Meet Amber, a teenage girl struggling with the death of her father, an overstressed mother- and lycanthropy. All she wants is for her life to go back to normal, but a magical corporation has lost a valuable test subject and they believe Amber will b...
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Chapter Seventy One
I yelped when Fisher's truck hit another bump, jostling my cage and throwing me into the bars. He was driving like a maniac and I, naturally, was riding in the bed. It had taken him almost an hour to get me loaded up, having to resort to using a pallet jack and a ramp to keep from getting to close. That was smart of him, because I would have bitten him if he'd given me the chance. Then he could enter himself in his dog fights, and hopefully get his liver ripped out.
It was dark out, and I couldn't get a very good look at our surroundings at the speed we were going. The streets zipped by in a flash, and the signs were nothing but neon blurs. Still, I was somewhat certain that I wasn't in my hometown anymore. That, unsurprisingly, didn't improve my mood at all.
Tomorrow, it'll only be three days before the full moon, I thought, looking anxiously up at the sky. The moon was growing fatter every night, and I whined in frustration at how powerless I was to stop it. How was I going to get home in time to help Kimberly? I imagined her right now, all alone in the Swag Pag's house. She was probably hurting again, since I wasn't there to give her her painkillers. Poor little kid. How could I have let this—
Fisher swerved around a corner, throwing me off my paws again, and those thoughts were immediately chased out of my head. I couldn't worry about Kimberly right now. I had to focus on getting out of here.
Fisher slowed down so that he was only going about twenty over the limit, and turned onto a dirt road. The ride got even bouncier here, so I gave up standing and just laid down. A couple of minutes later, I saw some lights up ahead. They were headlights, I realized. A lot of them, too. Fisher pulled up to them, killed the engine, and hopped out of the truck.
"Hey, boys!" he called, his accent making him sound like an absolute hick. "I'm here!"
I stood up and took a look around. The headlights belonged to a bunch of other pickup trucks which were, for some reason, all gathered in a circle so their back ends formed a ring. There was one more spot open, I noticed, at the far end of the ring, and it didn't take a genius to figure out who would go there.
A few other men hopped out of their trucks and came up to Fisher. One of them, a hairy, middle aged guy with a beer belly, looked at him and started to laugh.
"Well, look who it is! Thought you were gone for good last time, Danny Boy!"
Fisher's expression soured, and he came to slap the side of his truck. "I got me a new specimen," he said, giving me a proud look. I growled at him, but he ignored me. "I call her Sparkles."
Hearing this, all the other men started to laugh.
"You would name it Sparkles, ya idjit," the fat one guffawed. "But, whatever! I don't care if you wanna get another one of your fancy dogs killed. Get in the ring!"
Everyone went back to their trucks, and Fisher flipped them the bird before climbing back into his and driving to the other end of the ring, and backed up so that it made a full circle. Getting back out, he came to the side of the truck and glared at me.
