A low growl rumbled out of the abnormally large black dog laying at the entrance of the laboratory. George’s eyes lingered at the mutt, and he had half a mind to kick the damn thing, but if he were being honest with himself, it creeped him out. Its heated gold eyes met his cold gray ones. He always got the feeling that there was more to the canine than the crazy doctor admitted. In fact, he was almost certain it was a shifter. It was just as unnerving as the man’s wife. She was a frigid bitch. She spoke very little but once she did it was to cut you deeply. Advertisements
I didn’t sign up for this shit. Matthew sat on a chair, his head leaning backward, hanging over the edge of his seat. He signed up to kill shifters, not babysit one.
The cage door screeched as it opened, and Marissa wondered if it was her fear that had heightened the sound. While it struggled to completely open, she dashed across the room. The last thing she wanted was to be trapped against the door when whatever was behind those bars came out. She needed room to run and think. At the end of the exceedingly long corridor, the room split off and dim lights came on. Left and right were her only options. She darted to the left and saw another opening on her right. She skidded into it and paused. The next room was a straight path but there were openings on both sides of the walls. She counted 6 on both sides. God, she hoped she wasn’t in a maze.
Marissa’s gaze shifted slightly, wondering if it was still too late to dive out the window and make a run for it. Maybe Melanie was bluffing and the drop wouldn’t kill her. And if she was some supernatural creature surely, she’d be fine. The hairs on her neck were standing. The room was dead silent. They were waiting for her to give her answer. Though she was focused on her escape, she was also very aware of the men’s bodies. They were prepared to shoot her at the slightest suspicious movement. She did not like her odds at all right now. Even if she could use the window, she’d probably be riddled with bullets before she could jump out.
Marissa tilted her head as she regarded the stranger standing across the room. The dark-skinned woman looked exhausted, and there were dark circles under her brown eyes. Her jet-black hair was cut short and hidden under an equally dark cap. The woman held her hands to her mouth, her face covered in shock and concern.
There was blood everywhere. It covered the buildings, matted the asphalt, dripped off the benches and its scent–thick and overbearing–coated the air. Dead bodies were strewn across the street. Limbs were scattered. Screams reverberated in a symphony of madness, orchestrated by the wild beasts running amuck. No one was safe. Running? Pointless. Screaming? Useless. Fighting? You could try, but you were merely postponing the inevitable. Death would come swiftly regardless.
It was halfway through the afternoon when Marissa and her sister, Melanie Coldwell, woke up. Both women had a rough day yesterday. Needing a listening ear, Marissa took a trip to Melanie’s place. Although Melanie was reluctant to talk about her day, Marissa wasted no time venting. She remembered all too clearly how her encounter with Jamoy went. When she finished her tale, Melanie’s face was practically glowing.
Marissa sighed and sipped the warm French vanilla cappuccino in her hand while focusing her body on relaxing. The warmth of the beverage traveled down her throat and radiated out to warm her entire body. A jolt of energy came with the warmth that she gladly welcomed.