Page 119 of Red Rooster

“Forty-two,” Sasha said, pushing back against the memories that crowded his mind: nervous Dr. Ingraham with his stumbling Russian; Rasputin lying on a table, looking dead; the pain of a knife across his palm; the slippery Latin words on his tongue…

He realized he’d shut his eyes and opened them again, seeing that the girl – Annabel – had inched closer, expression achingly sympathetic.

“They musta had files or something leftover,” she said. “They knew all sorts of stuff about you.”

He curled his hands into fists and felt hot little trickles of blood slide down his knuckles from the lacerations where the cuffs had bit into his skin.

“But I know your name because Val told it to me,” Annabel continued, and Sasha stilled.

“Val?”

She smiled. “The one and only. He told me all about you, asked me to see if I could get in here and check on you. I don’t think he’d ever admit it out loud, but he’s worried about you.”

“Val…he’s here?”

Her smile turned wry. “Subbasement two. The dungeon.”

“The…” His thoughts were racing, too quick to keep up with his exhausted, shaking body. He dipped his head forward and caught it between his hands.

Val was in the dungeon.

Val would benohelp springing him out of here.

He didn’t really know anything at the moment, but he knewthat: he had to get out of here.

“Hey,” Annabel said, and the careful gentleness bled out of her tone, replaced by something realer, more solid. A sturdy Southern sort of forthrightness that he found strangely reassuring. She moved to the foot of the bed and leaned down, trying to catch his eye. “Val said something else. He’s been in contact with your friends. They had a séance, he said, and he talked to – damn, what did he say their names…? Trina, and Lanny, and Nikita–”

He jerked his head up, which was a stupid idea because it kicked off another dizzy spell. He didn’t care, though. “Nik? He talked to Nik?”

She nodded. “Yeah. He and the others. They’re coming to get you.”

He sucked in a breath through his mouth. “But they – but…” The panic returned, clawing up his throat, choking him. “They can’t! It’s too dangerous, and–”

“Honey, you gottabreathe.”

He tried to, the breath catching on barbs of his own making. He’d never been a fearful or anxious person, not even during the war, but now…

“Here, breathe with me,” Annabel said, taking a deep breath and letting it back out slow, mouth pursed in an exaggerated O. “Again. Come on. Passing out won’t help anyone.”

He inhaled, and exhaled, and after a few minuets it was easier, and the black spots receded from the edges of his vision.

When he was calmer, Annabel said, “I won’t lie to you. It won’t be easy. This place is locked up like Fort Knox, and there’s eyes everywhere.”

He glanced toward the ceiling, and she shook her head. “No, I already checked. Otherwise we’d be having this conversation in sign language. But we’re gonna get you out, okay? So you just have to hold on a little while until we get it figured out.”

Slowly, Sasha nodded. “I…I can do that.”

She grinned wide enough to flash the very tips of canines that were just a touch too sharp. “Attaboy. We can–”

The door banged open.

Sasha caught the sharp scent of an agitated wolf – an agitated alpha male wolf – a fraction of a second before a snarl pulsed through the room.

“Oh, shit,” Annabel said, and turned.

An arm caught her around the waist and she was lifted off her feet – “Oh, for the love of God, Fulk,” she muttered – spun around, and set behind a man – a wolf – who turned toward Sasha with teeth bared and blue eyes flashing.

Sasha started growling back before he could reason that it probably wasn’t a good idea. He was chained, and he couldn’t fight like that, but instinct wouldn’t allow him to go down quietly.