HUNTED

Chapter 5

The dungeon beneath Molly’s Diner was poorly insulated and damp. All but one of the cages were empty. A constant chill flooded in from the walls and up through the stone floor. It was fantastically outdated, with oil lamps hanging on the walls. A wall of deep sunken metal bars closed off each cell, a wall of cracked cement separating each individual cell. A single narrow window in each of the cell walls near the ceiling provided the only glimpse to the outside world. Right now it was late afternoon and a bar of sunlight was making its way slowly down the wall opposite the window.

          Thatcher sat with his back against one wall, watching the rectangle of sunlight travel to the floor. A manacle was clasped around his ankle, the other end of it sunk into the floor. It was day two of his confinement, which had been issued by the Council until the full moon passed and Thatcher was deemed safe.

          Physically, he was completely healed from the bite, which left only a white scar on his tanned abdomen. And while all other cuts and scrapes had healed completely over, Thatcher knew that the arch of white marks would never fade from his skin.

          The coat of the golden wolf kept appearing in his minds-eye, and the gleam of blood in the moonlight that matted her fur. Her. Though he didn’t know how, Thatcher knew that the wolf who had bitten him was female. Absently, he wondered where she was, if she had turned back into a human and was now setting dinner out on the table for her family; if she was feeling the pull of the moon as badly as he was, even during the day.

          It was like a deep hunger, scraping at his core. When he closed his eyes, he could almost see a white hand reaching out to him, calling with it the heavenly scent of the woods and fresh air; calling him out to run free in the wild, nothing but the forest and the night air around him.

          “Thatcher, I brought you dinner.” Liza’s voice pulled Thatcher from his reverie. She’d been the first one he’d seen when he had woken up in a hospital room upstairs, a medley of machines beeping at him. Her face had been drained of color, her hand clasping his.

Squeezing her arm through the bars, Liza brandished a plastic bag. Thatcher stood up, walking only as far as the manacle would let him and took the bag. He opened it, a delicious smell rising from the wrapped food inside.

“Holly made you a chicken sandwich. There’s some peppers and avocados in there too. Apparently, she learned how to cook from Molly when she was a kid. Something to do while her dad was working.”

Thatcher lifted the wrapped sandwich from the plastic bag. The bittersweet tang of barbeque sauce and the rich earthy smell of avocado filling his nose. Still not used to his heightened senses, Thatcher scrunched his nose. Catching Liza’s curious look, he hastily explained.

“It smells good, it’s just…strong.”

Realization dawned on her face and she nodded. Shoulders hunched forward and hands dug deep into her pockets, she looked smaller. Liza’s hair was pulled away from her face, her waves cascading over one shoulder. Her eyes were trained on a crack in the floor.

“It’s tonight.” She said, her face twisted. Gray-green eyes raised to meet Thatcher’s. “The full moon.”