Embraced By Darkness

I stepped to the corner and pressed my nose against the wood. The familiar burning got stronger, a warning that silver was close. My frown increasing, I shifted back to human form and pressed a hand to the wood. My fingers burned with the same awareness of silver that my nose had. It wasn't in the wood, it was beyond it. How far was anyone's guess. I was so sensitive to its presence these days, it could be one inch away or it could be one foot.

There was only one way to find out. I clenched my fist, drew it back, and punched at the wooden side of my cage with all the force I could muster.

My fist went through the wood as easily as a hot knife through butter, then was stopped abruptly by something thin and metallic. Something that burned as soon as my hand touched it. I swore and jerked my fist away, shaking it to ease the pain and seeing the red welts already forming across my fingers.

The bastards had covered my box with a mesh of silver. Anything else I could probably break, but this was beyond me. I guess I had to be thankful the silver wasn't touching me. I might be uncomfortable right now, but at least it wasn't killing me. I shifted position and carefully peered out of the hole I'd created.

Little more than darkness and the metal struts of the boat greeted me. If I was in a hold, then it either wasn't a very big one or I'd punched a hole in the wrong end of my cage.

I shifted again, and kicked out with a bare foot, being careful not to get anywhere near the silver mesh. The wood cracked and splintered, falling away in chunks rather than smashing into splinters. The space beyond the mesh wasn't much different. A little bigger, a little less dark, but otherwise, the same. I was alone in this fishy-smelling hold.

I wondered where Rhoan was. Wondered if he was locked up like me. I wasn't getting any sort of sick feeling that he was in trouble or hurt, so wherever he was, he was obviously okay. For the moment, anyway.

So where the hell was the Directorate? Why hadn't they come riding to the rescue? That was the whole idea of the trackers in our ears, wasn't it?

Maybe they just didn't know we were in trouble. Hell, I don't think either of us bothered to tell Jack what we were intending to do this morning. Hard to come riding to the rescue if they didn't know they were needed. I pressed the stud in my ear, and said, "Hello, hello? Anyone listening?"

There was no immediate response. Not surprising, I guess. We were out on the ocean and the corn-unit didn't have a huge range. The tracker did though, so sooner or later they'd realize something was up and come a-hunting. All we had to do was hang on until then.

But just in case they were picking me up, I added, "Rhoan and I need help, ASAP. We're on a boat and traveling to God knows where."

I flicked off the send function, but left the receive one on, just in case someone tried to contact me, My next step was finding out who was on the damn boat with me. I lowered some shields and carefully reached out, telepathically searching for minds—human or not. There was an odd sort of blankness coming from what I gathered was the front of the ship, given we were moving in that direction, but other than that, I might as well have been alone. Which I wasn't, so either the boat driver was mind-blind, or he was wearing a psychic wire to protect him from telepathic intrusion.

With that avenue of investigation going nowhere, I checked my pockets to see what I had to work with, but they'd been cleaned out. The laser, my wallet, phone, everything was gone. The only thing left was lint and the remains of what had once been a tissue, and neither of those were going to be a whole lot of use for anything. Not even blowing my nose. With nothing else to do, I laid back down and waited.

It was a long wait. The engine droned on and on. Footsteps would stride across the deck above me occasionally, but I couldn't hear voices. Couldn't hear anything to indicate there was another living soul on this boat besides me and the owner of those footsteps.

The day stretched into the evening, a fact I knew only by the lengthening of the shadows and my own i

Eventually the aroma of earth began to run underneath the scent of fish and ocean. The ship bumped against something hard and the footsteps moved across the deck and then disappeared. A few seconds later, the thumping of the engine stopped. For a while, there was nothing breaking the silence but the creak of the boat and the lapping of the waves.

Then a car—maybe even a truck, given the low note of the engine—approached and came to a halt. Doors opened, footsteps echoed, and then, finally, I heard Rhoan—swearing like a trooper.

I sat up quickly and looked through the hole my fist had made. Nothing. The cover was still well and truly in place over my hold. "Rhoan! Where are you?"

The swearing stopped. "In a goddamn box," he yelled back. "It's silver meshed. You?"

"Same. You know where we are?"

"I think it's safe to assume we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto."

I snorted softly. If Rhoan was making wiseass remarks, he was neither hurt nor worried.

Another engine fired up, this one more spluttery. Rhoan cursed again, then, his voice barely audible over the noise, said, "They're hauling me up from the hold. There's a truck waiting."

So obviously, we had not yet reached our final destination. Part of me wanted to ask what plans he had, what he wanted me to do, but given our captors were close, that would be pretty damn pointless.

"You any idea what is going on?"

"Nope. Hang on, Riley. I'll get us out of this."

He would, or I would. One or the other of us would find a way to get free, of that I had no doubt. We'd been through too much together to let a couple of murdering thugs defeat us now.

There was a thump, another curse from Rhoan, then chains rattled and the truck reversed away, the sound of its engine quickly fading into the distance.

I waited in my dark little hold, wondering when my turn would come. I could hear movement and the rattle of chains coming from what had to be the dock, but so far, no other truck had appeared.

An hour passed, my awareness of time sharpened by the rising of a moon that I couldn't actually see. The power of it burned through me, a silvery warmth that flowed through my bloodstream and offered me strength. Offered me comfort. The full moon was some days off yet, but its beauty still filled me.

Not that it would do me much good here in my little wooden prison.

I hoped they didn't plan to keep me pe

After another few minutes, the sound of the truck began to bite back into the silence, drawing closer. Obviously, they only had the one to move us.

Above me, doors crashed open and moonlight filtered in. Someone jumped down into the hold, and the thick, musky scent of a human filled the air. I peered through the hole, and saw grimy jeans and grimier work boots. He was tall and thin, with hands that were so covered in dirt, grease, and God knows what else, they looked black. Because of the darkness, it was hard to get a definite image of his features, but he wasn't young. His hands were the hands of an older person.

Chains rattled around my prison, then straps were drawn up over the box and suddenly I was rising into the air. I gripped the floor of the box hard, not liking the way the thing swayed. It felt too much like falling.

Goose bumps trembled across my skin, and bile rose. I bit it back and closed my eyes, trying to remain calm. It was only old fears rushing in. It wasn't a premonition. I wasn't going to fall. Not here in this crate. Not anywhere.

The crate thumped down on something solid, making me jump. But it didn't ease the crazy fear ru