"I can't wait until tomorrow," said Heuter.

"You're not a werewolf," Benedict said. "You don't need the full moon to do anything."

"No, I don't care about the moon." Heuter smiled. "I can't wait to see that smug bastard lose it because we have his wife and he can't find her."

"You aren't going anywhere near him," Uncle Travis snapped irritably. "Don't be stupid. You'll get cocky and he'll smell it on you. Smell her on you, maybe." He didn't take his attention off Anna, so he didn't see the resentment that flashed and disappeared on Heuter's face.

Anna didn't have Charles's memory for information, but she was pretty sure that Heuter was nearly thirty. That was old to be taking orders issued as if he were a child. Werewolves had to follow their Alpha's orders that way, though. They followed them or they were killed. Maybe it was the same kind of thing for Heuter? Maybe his uncle read him better than she did, and the threat of death was enough to keep him in line.

"You look so meek in there," Uncle Travis said - and it took a moment for Anna to process that he was talking to her because he'd switched from talking to Heuter without altering his voice or his body posture. "Are you afraid, princess? You should be. Your kind is trying to take over the world. You don't fool me with the 'we're good guys' spin-doctoring. I know a predator when I see one. It's just like the gays. Just like the gooks and the spics and the dagos. Trying to turn this country into a cesspool."

Gooks were...Vietnamese, right? Score one for her high school history class, because she'd never actually heard that one out loud before. Spics were Hispanic. She had no idea who the dagos were. Her racist vocabulary obviously needed work. What would a racist call werewolves? Wargs? She kind of liked that one, but suspected that racist bastards didn't read Tolkien. Or if they did, she didn't want to know about it.

"But we're here to stop you," Uncle Travis said, then smiled seductively - and he was handsome enough that she would bet that a lot of women had followed that smile into a bedroom. "And for payment, all we ask is that we have a little fun along the way - right, boys?"

"Yes," said the big man. "Yes, fun."

It was weird hearing the simplemindedness in his speaking voice and smelling his lust. In her experience - and she'd volunteered in high school with a group that specialized in free babysitting for parents with autistic or special-needs kids - most people who were mentally disabled were pretty sweet as long as their parents hadn't totally spoiled them.

Benedict was not sweet, and he was something a lot more deviant than a spoiled brat. Listening to him and smelling his need gave him an oddly pedophilic vibe. It made her feel filthy by association.

Anna wondered if there had always been something wrong with Benedict, or if Uncle Travis had turned him into this...twisted soul.

"Look at her, Uncle Travis," said Heuter. "She's just staring. Is she too scared to fight? Or maybe she thinks she can get away, that she can fight us and win. Maybe she's not scared of a bunch of mere humans."

"No snarls or raging," agreed Uncle Travis. "Might mean she's already given up. Maybe we won't wait until she's human. She's not half as big as that last one was, and he didn't give us any trouble." He put his face near the cage, as if by accident, but she could smell his excitement. He was taunting her, trying to get her to attack. "We took that one apart, piece by piece, until the creature that was left was a mewling, broken thing. We put him down out of pity when we were done with him."

Otten hadn't been trained by Charles, Anna reminded herself firmly. Let success make them careless. She relaxed her ears and changed her posture until the glimpse she saw of the black wolf in the mirror showed a beast who was scared and alone, who knew there was no way her mate could find her - as if the reminder of what had happened to Otten had been enough to steal her confidence.

She had to remind herself firmly that she was only acting hopeless and afraid. That she was not a victim, that she would prevail over them.

Uncle Travis sneered. "Pathetic. But they all are eventually."

"I don't mind pathetic," said Benedict earnestly. "As long as they are pretty. And human. I don't screw animals. Screwing animals is bad."

But Anna noticed that he didn't get any closer to the cage than he had to. His scent was...uneasy. Charles had hurt him when they fought and now he didn't want to get too near her.

Uncle Travis ignored Benedict, studying Anna as though she were a puzzle. "I don't think we'll wait. Get the bang stick and the muzzle. We'll put her out again and get the chains back on her."

Uncle Travis didn't specify whom he was ordering around, but Benedict strode off to do his bidding while Heuter never even moved.

Bang stick. A bang stick was a long pole with a firearm that could fire bullets at sharks underwater. She'd seen one on some National Geographic show on TV. She'd been rooting for the sharks.

Benedict went into the office in the far corner of the barn and came out with a seven-or eight-foot-long stick with what looked like a hypodermic taped on the end with duct tape. It wasn't a bang stick - but it looked like one had inspired its creation.

Anna rocked back warily. She had no intention of being unconscious again if she could help it. Drugs might not work right on werewolves, but enough drugs could knock her out for a few minutes. She didn't want to be helpless with these men.

ISAAC WAS PRETTY surprised that the high-and-mighty Lord of the Elves didn't get how scared he should be right now, stuck as they all were in a car with Charles while Charles's mate was in the hands of a bunch of serial killers.

That the FBI agents didn't get it, either, was a tribute to the hellacious fine poker face Charles had on, but Isaac would have thought that the fae, being so much older and wiser in song and story, would have better instincts. He should know that the Marrok's Wolfkiller was about to lose it and lots of people were going to die.

Of course, Isaac had gotten the distinct impression that Beauclaire was a tough, tough bastard last night when they'd fought the horned lord together. Attacking an invisible monster with nothing more than a long knife was all sorts of gutsy and maybe a little crazy - though the fae was still alive, which might mean that he hadn't been as crazy as all that. Not that either of them, Isaac or Beauclaire, had done a tithe of the damage the bogeyman of the werewolves had managed. Isaac had been impressed even when he thought that Charles must have been able to see the monster, but Hally had disabused him of that notion.