what they hunted.
Robyn didn’t see me—her eyes were closed—and I couldn’t hear anything over the growl of the generator, but there was only one door leading off the main room, and it was closed. Surely if Steve and Billy had still been there, they’d have been watching their prisoner—or worse.
Maybe they’d already gone back for me. They’d never expect me to find them—or even to know who they were—and they probably wouldn’t expect Robyn to escape, considering that her ankles were taped together. But I could fix that.
I pulled my knife from the loop on my pants, and crouch-walked to the front door. The knob didn’t move, but it was secured with only a twist lock. I turned it hard to the right. The lock snapped, and then the door creaked open several inches. I froze. It was louder than I’d expected, even with the generator’s constant grumbling. But when Robyn didn’t wake up and no one stormed into the room, I took a deep breath and stepped into the cabin, then closed the door softly at my back so I could listen.
The generator was quieter inside the cabin but still covered both my heartbeat and Robyn’s. My cat’s pupils narrowed, adjusting quickly to the influx of light. And there she was, only fifteen feet away. She was unconscious—obvious, now that the generator and my B and E had failed to wake her—but with any luck, I could haul her far enough away to risk trying to wake her up. Werecat strength was the only advantage that translated fully into human form. Thank goodness.
Eager now, and more than a little nervous, I raced across the room toward Robyn—then fell flat on my face when my feet slipped out from under me.
What the hell?
Stunned, I lay on the floor on my stomach, still gripping the knife in one hand. I was too surprised to think, my mouth open, trying to drag in the breath I’d lost. My empty hand curled in the carpet, and I froze.
It wasn’t carpet; it was a rug. A very familiar -feeling rug, which had slid out from under my feet as I ran.
No …
Horror filled me like darkness leaking into my soul. I closed my mouth and drew in a deep breath through my nose
Nonononono! The rug was fur. Smooth, soft, solid black fur.
Werecat fur.
I shoved myself to my knees and scrambled away from the morbid accent piece until my back hit the wall. I inhaled again, my hands shaking, my knife clattering into the hardwood over and over again.
I didn’t recognize the individual scent. If I had—if I’d known the tom who died to make that rug—I might have lost it right then. As it was, I was still shaking in Dani’s boots when the front door opened a second later, and Steve walked in, carrying my hiking pack.
“Hello, Abby.” His knife glinted in the overhead light as he dropped my pack at his feet and closed the door. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
My fist clenched around my own knife, but I was no longer sure it would do any good. The truth tapped at the back of my brain like a woodpecker on a really tough trunk, but I couldn’t let it in. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t possible.