The sound of footsteps on squeaky boards alerted Dana, warning him that someone was descending the staircase. He moved as far back on the cot as he could manage until his back was against the corner. The rounded metal post of the camp bed dug into his back and Dana gritted his teeth against the discomfort.

He watched as two sets of shoes and worn, faded jeans appeared at the top of the staircase. They were men. He was sure of it, and as they came into view, he got a better look at their appearance. One wore a red and white plaid shirt much like the stereotype of the lumberjack while the other wore a denim jacket over a dark blue shirt.

Bronze skin, straight black hair, and dark penetrating eyes. They were Métis.

Dana recognized the taller of the two. Had seen him in class when Ricky knocked his books from his desk, and again in the hallway, when Ian had harassed him and his companion unnecessarily.

Joe. That was his name. He’d been the one to take a swing at Ian.

Joe looked at him with an expression that could only be defined as murderous intent.

Dana swallowed, gulping audibly. He suddenly felt as if his lungs were refusing to take in much needed air. Joe narrowed his eyes at him, but it was Lumberjack who spoke.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“How the fuck would I know?” Joe snapped. “Asthma… anxiety…”

Joe lifted his chin, looking down on Dana as if he were subhuman. “He’s a weakling.”

Dana chose to ignore him. Instead, he focused his attention elsewhere as he tried to get his breathing under control. Keeping both young men in his peripheral vision, he caught sight of the nail he’d been prying at the window with. It must have rolled out from beneath the bed after he’d dropped it.

“Are you sure this is the one?” Lumberjack said. His tone of voice suggested he found Dana incapable of whatever it was they were referring to. His gaze was appraising, as if he were sizing Dana up. “He doesn’t look like much to me.”

“His scent was all over him, much more than the others.” Joe said. “It was him.”

Suddenly, Joe leaned forward, seized Dana by the arm, and began to drag him from the cot. “C’mon, the Chief is waiting to see you.”

“Wha?” Dana allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, but once upright, he let his legs buckle beneath him. He went limp in much the same manner as a three-year-old throwing a tantrum. The unexpected movement served him well, catching his captor by surprise. Joe’s grip on his arm loosened and Dana tumbled to the concrete floor. Unfortunately, his landing was far harder than he would have liked. He’d have bruises tomorrow if he ever got out of this alive.

Luckily, his ploy put him right over the rusty nail. Hoping neither of the men would notice, he grabbed it up in his fist. He barely had it in his hand before Joe took hold of his arm once again and hauled him roughly to his feet.

Dana cried out, partly to distract Joe, but mostly because the other man’s hold on his arm was so tight that Dana feared he intended to break it. At the same time, Dana turned the nail until the pointed end was between his index and middle finger. Rounding on Joe, he jabbed the nail straight at Joe’s face with all his strength.

He’d been aiming for the young man’s eye, but with a speed that Dana wasn’t aware a human possessed, the taller male lifted his hand and easily caught Dana’s fist in his palm.

Dana’s eyes widened in a mixture of horror and satisfaction when he realized the nail impaled Joe’s hand. It went straight through the palm and out the back of his hand. Joe released the bruising grip on his arm and Dana stumbled backwards as the Métis man’s gaze slid from Dana to his injured hand. Joe turned the appendage first one way and then the other with a calmness that seemed unnatural.

Then, he looked back to Dana. With his good hand, he took hold of the nail between his thumb and index finger. Baring his teeth, Joe slowly began to pull the nail from his hand. As he did so, he never removed his gaze from Dana’s.

When the nail was all the way out, Joe held it up as it dripped with fresh blood.

He angrily tossed it aside and Dana flinched when he heard it strike the concrete with a dull, metallic ting. With a curse, Joe reached into his pocket and pulled out a red handkerchief. He crudely wrapped the scrap of cloth about his hand and then sent a withering glare in Dana’s direction.

“Bring him.” With that, the dark-haired man turned and headed up the stairs, leaving Dana alone with Lumberjack.

Lumberjack was shorter than Joe, but he was stocky, solidly built, and strong. Almost inhumanly so.

When the man took hold of him, Dana tried to shake him off. He fought him valiantly, even managed to land a punch and a couple of kicks, but his hits bounced off the stocky man, resulting in nothing more than a sore hand and a bruised ego for Dana. Lumberjack easily manhandled him up the stairs, practically pulling him along by the scruff of his neck.

While in the basement, Dana’s eyes had become accustomed to the dark, so the bright light at the top of the stairs blinded him through the open doorway. Dana had no time for his eyes to adjust to his new surroundings as he was dragged along a hallway. They passed through what looked to be a dining room and then through another hallway. When they finally halted before a door, Joe was waiting for them, lazily leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He still had the handkerchief tied about his injured hand, and Dana was savagely satisfied he’d at least managed to maim the guy, even if it was just a small injury.

At their approach, Joe pushed away from the wall and opened the door with his uninjured hand. He stepped aside as the brute holding Dana pushed him toward the doorway. The man released him, but no sooner had Dana gotten his bearings than he felt a hard shove against his back.

With a cry, he found himself essentially launched through the open doorway. He landed on the hardwood floor with such force that he swore his teeth rattled. With a groan, he pushed himself onto his elbows. He didn’t think anything was broken, but he couldn’t be sure because he pretty much ached everywhere at the moment. Lifting his gaze, he saw shoes all around him. Boots, mostly. But he did a spy a pair of sneakers as well as a pair of polished dress shoes, if he wasn’t mistaken.

Dana lifted his gaze higher. There were several men, some standing while others – mostly comprised of older men with graying hair at their temples – sat in chairs or on the couch shoved against the wall. At the center of the room, before the large picture window displaying a lovely image of a land blanketed in white and trees with branches weighed down by snow, was a dark mahogany desk. Behind the desk, a young man looked down at him with dark brows drawn together in a stern sort of expression.

The man clearly had some Native heritage, his lightly bronzed skin and coal black hair attested to that, but his appearance suggested more of a white bloodline. His hair, while as dark as Joe or Lumberjack’s, held a bit of a curl to it. He possessed high cheekbones and a square jawline, but his nose was less aquiline in appearance.

It was his eyes, however, that were his most striking feature. Most of the Métis he encountered had brown eyes varying from a light caramel to a brown so dark it appeared almost black, but this man’s eyes were different. They were golden in color, like burning cinders, or like the eyes of a wolf.