Untitled by Unknown Author Page A
Authors: Unknown Author
to straighten her awkwardly bent neck, bolts of pain stabbed through her skull. At first she'd wondered about the strangled cry that had echoed nauseatingly around her every time she attempted to move but gradually she figured it out. The animallike whimpering was coming from herself.
After the third attempt to move, she gave up. It hurt too much.
Time passed slowly, fingers of cold gradually creeping under every last fold of her flimsy nightgown. She shivered, the uncontrollable movement sending new flares of pain into her head. And through it all, Gina drifted, only half aware that she was alone in the Oldham Forest. It could almost have been a dream if she weren't so cold.
As the minutes passed—or was it hours— consciousness crawled back. God, she was cold. There were pins and needles where her toes should have been. Slippers, she realised vaguely. She was sure she'd been wearing slippers.
Outside?
She slumped back against whatever it was that was holding her upright, wishing she could just lie down for a while. Warm covers would be nice, too. Maybe even a feather pillow, a luxury she hadn't indulged in for years.
Her eyes flicked open as a cramp started to swell in her shoulder. Impatient with herself—how hard could it be to lie down and stretch out, anyway—she twisted, trying to untwist the knot that was sending fresh pains up her neck to throb and echo around her head. What she wouldn't give for some Tylenol.
Damn it! Why wouldn't her arms move? She yanked irritably at whatever they were caught on, only to gasp in agony as the soft skin on her wrists shredded. There was something rough and unyielding behind her and, whatever it was, she couldn't move away from it.
When she concentrated, she could feel something digging into her chest and stomach, too. At least her skin hadn't been rubbed raw there, but still… A rope, maybe? The idea filtered its way through her jumbled thoughts. It didn't make sense.
Gina relaxed back, her eyes still closed, and tried to make her sluggish brain work properly. It was getting harder to breathe. The air was so cold that every breath felt like she was gasping in a lungful of tiny, sharp icicles.
She tried inhaling deeply, only to find herself coughing wildly. Shallow panting was more comfortable, but then she felt like she was hyperventilating. She couldn't win.
Suddenly, she realized what had been nagging at her for the past few minutes. Every breath was sweet, redolent with damp pine needles and rich, dark soil. There was no way her little back yard had ever smelt like that.
But it was getting harder to breathe, and her heart was thumping in her chest, every beat noticeable. Too lethargic to be bothered thinking, she collapsed back,
hanging limply against the rope that seemed to be holding her upright.
* * * *
Nate skidded to a halt, his heart still pounding, anger vying with his fear. In a small clearing—really just a turning circle at the end of a fire trail—Gina was slumped against a tree, thick ropes holding her upright. He couldn't see her face; her loose hair had fallen forward to hide her features, but he knew she was alive. His wolf's ears were still picking out the irregular rhythm of her heart. He could smell fresh blood and could see where blood from a slightly older wound had congealed in her hair
Within seconds he was bounding across the clearing, his nose pressed against her as he judged just how badly injured she was. She was cold. Too cold. Anything else would have to wait.
It was obvious someone had left her here on purpose, probably someone who at least knew about the existence of werewolves in the area, even if they didn't know very much about them. He was shaking his head in disgust, even as his limbs extended and his torso stretched back into human form. She'd been left as an old-fashioned sacrifice. He'd heard stories of some of the earliest pioneers
After the third attempt to move, she gave up. It hurt too much.
Time passed slowly, fingers of cold gradually creeping under every last fold of her flimsy nightgown. She shivered, the uncontrollable movement sending new flares of pain into her head. And through it all, Gina drifted, only half aware that she was alone in the Oldham Forest. It could almost have been a dream if she weren't so cold.
As the minutes passed—or was it hours— consciousness crawled back. God, she was cold. There were pins and needles where her toes should have been. Slippers, she realised vaguely. She was sure she'd been wearing slippers.
Outside?
She slumped back against whatever it was that was holding her upright, wishing she could just lie down for a while. Warm covers would be nice, too. Maybe even a feather pillow, a luxury she hadn't indulged in for years.
Her eyes flicked open as a cramp started to swell in her shoulder. Impatient with herself—how hard could it be to lie down and stretch out, anyway—she twisted, trying to untwist the knot that was sending fresh pains up her neck to throb and echo around her head. What she wouldn't give for some Tylenol.
Damn it! Why wouldn't her arms move? She yanked irritably at whatever they were caught on, only to gasp in agony as the soft skin on her wrists shredded. There was something rough and unyielding behind her and, whatever it was, she couldn't move away from it.
When she concentrated, she could feel something digging into her chest and stomach, too. At least her skin hadn't been rubbed raw there, but still… A rope, maybe? The idea filtered its way through her jumbled thoughts. It didn't make sense.
Gina relaxed back, her eyes still closed, and tried to make her sluggish brain work properly. It was getting harder to breathe. The air was so cold that every breath felt like she was gasping in a lungful of tiny, sharp icicles.
She tried inhaling deeply, only to find herself coughing wildly. Shallow panting was more comfortable, but then she felt like she was hyperventilating. She couldn't win.
Suddenly, she realized what had been nagging at her for the past few minutes. Every breath was sweet, redolent with damp pine needles and rich, dark soil. There was no way her little back yard had ever smelt like that.
But it was getting harder to breathe, and her heart was thumping in her chest, every beat noticeable. Too lethargic to be bothered thinking, she collapsed back,
hanging limply against the rope that seemed to be holding her upright.
* * * *
Nate skidded to a halt, his heart still pounding, anger vying with his fear. In a small clearing—really just a turning circle at the end of a fire trail—Gina was slumped against a tree, thick ropes holding her upright. He couldn't see her face; her loose hair had fallen forward to hide her features, but he knew she was alive. His wolf's ears were still picking out the irregular rhythm of her heart. He could smell fresh blood and could see where blood from a slightly older wound had congealed in her hair
Within seconds he was bounding across the clearing, his nose pressed against her as he judged just how badly injured she was. She was cold. Too cold. Anything else would have to wait.
It was obvious someone had left her here on purpose, probably someone who at least knew about the existence of werewolves in the area, even if they didn't know very much about them. He was shaking his head in disgust, even as his limbs extended and his torso stretched back into human form. She'd been left as an old-fashioned sacrifice. He'd heard stories of some of the earliest pioneers