Like love.
She clenched her fists and felt Jon's ring bite into her palm. He'd given her something of his to hold on to, something he seemed to value more than life. Something he'd come back for. All she had to do was hang on and wait. After all, Hank couldn't do much to her that her husband hadn't already done. She edged up the steps, hissing slightly when the knife bit into her neck. Blood trickled down her throat. Hank chuckled, his breath hot and unsteady near her ear.
They reached the door. Hank kicked it open. A bell chimed harshly above them, jarring against her already taunt nerves. He pushed her through, then quickly drew her back against him while he closed the door. The knife nicked into her throat again. She bit her lip and fought the sting of tears. The last thing she wanted was to give Hank the satisfaction of seeing her cry. He was probably the type who'd enjoy it—just as Brian had.
But at least Brian was dead, and no longer able to hurt her. Shoving the thought from her mind, she squinted, hoping to see Evan and the other teenager in the fire-lit darkness.
Two long bundles of blankets lay in the far corner of the room. She hoped it was the two of them—and that they were still alive.
Hank moved the knife away from her neck, but she didn't relax. He still held the knife close enough to use it should she move the wrong way.
"Why don't you go sit down while I tend to the fire." He gave her a hard shove in the direction of the sofa. "It's gotten a might cool in here." She stumbled forward, then caught sight of the window near the back of the cabin. If he turned away long enough... she edged sideways.
"Don't event think about it, sweetheart."
She froze. Hank's dark gaze gleamed viciously as he grabbed her arm and forced her down onto the sofa.
"You know, up until today I wasn't entirely sure if you were involved with the shapeshifter." He sat down beside her. "And I still don't entirely understand why you are."
She watched his fingers lightly tap the cushions that separated them. If that hand moved any closer to her thigh, she was running, knife or no knife. "As you said yourself, he's a charmer."
His smile gleamed briefly. "We both know he's not your type, sweetheart."
"He's not Eleanor's type either, but she didn't seem to mind."
Anger darkened his eyes, and Maddie bit her lip. She sure could pick the perfect moment to start answering back.
"No, she doesn't," he growled softly. He grabbed her wrist, squeezing it tight. "Hell then, what's good enough for the goose is good enough for the gander."
He yanked her toward him. She thrust her hand into his face, desperate to keep his lips from hers. Fire leapt up through her body, running heat through her veins. But the heat of it told her if she did release her fire, she'd kill not only Hank, but herself and the teenagers as well.
And if he didn't stop soon, the choice might be taken from her.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Hank?" Eleanor's voice sliced through the room. Hank flung Maddie away and scrambled to his feet. She edged as far away from him as was practical on the sofa.
"Just having myself a little fun." Though his tone was defiant, there was no escaping the hint of fear in his stance. Just as Jon had guessed, Eleanor was the power behind everything.
Maddie studied her. She stood in the doorway, a shadow outlined by sunlight. You didn't need to see her face or her eyes to taste the evil in her soul. It wrapped around her as closely as the coat she wore.
She licked her lips and hoped that Eleanor, like Hank, saw her as a form of insurance against Jon. Otherwise, she was dead. Eleanor would have no qualms about killing her. She was certain of that much, if nothing else. The heat in the room leapt several notches. She clenched her fists and felt the cool silver of Jon's ring bite into her skin. Its touch seemed to calm the fires somehow. Not much, but enough.
Eleanor stepped into the room and slammed the door shut. The look she gave Maddie was that of a cat about to devour a mouse. Appropriate, she thought with a shiver, considering Eleanor's other shape.
"What is she doing here?" Eleanor all but snarled.
"The shapeshifter was sniffing around here. I used her to ensure he left." Eleanor shrugged eloquently, her gaze running past them. "So why keep her?
Get rid of her."
Maddie edged forward, getting ready to fight. Even if it meant letting the fires loose and killing them all.
Hank's gaze met hers, and she stilled. Something in his eyes warned her not to move. Her gaze dropped to the knife he still held in one hand. Her blood was a small dark stain across its blade. "It could so easily be more," his eyes seemed to warn, "if you try anything."
"She's insurance against his return, Lennie," he said. "Through her, we can control him. At least until the ceremony."
Maddie stared at him. Lennie. That's what he'd called the cat at the inn. Did Eleanor have more than one shape?
"He can't touch us, anyway. He's nothing but a weak fool-" Eleanor hesitated, then stiffened. "Where the hell is the second kid?" Hank jerked around, staring at the bundles in the corner. "What do you mean?" Eleanor strode across the room and flipped the blanket away from the teenager's face. It wasn't Evan, Maddie thought with a sudden sense of joy. Jon must have gotten him out of the cabin somehow.