Page 25 of Dawn of the Pack

“It’s not going to kill him, is it?” Nielsen asks mildly. “He’s kinda purple.”

“Nah, just give it a minute for the spell to settle. He’ll be fine.”

“Good, ‘cuz he’s no good to me dead.”

“Same.”

Nielsen glances aside at Azalea, his eyes narrowing in response to her words. If she notices she doesn’t react, just settles herself onto the wheeled office chair she used yesterday and leans back, waiting.

After an unimaginably long, torturous moment, the pain subsides and my throat opens, allowing me to draw in ragged breaths. The alpha seems somewhat relieved, and Azalea is clearly smug.

“See? He’s just fine. In another minute or two, he’ll be right as rain.”

“And you’re sure this will work?”

“Oh yeah. I tested it on some kid’s dog. Lassie didn’t have any way to tell mister Rogers that Timmy was in the well with that thing on.”

I spare a second’s hope that she was just referring to the show and hadn’t actually hurt a child before considering my own plight. Glaring daggers at them both, I focus on filling my lungs and wait for the next nasty surprise.

“I think you ought to prove it before we go any further here.”

Whatever is going on, Nielsen clearly doesn’t trust Azalea. I file that away for later. It could be useful.

Sighing theatrically, Azalea answers, “Fine. Leaf, what do you think of your new accessory?”

I choose not to answer that comment, and after a few beats, she sighs again. “This really isn’t fun, Leaf. We’re dying to get your thoughts on the matter. Would you tell me for a cookie?”

I stand up, planning to tell her where she can shove that cookie, but when I try to speak the blinding pain erupts in my throat, leaving me gasping for breath and madly clawing at my neck like a raccoon on a leash.

The second I think about it, the blood drains from my face in realization. Azalea’s taunting about smelling like a dog wasn’t just bluster; she literally put a collar on me.

“There, you see?” she states in a smug, self-satisfied tone. “If he tries to speak, the pain stops him before he can even make a sound. I promise he’s perfectly docile now.”

Nielsen’s eyes light up and he rubs his hands together. “Well damn, excellent work, Miss Wintree. That will do nicely.”

Azalea performs a pleased, mocking curtsey with the pleats of her tiny plaid skirt. “Are you ready for the next bit?”

“Indeed, go right ahead.”

I brace myself for more pain, eyes following every move Azalea makes and my body preparing to block or dodge whatever comes flying at me. Even though I know it’s unlikely I can change the outcome, my fight-or-flight response has taken over control.

Azalea is standing in front of the cell now, chanting with both her hands up, palms toward the magic field. When nothing hits me after thirty seconds, I unclench my muscles and pay closer attention. Flickers of bright white and hazy purple streak across the space between us, and in just a few more seconds, the magical wall buzzes once, then flashes out of existence.

And I understand. Her magic wall kept me from freeing myself of this prison with my magic. Now that I’m collared and magically gagged, they don’t need it anymore.

Nielsen laughs with delight. “Excellent! Now we can move forward. Come on, son, let’s get you out of that cell. It’s served its purpose.”

I glare at him warily, backing into the corner. I can’t fathom a reason that removing me from this room will mean anything good.

“Now, don’t be like that,” Nielsen chides, as if I’m a misbehaving toddler. “I’m sorry for it, but the collar is necessary. For my protection, you understand. Until I can trust you, I can’t have you working spells and turning me into a barn owl or something!” He grins widely, as if I’m in on this joke. “But come on, son. I have a better facility for you, much nicer than this one. You’ve got a bed, and a shower, and of course a toilet. I’m sure you’d like to clean up a bit, change clothes?”

I still don’t trust it. I feel like a caged animal and the only safe place is the one I already know.

Abruptly, Nielsen sighs as if he’s bored and drops the friendly act. “Fine, have it your way, then. Miss Wintree?”

A wicked grin curls Azalea’s lips. “With pleasure.”

A handful of spoken words accompany a flick of her fingers, and a black leather strap appears in her hand. My eyes follow the line in horror to realize it’s snaking across the floor and directly up my body, where it’s attached to the collar by the ring that was behind my neck a moment ago. Now it sits directly below my chin.

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