Brotherhood of the Wolf

Chapter 6.2: The Initiate

I'm being kidnapped, but this must be a mistake. Why would anyone want to take me? And where are we going, anyway?

Maybe this is what happened to Jules. Maybe these same people grabbed her. But why her? And now why me?

Oh my gosh, what if we're both being trafficked? I don't want to end up as a sex slave in some Middle Eastern country or forced to make porn in Asia.

Maybe there's a way I could fight these people off. There's at least two of them, but perhaps three. I'm still being carried and I'm trying to be as much dead weight as possible. So far they've overpowered me, but they have to tire at some point, right?

If there was ever a time that I wished that I could turn at will, it's now. But my wolf refuses to emerge no matter how hard I concentrate. What a useless power. If only I'd been kidnapped during a full moon.

It's Saturday night so I get that campus might be a bit deserted, but does no one find any of this odd? Are there no students on their way to a house party questioning why a struggling woman with a hood over her head is being carried against her will by at least two strangers?

And where the heck is campus police?

I'm placed in some type of vehicle. I didn't hear a door open, but I'm now definitely sitting on a cushioned seat with someone next to me. There is a jolt and we begin to move. I hear the whirl of an electric motor and I can feel the wind on my skin.

Are we in a freaking golf cart?

I'm beginning to think that these aren't sex traffickers and that my captors are local, which narrows the suspect pool quite a bit. And since the only potential enemy I might have is Douglas Calhoun, maybe this is the university president's way of not so subtly telling me to get out of Dodge.

He wouldn't have the Black River pack do anything more drastic than run me out of town, would he? I don't get a chance to ponder it.

After a brief but uncomfortable ride where I nearly tumble off in a sharp corner, we come to a stop. Someone fusses with what sounds like a chain link fence and then I'm pulled to my feet.

We shuffle up an uneven sidewalk where I trip over a broken piece of what I'm assuming is pavement, but I'm caught by the person on my left. Based on their size and strong grip, I'm guessing that's a man, but they still haven't given their identity away even with a stray word.

The clink of a turning lock and the creak of an old hinge welcome us inside a building. The air smells of dust and mold, which means it has been abandoned for quite some time. There's only one such place on campus that I know of. And since we didn't travel far from where I was originally grabbed, we're likely now in Duchess Hall.

Constructed in the 1870s, it was one of the first buildings on campus. Once quite majestic, a devastating fire fifty years later and then decades of water damage from subpar renovations led to the facility eventually being condemned. It has sat fenced off and empty for years, or so have most people—including me—been led to believe. Until now.

I'm led across the entryway, through a few twists and turns, then down a narrow set of stairs. The increasing chill and damp signal it's a basement; the smell of burnt tar indicate open torches. I'm not thrilled about either, but there's nothing I can do while tied up and blindfolded.

The murmur of indistinguishable voices quiets as we approach, meaning that someone has been waiting for us. I'm also handed off to a new chaperone who removes the gag from my mouth and yanks the hood off my head.

"Oww," I squeak as a part of my hair is caught with it and I squint into the sudden brightness.

My sight takes a few seconds to adjust. We're in a vaulted passageway, the ceiling low and the walls crumbling. Straight ahead are three figures in dark, hooded cloaks with their faces obscured by full masks.