Scarlett Wrappley's Arc

Chapter 3 of 9

The sack fell open. Scarlett spilled onto a wood floor. She smelled pine sap and old blood. A cabin closed around her. Chains hung from the walls. Iron rings studded the wood. Ezekiel Crowe stood over her, the hunter who had counted her fangs at the bar and trapped her in the alley. He hauled her up and locked her into a tall wooden chair. Curved braces caught her wrists and neck. She pushed against them. The old wood held. "Comfortable?" Ezekiel asked. He wiped his hands on his suspenders. "Now we talk. The barman. Wet-dog smell. Where does he sleep?" Scarlett said nothing. She stared at the floor and counted the cracks. Ezekiel walked to a rack on the wall. He lifted a black stake. Soft leather wrapped the shaft. The point at the end shone sharp and clean. He turned it in the lamplight so she could see. "This goes in slow," he said. "The leather keeps it from slipping. You'd be surprised how long a body stays awake." He pressed the point under her chin. "His name." Her skin split where the tip touched. A thin line of blood ran down her neck. She kept her jaw shut. Her mind raced. If she gave up Garrison, the hunter would drain her the moment she stopped being useful. And she needed to stay whole. She needed to walk out and finish her work. A talking captive lives longer than a silent one, but a silent one keeps her only card. "He pours drinks," she said. "That's all I know. He serves anyone with coin." "You're lying." Ezekiel leaned closer. His beard brushed her cheek. He smelled of gun oil. "You two had a deal. I watched you leave the back door." "Then you know more than me." She met his yellow eyes. "Push that stake in. You'll get the same nothing, only quieter." His hand tightened on the leather grip. The point pressed harder. She felt it scrape bone. She did not blink. She thought of the chair, the rings, the door with its rusted latch. She memorized every way out. Ezekiel held there a long moment. Then he pulled the stake back. Blood beaded on the tip. "Stubborn," he said. He almost smiled. "Fine. I'll take the dog first. Then you'll talk over his corpse." He set the stake on the rack. He grabbed his coat and his coil of glowing rope. "Sit tight. You're going nowhere." He left. The latch clicked. Boots faded outside. Scarlett sagged in the chair. She had kept Garrison's secret. But she had learned the cost. Ezekiel now hunted the werewolf tonight, alone and unwarned. And she was still locked in the wood, bleeding, with no bag, no bottle, and no way to reach him. Her silence had saved one life and doomed another. Unless she got free before dawn.