Everything smelled different. No garlic, no ginger, no fried noodles. I forced my eyes open and sat up, rubbing my head. I felt like the ass end of a five day bender. Squinting didn't help make sense of my surroundings — a fancy office library, like something from a movie, with massive built-in shelves of books and chaise lounges and deep chairs — or the fact that I was naked.
And in a cage.
My heart sank and panic rushed through me. A fucking cage.
I didn't dare move; a lumpy shape snored on one of the couches. Waking it would only make a shitty situation worse.
I concentrated on breathing slow and even, trying to steady my hands as they shook, and I fumbled the t-shirt and loose yoga pants someone left on the floor next to me. I eased to the back of the cage once I dressed, examining the hinges of a door and where the steel bars met the expensive rug on the floor. There had to be a way out. Had to be.
Maybe it was the fight organizers, John and his pals. Rumors constantly circulated that the fighters who sometimes disappeared ended up in national-level underground competitions — whether they wanted to participate or not. Apparently someone wanted to recreate the gladiator trials of back in the day. I swallowed the metallic taste of terror as shivers ran through me and my insides started to wobble. A seizure might end up killing me. I needed to stay conscious.
The mantra helped eventually as I repeated it over and over in my head. Someone would notice I disappeared. Maybe. The gym where I taught group classes would notice eventually, but they'd probably just take me off the schedule and mail my last paycheck. My students would wonder but none of them would look too hard for me. I chewed my lip ragged as I tested the strength of each bar and tried to lift the cage enough to slip a hand underneath. My sinuses burned and tears threatened. Or I would sink into the underworld without a ripple, and no one would even look for me.
"You're awake."
I froze, crouching to a defensive position just in case.
Atticus sat on the couch, dark hair sticking up in random tufts, and rubbed sleep from his eyes. He smiled, then yawned. "Are you hungry?"
Hungry. I straightened, staring at him as my lungs constricted. I barely managed to force the words past chattering teeth. "Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell is going on?"
His eyebrows rose. "You went rogue. We had to bring you back here to make sure you were safe. And that you didn't eat anyone." He grinned. As if it were a joke.
I held my head, breathing through my nose to manage the hyperventilation before it knocked me down completely. Dark spots already swam across my vision. I held on to the bars so I wouldn't fall. Couldn't look weak. Had to look strong, even if I wanted to curl up under the blanket someone had draped over me inside the cage. "Rogue? What the fuck are you talking about? You kidnapped me."
His smile faded. "What do you remember?"
The night came back in flashes. Leaving the bar after dinner with girls from the self-defense class, walking down the street, being attacked by three dudes and then Atticus saying he was there to help. Then nothing. A seizure, definitely. I shook my head. "You did something to me. In the alley. I had a seizure and you did something."
"A seizure." He eased to his feet and stretched. The muscles slid under his t-shirt, almost a distraction, but when he took a step toward the cage, I braced for a fight. A real fight. He wasn't the only one who'd pulled punches during our first encounter. Atticus stopped short, then shoved his hands in his pockets. "So you don't remember shifting."
"Shifting? Shifting what?" My heart raced and the room started to tilt; sweat broke out on my palms and my skin crawled. A seizure. Not another seizure.
I bent over to brace my hands on my knees, squeezing my eyes shut. Control. Had to control it. Couldn't be weak. A fighter with seizures wasn't worth enough to keep alive.
"Are you okay? What's wrong?" He stood at the cage, concern making him look younger.
I held up a hand to fend him off. "Back. Up."
He did, retreating several steps to pick up the red phone on the desk. He said something into it that didn't make sense, but the sound was too distorted in my ears. I sat heavily, panting, and cursed through clenched teeth as tears broke loose and even the mantra didn't help.
Atticus returned to sit on his heels, still a few feet from the cage, and rolled a bottle of water through the bars. A couple of granola bars landed on the ground in front of me. His voice reached me, low and soothing and calm. Directive. "Slow your breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Put your arms over your head. Look at me."
I didn't mean to, but something about his tone compelled me. I looked up and was immediately caught in a sea of liquid gold. My heart leapt to my throat. It had to be some sort of trick, some fancy sleight of hand. Or contact lenses.
But his voice went on until I felt drunk and the panic receded. His voice melted around me like honey. "Deep breath. Good. You're safe. It might not feel like it but you're safe here. I'll protect you."
Looking away seemed both physically impossible and a terrible idea. Every muscle relaxed and my heart slowed. The band constricting my chest loosened, eased, until I could take a deep breath.
Atticus smiled again, and I couldn't help it — I smiled back, feeling dreamy and soft and slow. His large hands flexed and I stared at them, mesmerized. Difficult to believe he'd swung one of those meaty things at me and hadn't taken my head off. His head tilted as he studied me. "Is that better?"
I managed a nod but whispered, "I want to leave."
The smile turned a little sad, and he nodded. "I know. Not yet, though."
Not yet. My stomach clenched and I swallowed hard against a knot of panic. So I really was a prisoner.
Atticus rumbled in his chest, a strange sound almost like a purr, and rubbed his jaw. "Look at me, Sophia."
I blinked and found myself caught in his golden gaze once more. And the panic eased, melted away. He took a deep breath, not moving as the door to the room opened and three large men strode in. I tried to look away but couldn't, though I cringed as they entered my peripheral vision. They all looked related, and though none were as large and intimidating as Atticus, they were none of them wilting violets. I'd be hard pressed to defeat any one of them alone, but if they ganged up on me, I was toast. The shaking started up in my hands at the thought. Never going to get away.
"Hey now," Atticus said softly, a frown wrinkling his forehead as he watched me. "What's wrong? Don't cry, Sophia. You're safe."
Don't cry? I touched my cheeks and found them wet, more tears dripping onto the t-shirt I wore. Someone else's clothes. For some reason, I thought they might be Atticus's. I shivered and huddled under the blanket. "Let me leave. Please."
His head tilted again, then he looked at the others. An edge hardened his tone. "You're scaring her. Back up."
The three men retreated a few steps, but it didn't help. One, thinner than the others and wearing a business suit and tie, folded his arms over his chest. "Why's she still in there, Atticus? Let the girl out already."
Hope surged and then died as Atticus shook his head. He straightened slowly and rubbed his shoulder. "She doesn't know."
"Doesn't know?" This from the oldest, his straw-colored hair raked back from his face so his blue eyes flashed.
"Nope."
"What don't I know?" They all looked at me. I lurched to my feet. Maybe they knew something about my parents. Or the orphanage. Or anything. I felt like I was balancing on the edge of a precipice, about to hear something that would change my life forever. "Tell me. What don't I know?"
Atticus took a deep breath. "You're a shapeshifter, Sophia. A leopard."
Whatever I expected him to say, that was not it.