Protector Panther (Protection, Inc 3)

“Let me take your pulse.” Dr. White switched the black box to his left hand and came closer. “Give me your wrist.”

Roy held out his hand. As Dr. White reached out for it, Roy grabbed the doctor’s right wrist and slammed the side of his hand into the doctor’s left wrist. The black box flew across the room and hit the wall with a loud crack.

Before the doctor could yell, Roy jerked him forward and punched him in the jaw. Dr. White dropped as if he’d been zapped by his own little black box. Roy caught him and heaved him on to the bed.

He hastily pulled off the doctor’s shoes, pants, and white coat, then kicked off his own slippers and scrambled out of his hospital-issue thin cotton pants. He yanked on the doctor’s shoes and buttoned his white coat over Roy’s own shirt. The pants were too short and the shoes were painfully tight. But he was lucky that Dr. White was a big guy too, or Roy wouldn’t have been able to get into them at all.

He put on the stethoscope and took the ID card out of Dr. White’s back pocket, then picked up the black box. It was cracked and probably useless, but at least he could carry it as a prop.

Try to look confident and doctor-like, he strode out of the room. The bright lights jabbed needles of pain into his eyes and straight through his skull; he was forced to walk with his face lowered and his eyes half-closed. The sickening chemical smell of the air was stronger in the corridor, but beneath it, he could smell a light, fresh scent: outside. He followed it down the corridors, using Dr. White’s ID to get through the locked doors.

He passed a few hurrying people in scrubs. Roy’s heart hammered, but they didn’t give him a second glance. His headache went from bad to excruciating, threatening to become disabling. But the scent of outside was getting stronger. It smelled like hope.

He waved Dr. White’s ID through another sensor. It took him three tries, his hands were shaking so badly. Then door slid open, and Roy came face-to-face with a pair of security guards.

The men were armed with both black boxes and dart guns, like you’d use to tranquilize a wild animal. That went a long way to confirm what they knew or guessed about Roy.

Forcing himself not to hurry, he started to walk past.

“Hey!” One guard tried to grab his arm.

Roy punched him in the stomach, doubling him over, and snatched his dart gun. In one smooth movement, he swung around and slammed the gun’s butt into the second guard’s shoulder. The man dropped his dart gun with a cry of pain. But before Roy could stop him, he hit a red button on the wall.

Brilliant lights began to flash. A siren went off. Pain exploded in Roy’s head. His knees banged into the floor, the dart gun falling from his hand.

Clenching his jaw, Roy forced himself to his feet. He couldn’t get his eyes to open. He staggered, dizzy and blind, barely able to think through the agony. He felt like he was about to pass out. Even if he managed to stay conscious, he couldn’t fight. One way or another, he’d be captured and dragged back to his cell.

He only had one chance left: to transform into a wolf.

He’d sworn that he wouldn’t try it here. He didn’t know if it would help. He didn’t even know if it was possible. He’d only become a wolf once before, in Afghanistan.

A captured Marine has a duty to escape. Whatever they do to me— whatever I’ve become— I’m still a Marine.

In his mind, a wolf howled.

He’d done it before. He could do it again. Roy had been avoiding the memory, but now he sought it, trying to recall every detail.

Tearing pain in my chest. Blood in my mouth. DJ’s fingers digging into my shoulders. His hoarse voice shouting my name. DJ’s face and the sky and the wrecked helicopter in the distance, all fading out. Hot sand under my back.

And then...

Hot sun on my fur. Four paws scrabbling in the sand. Scents everywhere, rich and distinct: me and DJ and blood and sand and weeds and metal and oil and...

Roy reached inside himself, searching for the part of him that was wild and free and would rather die than be caged.

He found his wolf.

The overwhelming dizziness eased. The sirens and flashing lights were still agonizing, but his wolf body was that crucial bit stronger, better equipped to cope with pain. He was lower to the ground, in a world without colors, but with scents as bright and clear as neon lights.

A man was raising a dart gun. Roy instinctively jumped to avoid the dart, his ears swiveling to catch the hiss and thwack as it buried itself in the wall behind him. He leaped at the man and slammed him down. The dart gun skittered across the floor.

He could smell the sharpness of the guard’s fear. It would be so easy to bend his head and rip out his enemy’s throat...

The fresh scent of open air was ahead of him. Roy released his prey and bounded ahead, racing through the closing door.

Freedom!

He was outside. It was night. People were shouting and running toward him.