Page 43 of A Malicious Menagerie (Fangs & Fables #1)

The Jailbreak

T he look of absolute shock and horror on Nathan’s face is the most emotion I have ever seen from the man.

“You’re here,” I gasp, so relieved I might just hug him once he opens the door.

“Anna,” Nathan chokes out, “behind you!”

I glance over my shoulder at the specter haunting my back. Then, I shrug, trying to project more confidence than I feel. “That’s Job.”

“I am Job,” the creature confirms solemnly.

“That’s the wendigo,” Nathan points out, still reeling.

“We’ve made a deal. We let Job out, and he’ll let us go safely.”

Suddenly, a chill blooms through me. It starts near my neck and branches to my fingertips and toes, and when I glance to the side, I see Job’s hand curling around my shoulder.

His claws make imprints in my skin but don’t draw blood.

“And if you do not let me out, I shall eat your friends,” Job adds, his voice cool.

Nathan looks frantically from me to Colby to the dark entity that has me in his clutches. I’m frozen, terrified of setting off the wendigo. All I can do is stare beseechingly at Nathan because, good idea or not, I don’t want to die tonight.

“Goddammit,” Nathan mutters, and I have just enough wherewithal to be surprised by his cursing. We must have really stressed him out. “This goes against every FABLE protocol.”

“Yeah, this whole night hasn’t gone to plan,” Colby grunts. “So, what’ll it be? Are you gonna break the rules, or are you gonna watch him tear us apart?”

“The spleen is the best part,” Job informs Nathan cheerily. “So tender.”

The color drains from Nathan’s face, and he actually fumbles the key card as he moves to unlock the door. Apparently, all it takes to crack Nathan’s cool exterior is a wendigo. Who knew?

The moment the door swings open, Job flows smoothly past me and claims his freedom. “Finally,” the wendigo intones reverently as he peers into the trees surrounding his enclosure. Suddenly, he chuckles, the sound like claws raking down my spine. “It has been so long since I hunted.”

All I can do is watch, helpless, as the wendigo dissolves into the gloom and disappears.

“Now what?” Nathan asks grimly, still staring after the creature he unleashed.

“Now, we put our plan into action,” I say firmly. “Nathan, do you have extra key cards?”

We end up half walking and half sliding our way down the slope from the mountain region and into the woods. We stop to hide in the trees and survey the path for guards, which is when the first screams start.

There’s shouting followed by gunfire, and I wince. Can bullets kill a wendigo? If the guards take down Job, there won’t be anything to distract them from finding us.

A moment later, the shots end abruptly, the sharp reports still ringing through the air. As the sounds fade, I notice the rhythmic crunch of boots on gravel just as a familiar figure darts in front of us. It’s John, his face pale and his movements jerky and panicked.

An inky shadow dislodges itself from the shade of the trees on the other side of the path, and the wendigo easily swings one long arm to grab John by the neck and lift him into the air. John kicks frantically, but he can’t reach the grinning beast.

“This one smells delicious,” Job comments blissfully, the sound of an inhale followed by a low growl reverberating through his canine skull. The wendigo turns his silvery gaze toward us. “Do you approve of my eating him?”

“No,” I gasp, but Colby says, “Go for it.” I glare at him, and Colby only shrugs. “What? Tell me you don’t want to see him dead.”

“No, I mean…” I fumble my words. I am just so angry at him.

For the stunt he pulled tonight, yes, but also for every slight and belittling word over the past weeks.

“No, I don’t want to see him dead,” I finally declare, but there’s an ugly, slimy feeling in my chest that tells me I’m lying at least a little bit.

“We do have a tiebreaker,” Job notes, looking toward Nathan. Meanwhile, John’s face is turning purple, and he’s scrabbling desperately at the claws curled around his neck. “What say you, sir?”

“No,” Nathan replies immediately, and I huff out the breath I’d been holding.

But Job still doesn’t put him down, and there’s something maniacal in his mercury gaze. “Ah,” the creature sighs, “but what is freedom if not the ability to do whatever I like?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and look away, but that doesn’t save me from John’s panicked scream or the wet sound of flesh rending and blood splattering the ground.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Colby mutters, and I wonder if he regrets wanting John dead.

His answer apparently never made a bit of difference to the wendigo, but still.

There’s a thud, and I force myself to peek through my eyelashes as if I’m watching a horror movie at home and can’t handle the jump scares.

John’s body—or what’s left of it, anyway—is on the ground, and the wendigo sighs with pleasure as he pats his concave belly.

“Still hungry.” He tilts his head at us. “Where is Mathis?”

Nathan clears his throat but still sounds hoarse when he replies, “He’s likely trying to run. His driver would pick him up at the front.” Nathan points in the direction of the carousel.

“Thank you,” the wendigo replies politely. “All the best.” And with that, he glides away to seek his revenge.

There’s a beat of silence as we all stare at John’s shredded remains. Finally, Colby curses under his breath and moves out onto the path. “Come on. We’ve got a plan, remember?”

We split up, Nathan headed right toward Delia and Colby left toward the kelpies.

I split the difference and make my way back to the werewolf enclosure where this whole debacle started.

Smarman’s body is gone, and I wonder grimly what Mathis did with it.

He doesn’t seem like the type to leave evidence.

Maybe the sea serpent or kraken got their meal after all.

Chase is pacing the length of his cage as a wolf, a groove already worn from the past hour.

He must hear me coming because he swings his head toward me, his golden eyes glittering with relief.

He’s already shifting as I approach the door, and the moment I tap the key card to the sensor, he’s scooping me up into his arms. “Holy fuck,” Chase breathes, holding me so tightly it’s hard to draw breath. “I was sure I’d never see you again.”

“You should give me more credit,” I croak. Still, I’d rather have his warmth and comfort than air right now, and I wind my arms around his back to squeeze him back just as fiercely.

“What happened?” Chase murmurs into my hair.

“Let’s just say it involves a vengeful wendigo. I’ll tell you all about it later. First, we have to get Rory.”

“I’m happy to save you the trip,” a familiar voice says behind me, and I spin in Chase’s arms to face the Mothman himself. Instantly, that bone-chilling feeling of foreboding fills me.

Chase, too, tenses against me and fixes his wary golden gaze on the harbinger. “What the fuck?”

“It’s Rory,” I whisper, reaching up to pat his arm comfortingly. “He can predict when bad things are going to happen.”

“It feels like the day I was captured and carted here.”

“I’ve never been very good at first impressions,” Rory comments wryly. He turns his luminous ruby gaze on me. “Is it time, Anna?”

“It is,” I say gently. “You said you weren’t sure if you would go. Will you come with us?”

Rory shakes his head. “Since the night when you asked me why I don’t run, I’ve been trying to justify myself. But the true answer is that I’m afraid. ”

“Of people hunting you?” I ask gently.

He waves off my logic. “Of her not accepting me.”

“Her?”

He smiles fondly, his eyes looking beyond me to something only he can see. “The one who gave me my name.”

When Rory said that before, I thought he was talking about his mother. Now, with his lovesick expression, I’m less sure. “So you won’t go?”

“I will go,” he disagrees, shaking his head. “But I will not go with you.”

Slowly, I nod in understanding. “I hope you find who you’re looking for,” I tell him sincerely.

He smiles fondly. “Thank you, Anna. I’d wish you the same, but it seems you already have.” Rory glances at Chase, and his lips turn down in a small frown. “Take care of her, wolf.”

“Don’t insult me,” Chase grumbles back, pulling me in closer.

“Good luck, Rory,” I say, nudging Chase with my elbow.

The Mothman gives me a wry smirk. “Never had much of that. But the same to you.”

As Rory wanders away at his own leisurely pace—he marches to the beat of his own drum, that one—I lean back against Chase’s shoulder to kiss his chin before grabbing his hand. “Ready?”

“To leave this hellhole?” Chase replies incredulously. “Fuck yes.”

“Then let’s do this.”

The path through the woods is deserted, though the sounds of men shouting and the eerie screech of metal echo from the front.

Thankfully, we’re headed the opposite way, and Chase sets a grueling pace.

I have to trot to keep up with him, and I wince at my raw, bare feet.

Still, short of them falling off entirely, I am getting us the hell out of here.

“What happened here?” Chase asks, slowing as we pass John’s mangled corpse.

“Turns out the wendigo didn’t like John, either,” I reply, tugging him to continue.

He’s quiet for a moment, and I wonder if he’s actually upset over John’s death. Then, he finally says, “I feel cheated. I wanted to be the one to kill him.”

“You’ve killed enough people for one night.”

“It won’t be ‘enough’ until I’ve killed everyone who’s ever threatened you,” Chase growls darkly.

“While a sweet sentiment, I’d prefer chocolates or flowers as tokens of your affection. Not dead bodies.”

“What about jewelry?” he asks far too innocently. “A ring?”

“Do I look like I want to be teased right now?” I grump.

“Who said I was teasing?”

I don’t have the mental bandwidth to process that question right now. Thankfully, we’ve reached the back hallways, and I quickly find a maintenance closet so I can dig through Harold the handyman’s tools.

“What are you doing?” Chase asks, bemused.

“Speaking of jewelry…” I hold up the bolt cutters triumphantly. “I doubt you want to keep the ring Mathis gave you.”

Chase helps me position the shears around his metal collar, the ring so tight around his skin that there’s barely room to fit.

He grips the handles next to my hands to lend me strength as my meager biceps struggle to produce enough force to cut the metal.

A grunt escapes me as I lean everything I have into the task.

Then, suddenly, there’s a sharp snap as the metal gives way.

Chase pulls it apart at a seamless hinge before tossing the offending device down the hall, where it bounces a few times with a metallic ringing sound.

“Good riddance,” he snarls, his hand tracing the branching network of shiny pink scars around his neck. He manages to smooth the anger from his face when he glances my way. “Thank you.”

“But wait, there’s more,” I quip, holding out a set of navy coveralls.

The coveralls barely fit, and Chase grumps and snarls at the way they bunch in certain, ahem , places. Still, they’ll do for now.

“Now what?” Chase asks as I lead him toward the loading bay.

“Now, we wait.”