Chapter Ten
Did Peter suffer this fate? Had he been in a bag, carried off into the bowels of Hell and become a snack for some giant lizard?
No. She refused to think this was how Peter died. This wasn’t the end of the journey.
“I have to get in there,” she said. “I have to check if Peter is back there.”
She went to stand, but Deacon yanked on her hand, impeding her plan.
“No,” he whispered-snapped. “You are their main course.”
“I don’t care,” she spat. “I have to see if Peter was here.”
She yanked on her arm, but he wouldn’t let her go.
“We’ll figure this out, but we have to leave,” he urged. “We’re going to need backup.”
“What if she moves him? What if he’s alive right now but they’re getting ready to ... marinate him or something?”
Deacon cupped her face. “We’ll find him, but my priority is you. I have to protect you. Please, Marion, we’ll return. I promise, as soon as I think of a plan.”
Her decision wavered. The need to find out what happened against self-preservation. Then, the decision was taken out of her hands when one of the workers stepped behind the equipment where they hid, holding a gun.
“Who the fuck are you?” The man had a scar across his forehead. For a moment, she could’ve sworn they flashed yellow. “Move.”
He gestured with the gun, and reluctantly, they followed his direction.
Deacon still held her hand, and he pulled her close, forcing her up against his back.
The protective gesture warmed her inside, but she feared it was a little too late.
Now that they were being led to wherever, her heart raced, and nausea threatened to rise up.
They were joined by another person. “Who the fuck are these assholes?”
Scar shrugged. “No fucking idea. Go call Shiel and inform her we have guests.”
The second man grunted in agreement and pulled out his cell phone, marching away.
Scar led them to another floor that seemed very barren, despite there being little cubicles.
He stopped at the only office that had a door, and nodded his head, indicating they needed to get in there.
Deacon didn’t move, except for his gaze that flittered back and forth from the office to the gun.
Scar pointed the weapon right at her head, freezing Marion in place.
Deacon immediately went into the office and pulled her with him, pushing her behind his body to shield her. Scar sneered as he closed the door, and a moment later, they heard the lock engage. Immediately, Deacon let go of her hand to try the door, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Can you get us out of here?” she asked.
He threw a dirty look her way. “Now you want to leave? If you’d have just followed my instructions—”
“Don’t blame me for this!”
“Why not? You insisted we come here. You insisted we investigate. You talked when you should’ve stayed quiet.”
“Yes. Yes. Yes. Me. Me. Me,” she snapped. “That’s not important right now so yell at me when we get free. Okay?”
“I will!”
“Good.”
“Good.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”
One wall had blinds and he marched over, prying open one slat to look out.
His body stiffened. When she followed to see what he was looking at, he held his arm out to stop her.
He shook his head, indicating she shouldn’t, but her stubbornness rose up.
She lowered his arm but came to a halt as her brain tried to comprehend what she was seeing.
The processing floor.
Meat hung from hooks. People worked at various stations chopping, stripping meat from the bones, draining blood.
Each thing she saw horrified her more. Panic sluiced through her, only amplifying the terror.
Deacon grabbed her arm and yanked her away, allowing the blinds to fall back into place.
She opened her mouth, but words wouldn’t come.
Her tongue felt swollen, and her limbs moved like they had their own mind.
Everything was distorted. Disjointed. Was she having a panic attack?
“I ... I ... those are human bodies.” Her voice warbled with fright.
“I know.”
“Why?”
“We’ll figure it out,” he promised. “Once we’re back in the city.”
“O-okay.”
He took hold of her hand and placed it on his chest, right over his heart. “I’ll protect you, Marion. Please trust me.”
She searched his eyes, looking for subterfuge, but could only see honesty. They hadn’t known each other for long, but instinct told her to trust. So, she gave a small nod. He relaxed.
“We need to figure out how to get out of here.”
Yes. That made sense. She looked at the door. “Can you break it down?”
“Not in this form. Stand back.”
She took a step away and watched as he shed his clothes. When he got to his boxer-briefs, she slapped a hand over her eyes.
“What are you doing?” she said, not looking.
“When I shift, I’ll destroy my clothes, and I think it’s prudent to conserve them,” he replied calmly.
The air around them rippled. She moved one finger off her eyes so she could peek as the change happened.
Like before, she was mesmerized. He grew taller.
Hair and skin turned into course, short fur.
On his neck and head a mane of curlier, wooly hair emerged.
What surprised her was that his horns didn’t form.
Marion moved her hand away, and she couldn’t help but look him up and down. Lingering on his impressive bull dick. She wasn’t into bestiality, but damn.
“Stop looking at it,” he grunted, giving a snort.
Heat filled her cheeks, and she yanked her gaze away. “Right. Um. Where’re your horns?”
“I can control the shift, and I don’t need them right now.”
“Oh. What do you plan to do?”
“Move away from the door.”
She followed his instructions. Deacon lifted one hoof and kicked at the knob. Once. Twice. On the third strike, it flew off. He pushed on the door, and it opened effortlessly.
“Grab my clothes,” he ordered. “I’m staying in this form until we get out. Those workers are shifters, but not Komodo dragons. I think they’re coyotes.”
Marion hurried to gather them and then followed after Deacon as he exited the office.
The administration floor was sparse, only a few cubicles without chairs.
No computers. No papers. No personal touches at all.
It looked as if no one worked there. She’d been hoping to find some proof that Peter was there, waiting in some body bag to be processed. The word made her shudder.
Deacon’s hooves where quiet on the industrial-grade carpet. Silently, they made their way, searching for the exit.
“I think the stairway is our best bet,” he said.
“What about those people?”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do right now. I won’t risk you being taken and ending up like them.”
Marion knew he was right. The fear she’d been pushing away hit her in full force. She wanted to march into the interior, save the people, and burn the place down. But she couldn’t do that. Not if they were to make it out alive. Did that make her a coward? Would she be able to live with herself?
She sent out a silent promise. I vow you’ll be avenged.
They turned down one hallway then another, and once they reached the stairwell, Marion was able to take a breath of relief.
Deacon shifted back to human, and she made sure to keep her eyes trained on his face as he dressed.
Once fully clothed again, they hurried down the stairs and emerged out of the emergency door they had entered.
“Come on,” he urged. “We gotta make a run for it. We’re lucky it was only three workers.”
They raced back across the clearing, and Marion’s heart thundered in her ears.
Any moment she expected to be shot, but they made it safely to the shadow of the trees.
They didn’t stop, continuing until they reached Deacon’s car.
Throwing themselves into it, moments later they were hauling ass back the way they came.