There was a long pause on the other side of the door. “I hate to break it to you, Red, but your door locks from this side, and Nemesis has been killing the shit out of my guys. I don’t know what they’re up to, but they aren’t leaving any witnesses. I’m slipping out of here one way or another, and you can either come with me and increase my odds of success, or you can stay in here and wait for Nemesis to show up and play shoot the wolf in the barrel.”

Now that was a good point.

“Damn it.” Heather got off the cot, went to the door, and banged her fist against it. “Okay. You’ve got a deal. Let me out.”

“Before I open this door, let me just clarify some ground rules before you get all enraged and werewolfy on me. I’m a lot of things, but I’m a survivor first and foremost. I’ve got more of that neurotoxin that’ll wipe you right out if you try anything stupid. And if you think about just running off, you’re not making it out of here without me. The escape tunnel ends at a hatch that makes this cell door look like tinfoil and it opens with a code only I know. Without that, you’ve got to make your way through a bunch of very powerful, and suddenly inexplicably pissed-off supersoldiers, any one of whom is tougher than the seventeen-hundreds model that kicked your ass. Comprende?”

“Sure.” Once they were safely outside of this place, Heather planned on revisiting that deal.

“Hang on. Nemesis is controlling the autolocks. I need to find the keys.”

She could hear Stricken walking away. Heather would have gathered up her things, but she was barefoot and had been left with nothing but a tank top and a pair of bike shorts. But since she was a werewolf, clothing never lasted too long in a fight anyway.

The footsteps returned. There was the metallic jangle of a key ring. The heavy door opened.

Heather stepped out. Stricken was right in front of her, wearing an annoying smile, his shades, and an obnoxious white suit. “Where are you headed, Fantasy Island?”

“This way,” Stricken jerked his head down the hall. There were several other cells. A few of the doors were open. He turned his back on her and started walking. She was tempted to just flay him open clear to the spine, but he must have been feeling pretty confident because he didn’t even bother to look back.

Heather’s sense of smell was still suffering, but she was starting to pick up traces of blood on the recirculated air coming through the vents. Stricken had at least been telling her some truth. A lot of people had just died here. There was another scent though, a familiar one, and it took her a moment to place it.