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Chapter 12: Who is Laila?

  In the small makeshift shack that serves as a prisoner’s cell. Jackie contemplates how she had gone from one killer to the next. But what had that voice meant by ‘save my warriors’? The stories floating around the village confidently concurred that Joslynn was the savior here, although she was skeeved out by her. Between the passageways of straw-roofed huts, whispers about her eating their “Alpha’s” heart returned to her mind. From the way they used the word, it sounded like a title. The spirits of the people were very hopeful and victorious. So that guy wasn’t very popular and purportedly a psychopath who should’ve died years ago. This world’s view on killing was a bit…but happy to find justice was a common value shared between their differing societies.

  Their celebratory mood reverberated in each exchange. Even while they’d tore down huts and made bricks for new homes, their vibrant voices rang out as they spoke to one another and the amount of laughter showed how palpable it was. They’d passed around plates after plates and cups after cups of whatever passed for alcohol. The swaying and hiccuping happening among the builders were concerning, but they’d seemed to manage well. Everything was perfectly fine.

  The only miserable person was her, she was the one in need of saving and not by Caleb. So please, she willed the voice, don’t teleport him as well. She had just gotten her autonomy and it was taken away by a cannibalistic werewolf, but she still didn’t want to be ushered off to save some killer’s mom.

  All she had wanted was to see the world she’d come from, she'd imagined it in a better way than the one she was currently in. She would somehow manage to avenge her friend’s death, but for now, she was stuck in this smelly shack with nothing on her but her bed clothes which consisted of a faded yellow baggy Looney Tunes shirt paired with bright blue drawstring sweats. Not the best outfit for a walk in the jungle, but the killer detective hadn’t given her time to change before they left.

  She moved her head around in the dirt, spitting out the speckles caught on her lips, squirming for a comfortable position to flip and face their pathetic excuse of a door. She could bet anyone could push it and it’d open.

  When she managed to get her body up to a sitting position, she realized there wasn’t a handle on the door so all she needed to do was get close to it and she’d be outside. She scooted, using her feet to pull herself faster to freedom. She was right in front of it when the door was pushed open, almost slapping her in the face if she hadn’t scuttled away fast enough.

  Unfiltered hearty grunts and banging filled the small shack. Before she’d gotten caught, they were laying down logs and breaking them, using strange-looking tools to create boards instantly. She imagined that was what required them to make so much noise. The wood chippings were absorbed by the tools so everything had happened pretty fast. The black metal, the same material that bound her wrists shone a pale red whenever something was absorbed. She wasn’t sure if that strengthened it or what was happening there.

  “Your scent bothers my nose. Your presence suggests you are something powerful. Better than me. But I see nothing but a wimp.” The voice came from behind, she twisted around until she faced him and stared up at the man towering over her. His dark bloodshot eyes and the five o’clock shadow set off an inward alarm in her chest, while his lean muscles inspired confidence in her if it came down to defending herself.

  Screaming, she kicked his knee, it caught him off guard enough for him to buckle with an “oomph” sound. She squirmed backward as best as she could manage.

  “Get away from me!” She'd seen all the movies where the kidnapper who first entered is always a handsy rapist and this was the one. Her chest rose rapidly with her frantic breathing.

  He rubbed the injured area and squinted at her, backing away as she had demanded. “A wimp with enough spirit.”

  He walked through the door.

  When it flew open again, the cute kid from earlier came inside with a gentle smile on his face, his flop of hair curtained his eyes, his head bopped side-to-side like he was listening to music.

  “Hey,” his voice a faint whisper. He helped her to a more upright position. She allowed it, for now. “I'm Ronan and that guy you kicked was Harry. He's like the third strongest in our pack.” He lowered himself until they were at eye level. “You're safe. It's okay. I'm going to release you.”

  He reached around her, repeating that she was safe. A strong pull then the metal rope loosened from her wrists. She was still wary of him. Was this not your classic good cop, bad cop? Except they used a kid. Her only confidence came from hope that she could overpower him if worse came to worse.

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  “He wants to fight.”

  Fight who? Her? She wasn’t the fighting type. Earning a degree in biochemistry had nothing to do with being athletic. Outside of the hardly remembered self-defense lessons her dad taught her as a kid, she had no idea how to overpower or proverbially hand someone their ass. She took the kid’s outstretched hand and walked outside.

  Harty or whatever, was hopping in place, doing some warming exercises.

  She put her set up with shaky fists and prepared for a hard-fought battle with the odds not in her favor, shifting from foot to foot. She made preparations for the fight he urged her with.

  The first punch flew. She dodged, her right cheek vibrated from the force of his fist. This guy was serious. Dead serious.

  “I-I’m a girl, y’know.” She curled into herself as the uppercut landed on her ribs, snatching the breath from her.

  “Girl, boy. Cat, dog. It’s all the same around here. Now.” His voice deepened. “Fight back.”

  He took a large step while she was making a decisive lunge backward, her eyes locked on his fists. He sighed, dropped low and clipped her. She fell back, falling through the table, sending clay bowls into a scattered mess that flew then crashed—shattered as she and her courage had done.

  “Come on,” he urged. He shifted from one foot to the other, gesturing with both hands in that ‘c’mere’ motion. A patronizing smile twinkling down at her.

  “You know what? Let me help you up.” He reached his hand down. She smacked it away and rose on her own.

  She pulled her fists back up and threw them his way with closed eyes.

  “You fight like an untrained pup. Where have you come from?”

  She assumed that was some kind of insult but its implication didn’t land as hard as he might have wanted it to. She couldn’t keep evading him and her swings didn’t have any power behind them. There wasn’t much she could imagine herself doing.

  A voice came from within her. Not one from before. Her own. An ingrained and stubborn part of her being that called to untamed origins. In the blink of an eye, power coursed through her as she rose from the ground, brushing off the dirt on her hands.

  He smirked at her. “I like that look in your eye. Like I’ve finally awakened your beast.”

  “You have,” she intoned. There was an absence to thought in her weaves, in her ducks, sidesteps. The whooshing sound she’d heard at the barrier stole her hearing. His movements became readable. Condensed in split seconds that she could avoid.

  Now, smash his chin.

  No, not there. His stomach isn't guarded.

  She overpowered him in a matter of minutes, hooking their arms together and using his bent knee as a rung on a ladder, climbed high and twisted him onto the floor with his head locked between her thighs. His face reddened as he lost breath.

  She overpowered him in a matter of minutes, hooking their arms together and using his bent knee as a rung on a ladder, climbed high and twisted him onto the floor with his head locked between her thighs. His face reddened as he lost breath. Weirdly, a smile was growing on his lips while his eyes began to bulge. She released him and rolled over, taking into account how playful his punches had been. How none of the body parts that he had hit actually ached. He had been playing her from the start. Had this been real, he’d overpower her.

  “What was that? You're hiding your strength? What, I’m not strong enough? Why were you holding back? Ronan, did I not say she had some serious callous?”

  The side he had seen wasn’t her. It was her wolf, the beast that only came out when blood was around. Something about his taunts had hit a nerve. Made her want to prove herself to…anyone. This had been the whole point of going over the boundary. A chance to unleash who she was, to enter a society untamed and unapologetic. She was a wolf. This could be her life. Her dad and his research had given her a taste, a promise of how her life could have been, how it should have been. Contain the beast. Be human. Ignore your urges to play rough. But this wolf before her, he had none of those concerns. Regardless of her gender, regardless of who she pretended to be, he’d seen it. Seen the lies. Did you really think she’d not listen and soak up all her father’s lessons. It was her father. Of course she would. She had to. Hold on to who she was born to be.

  “Bec—” Her response was interrupted by the screeching from above. A blistering heat overwhelmed her and a white flash bloomed in her vision. It fizzled through her veins, sending convulsions through her body.

  “The sign of the Goddess.” The murmurs came from multiple voices around her.

  “She is blessed.”

  “The Goddess is with her.”

  When her vision cleared, she was bombarded by the enclosing group. They touched her face with tears in their eyes, some broke out in prayer with raised hands toward the sky.

  Harty and Ronan were nowhere to be seen as a handful of men pulled her up onto their shoulders. She felt like the famous singer welcomed by her starstruck fans. They totted her away with enormous cheers.

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