Werewolves Don't Wear Cowboy Boots

Chapter 17: Pretty sure the Geneva Convention defines forced banter as torture

For a moment after Colum awoke, all he could process was pain. His mind tried to navigate its fog to process the source of that pain – he'd been shot, he remembered that well enough, and from the feel of it, the bullet was still in his shoulder. But was there some sort of silver binding his hands behind his back? Because his wrists were in agony as well.

He'd just wiggled his hands to test the bonds – which only seemed to make things worse – when a voice started reciting, "Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice."

Colum groaned quietly into the tile on which he lay – a bathroom floor, maybe? 'Is this what vampires do?' he wondered. 'Tie people up and then recite poetry to them?' He'd made up his mind to ignore it – it seemed the best response to anything so pompous – when a foot wearing a shiny and expensive looking shoe poked at his injured shoulder, making him wheeze a bit as tears sprung to his eyes.

"No need for the strong, silent act. I want your thoughts on Robert Frost. What do you think, will the world end in fire or ice?" He pressed a little harder with his foot.

Colum closed his eyes and tried his best to ignore the pain as he replied, "No." Hearing his voice break a bit on the word, he tried again. "It will begin with a new heaven and a new earth."

"What?" The pressure on his wound abated as the vampire drew his foot away. "So you're a werewolf who's some sort of religious freak?" The vampire let out a laugh. "Well, isn't that adorable."

Taking advantage of the brief reprieve of having a foot shoved into the bullet hole in his shoulder, Colum forced himself to sit up and inched backward until he could lean up against a wall, his breath coming a little heavier with the effort. He was in a bathroom – a large one with white tile everywhere and a giant bathtub. The vampire leaned down and reached a hand toward his head as if to pat his hair, and Colum glared a warning. The man reconsidered and drew back his hand, though he kept a lazy smile on his lips. "Do you hold to the philosophy of turning the other cheek? Or would you rather rip my throat out? Because your expression says the latter."

He met the comment with an icy gaze, but said nothing. If the vampire were hoping for witty banter, he'd abducted the wrong person.

"Colum, isn't it?" the man said, taking a seat on the edge of the tub and leaning forward, his arms resting against his knees. Colum rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the man, but the vampire kept talking. "You can call me Samuel. Not that we'll have a long acquaintance. Your sister will join us soon, I imagine. Either tonight, as arranged, or earlier if she's bold enough and stupid enough to think it's safe to enter a vampire den in the daylight. She's your sister. What do you think she'll do?"

He could feel his heart beating erratically at the mention of his sister – something no doubt a creature that feasted on blood could detect, even from across the room – and opened his eyes to look at Samuel again, trying his best to stay calm. "What do you want with her?"

Samuel smiled cruelly, his eyes cold. "One of the boys got a little carried away recently, and your sister witnessed more than she should. Not to mention one of my men has been missing ever since he was sent to take care of her. I don't think that's a coincidence, do you? She's a loose end we need to tie up. And you ... well, you're a very convenient scapegoat for any hunters who are suspicious about a dead human, aren't you?"

Colum shifted and winced when the movement caused the rope binding his hands to press harder against his wrists. "You ..." He faltered and took a steadying breath. "You don't want to do that."

"Why? Are you going to tell me your pack is going to come get me if anything happens to the two of you?"

"Something of that sort," Colum said, his voice quiet.

Samuel breathed out a laugh. "It's no use lying to me. You don't have a pack backing you up. You're a 'lone wolf,' so to speak. No one is going to miss you."

He couldn't quite meet the vampire's gaze, and he blinked a few times and then swallowed before replying, "Bridget won't talk. You don't have to worry about her." He doubted very much his plea would do any good, but he had to at least try, just in case O'Neill didn't make it in time.

Samuel watched him with that same infuriating smile. "You don't really think I believe you, do you? Almost makes me want to kill you right now. We don't actually need you alive to lure the girl here. Maybe I should just get it over with instead of letting you bleed out all over my floor."

Colum's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched slightly as he replied, "Are you asking my permission or my advice? Or do you just like to hear yourself talk?"

Samuel simply smiled and stood. "I am feeling generous today. Maybe I'll give you both a little reunion before I kill you. Or maybe I'll keep you both as pets for a while. I would have to wait for the next full moon, but werewolf pelts do fetch a respectable price. Is your sister's fur as red as her hair?"

Colum closed his eyes and forced himself to breath in an attempt to stay calm. The thought of them anywhere near his sister made him want to blurt out that she was just a normal girl. But then, he realized, they very well might drain her blood on sight, or even turn her if they were feeling especially sadistic. On the other hand, if they did plan on gaining werewolf pelts, it would buy time for O'Neill to stage a rescue – a proper rescue. At least as long as they didn't realize she was human after all.

After some time had passed without an answer, Samuel said, "Well? What color is it?"

Colum considered the best lie to tell. If he said her fur was some especially coveted color, Samuel might be inclined to leave her mostly unharmed, at least for a while. But he might also detect the lie of Colum openly admitting his sister would make an excellent trophy, so Colum told a different lie. "It's nothing special. A waste of your time, really."

Samuel watched him with a knowing and amused look in his eye. "I guess we'll see for ourselves, won't we? A shame we wrecked yours with that bullet. Still, you brought it on yourself. Maybe if you're a very boy good, we'll take it out later."

"Feck off." It was exactly the sort of thing Bridget would have said, and Column was both horrified and strangely proud to realize what he'd said.

"Well," Samuel responded, not appearing the least bit bothered, "maybe you'll be feeling more cooperative after your wound festers for a while. Now, I'm going to go mind the boys in case the girl arrives. One of them has a taste for mutt, you know, and he can get messy."

Colum did his best to ignore the man's parting words as he left the room. 'Bridget will be fine. Everything will be fine,' he told himself a few times, before taking a deep breath and putting his brain to work. He didn't have a plan yet, but he at least knew where to start – getting his hands free from the damned ropes.

*****

Note: Didn't mean to do an entire chapter with just Column, but ... well ... things happen.