Inhuman

21

Chorda didn’t seem surprised to come across me so far from Moline. Had he followed us?

Rafe would tell me to scream and run away. As if sensing my hesitation, Chorda opened his arms wide, showing me that he was unarmed. He wore only thin black running pants. Despite his imperfect upper lip and downy striped fur, I could see the double image in his face, like an Escher drawing, the human beneath the tiger.

“Thank you for scaring them off.” My words were little more than an exhale.

His auburn eyes traveled the length of me, slow and deliberate, which set my nervous system buzzing. I wanted to flee but I squashed the impulse. Everyone probably ran from him. I wouldn’t be one more person making him feel bad about the way he looked. “What are you doing here?” I asked, wading out of the shallow water. I wouldn’t run from him, but I would keep my distance.

“I should be asking you that.” His voice was deep and rough. Mesmerizing. Yet unnerving too, like the rumbling of distant thunder. “I live here.”

“In the woods?”

“No.” He flashed a smile that revealed his disturbingly large canine teeth. “In a house back that way.” He waved a striped hand at the trees behind him. “I came to get water, and found this by the lake.” He unslung my messenger bag from his shoulder, which he’d been carrying the whole time. I hadn’t even noticed. “It’s yours, isn’t it?”

I sighed in relief. “Yes.”

He nodded toward the cottage. “I was going to leave it on the porch.”

I pushed through the reeds and stepped onto the grass. He held out the bag. I hesitated. There was something so odd about him. A strangeness I couldn’t quite identify. Maybe it was the intense way he was watching me.

“I see,” he said softly. “You’re scared of me.” His whole body seemed to sag a little. “I’ll leave it here and go.” He bent to put the messenger bag down.

“No, I’m sorry,” I said quickly, feeling terrible. I hurried forward and he placed the bag gently into my outstretched hand. But when he lifted his fingers to my face, I stiffened. He traced a fingertip down the curve of my cheek. Had I imagined that he’d had claws when he was caught in Rafe’s trap?

“You are the most human of humans,” he said and dropped his hand to his side. “What are you doing here, Lane?”

I relaxed. After hearing about ferals from Rafe yesterday — how they drooled, growled, and tried to bite anyone who got close — I could tell that this man didn’t have “animal brain.” What was the harm in answering his question as long as I didn’t get into specifics? “I have to go to Chicago.”

His tail swished, whipping the bushes behind him. “Chicago is a dangerous place.”

So I’d heard. “There’s something there I need to get.”

He tilted his head, considering me. “You’re too young to have left something behind.”

“I’m doing it for someone else.”

“Ahh.” He sounded pleased. “Because of your kind heart.”

I smiled. Finally, someone who didn’t see kindness as a flaw. “Not this time.” I picked up my boots and glanced at the cottage, wondering if the guys would come looking for me. “I should get going. Thank you for bringing my bag.”

“It was quite humane of me, yes?” he asked with a purr.

I smiled. “Yes.”

“But not human.” His expression hardened. “Not yet.” And before I could react, his fist slammed into my forehead. A starburst of pain exploded behind my eyes and reality retreated, only this time there were no dreams to fill the void.

Consciousness returned with the fetid smell of blood. Mine? I wondered through the waves of pain crashing in my head. Slowly my eyes adjusted to the shadows. I was lying on my stomach on a hard surface. I tried to push myself up and found, first with annoyance, then fear, that my arms had gone numb from being pressed into the floor by my own body weight. Then a nerve path cleared in my brain, and I remembered how I’d gotten here. Chorda.

I struggled to get up, but my wrists were bound together. Again, I caught the scent of blood in the air … and death, sweet and rotten. I rolled onto my side and found a girl on the floor next to me, returning my stare with blank eyes. Dead eyes.

The cry that tore out of my throat was savage. Flailing, I tried to kick the corpse away but couldn’t. I thrashed onto my back.

“Finally,” a voice rumbled out of the dark. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

Recognition hit like a lightning strike, searing my nerves, and then his face appeared above me, striped skin and gleaming fangs. A beast that tears out people’s hearts, Rafe had said. I began to gag.

“Stop making that noise!” The tiger-man gripped my jaw in his large hand, forcing my mouth shut. “You sound like an animal.”

Jerking my chin free, I flipped away — a mistake, for now I was face-to-face with the dead girl again. Fabiola. The girl who’d gone missing. Who’d known something was hunting her. I wanted to sob for the girl who’d been stuck in an abandoned building with only her sister for company. She looked like Alva, with her long, dark hair, gleaming necklaces, and lace-trimmed gown … which was torn open at the neckline, exposing the bloody, ragged hole in her chest.

Oh no, Rafe was right — Chorda was the rogue. He had been following me. I began to shake, hands and arms twitching uncontrollably. “You killed her….”

“A waste,” he said with a dismissive snuffle. “Her heart didn’t work.”

“Work?” Breathe! Think. But how could I with the stench of a corpse clogging my throat?

Gripping my arms, Chorda pulled me to a sitting position. “None of them worked.” He peered at me with luminous eyes.

I looked past his face, unable to bear the jittery excitement in his expression. Beyond him was a vast and decaying parlor with its windows and French doors boarded up from the inside.

“They weren’t human enough.” A low rumble grew within him and he shifted on his haunches. “But you are. You saved me from that hunter, and now you will save me from this curse.” He ran his hand through the fur on his chest, distaste twisting his features.

“The virus?” I shook my head in the face of his insanity. “I can’t. I —”

“You will,” he roared, spewing out foul breath.

What was wrong with me? Don’t make the crazy man angry! “I’m sorry! I’ll help you. I will. But I don’t know anything about Ferae.”

Letting go of my arms, he rose before me. “I don’t need what’s in your mind….”

I inhaled deeply, fighting for clarity. He was a psycho with a virus messing up his thinking. I had no weapon. No way to defend myself. How was I going to get away from him? As if in answer, an engine rumbled in the distance. The jeep!

With a roar, Chorda flew from the room into the foyer where shafts of light slashed through the shadows. He extended his fingers and his claws appeared as he peered through the paneled-glass window beside the front door.

As he looked, I listened and held in my scream. The jeep was too far away for anyone to hear me, and yelling for help would just enrage Chorda. I exhaled slowly, suddenly calm. Calm in my decision that I would rather die trying to escape than be dissected alive. Calm enough to remember that Alva’s father had insisted his daughters carry switchblades. Did Fabiola keep hers up her sleeve like Alva had?

I checked that the beast was still at the front door, and with my bound hands I reached for Fabiola’s wrist, only to snap my fingers back after a single touch. Her skin was cold, and her arm, stiff. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to run my fingertips over her velvet sleeve. And there it was — a lump. Maybe, please, a switchblade. Wincing as I leaned over Fabiola, I attempted to nudge the lump out of the girl’s sleeve. My head bobbed as I glanced up with every breath, terrified that Chorda had returned on silent, padded feet. Finally, a rounded metal edge poked out of Fabiola’s cuff.

Sweat filmed over me like grease as I plucked up the knife and fumbled to open the blade with hobbled hands. A sob escaped me. The knife was tiny — only a few inches long. Unless I stabbed it directly into Chorda’s jugular, the little blade wouldn’t even slow him down. At least I could cut through the duct tape on my wrists. Then I’d be free to find another weapon. I shot a look around the room but felt swallowed up by the rotting furniture and swirling wallpaper.

Just then, Chorda stalked back into the room, hunched, feline, predatory. “Your friends are searching for you.”

Stay calm. I drew up my knees so that my hands were out of view and sawed at the tape.

Slowly he closed in on me, claws tensed, tasting the kill — closer and closer he crept.

The knife sawing through the tape was too loud. I needed to cover the sounds. “Why will my heart break the curse?”

He sank until he was poised on all fours, his eyes burning me. “You are the most human of humans…. There is no trace of beast in you.”

The knife cut through the tape, but it was too late. Chorda was going to pounce; I could feel his intention coming off him in hot waves. As desperately as I wanted to seem brave, tears spilled from my eyes. I didn’t want to die like this or be left to rot in this killing house. I twisted away, trying to get a grip on my terror so that I could figure out how to escape. My wrists were free, but I wasn’t.

“Look at me, Lane,” he commanded, sounding more like the man that I’d first met.

Yet I stayed turned away, eyes clenched tight, not wanting the last thing I saw to be his gaping maw or his bloody claws. I fingered the knife in my hand.

“I think it would be quite something to know you when I’m human again,” he said. “It’s too bad I won’t have that chance….”

My breath caught at the finality in his voice, so close behind me. This was the last second of my life and I would not meet it with my eyes closed. I pried open my lids and saw, right beside me, what I hadn’t before: a fireplace with iron tools propped beside it.

My hand gripped the rusty iron poker and I sprang up, turning and swinging high. Before Chorda could rise, I brought the heavy poker crashing down on his head. The vibration from the impact flew up my arm as the crouched tiger-man fell to his knees.

I watched him grab his head, his fingers splayed as if to keep his brains from spilling out. He didn’t make a sound. Then my vision sharpened. Run! With the poker in hand, I took off, not even stumbling when his claws raked my calf.

I sprinted into the foyer, gasping as pain radiated up my leg. I reached the door, hand out, ready to yank on the handle — only it was wrapped in chains. But I still had the poker. I swung it into the diamond-paned window, but the glass didn’t shatter as one and the poker caught. Even if I could wrench the tip free, it would take too long to smash away all of the panels.

I shot a glance back into the parlor where Chorda was still down on all fours, his face lowered and body swaying from side to side. Hurt? No — gathering his strength! I left the poker and ran through the house, dodging around corners, leaping over half-eaten animal carcasses, until I stumbled into the kitchen. But here too the door had been sealed. Not with chains but with boards hammered into place. I yanked open several drawers but they were all empty. No scissors, no knives.

The next room was long and narrow — a butler’s pantry — with two doors at the far end. Somewhere in the front of the house, a piece of heavy furniture toppled. My legs melted into jelly, verging on collapse. I dashed forward and pried open one of the doors to find stairs leading up. I hated, hated this choice — trapped above ground level — but with no other option, I sprinted up the narrow staircase.