“Where are you taking me?” Nif hissed, scrunching herself up against the back wall of the van. They’d made no move to tie her up, but all but the driver had yet to take their eyes off her.

“You were right, brother.” The man who’d spoken appeared older than the others, maybe a few years older than Nif. He was naked, having transformed from the silver coated wolf into a fit, muscular man, and was shrugging on a pair of running shorts and a dark green hoodie, a faded logo in white across his chest. “She’ll give us a good chase.”

The student, and the one she considered Baskerville in her head even though she’d yet to have confirmation, just tossed his head back and laughed. He was now dressed in a pair of tracksuit pants, his chest and shoulders gleaming with sweat, and didn’t seem bothered at all by the cold. “She’s already led us on a nice hunt.”

“Indeed she has.” The oldest peered through the small window dividing the front seats from the back. “Oscar! Are the pigs on our tail?” It didn’t feel like they were speeding and the radio was playing easy rock.

“High and dry, Daz. Will only take us another half hour and we’ll be on the freeway out of the city.”

“Where are you taking me?” Nif flinched back when one of the still shifted wolves opened her mouth, panting a long pink tongue and flashing sharp, yellow teeth.

“You’ll see.” Daz said and then bumped Baskerville’s fist as if kidnapping someone was just an unlocked achievement in some computer game.

Nif observed the four people in the back with her, keeping her breathing even and muscles tense in case an opportunity, anything really, arose.

Baskerville was her age, fit like a gymnast, and moved as if he was constantly prepared to prove to the world he was as good as he thought he was. The older Daz had the same dark hair and pale blue eyes, the same large jaw and thick nose. Brothers for sure.

One of the others shifted back into his human form, much younger than the others. He was maybe seventeen or eighteen? Definitely a school student. The shape of his face promised to echo his older brothers one day, but right now he was all soft baby curves and an eager smile. He bounced a little, excited, until Daz threw a pair of pants at his face, calling him Dougie and ordering him to settle down or he’d be dropped off at home.

The fourth person, still in wolf form, was called Stella. She appeared to prefer being a wolf as the others didn’t comment. She curled up opposite Nif and watched her with yellow, unblinking eyes.

Oscar, the driver, looked like he could’ve been another brother or maybe a cousin. This was clearly a family affair, whatever this was.

Nif’s phone vibrated, so soft she briefly hoped no one heard and she forced herself not to stiffen, but Stella’s hearing was sharp and she made a soft woof.

“She’s your choice, Bas. You should check her over,” Daz said, smirking and Nif drew in her legs more closely.

Baskerville or Bas -- his real name maybe? Or a nickname? -- shuffled forward on his knees, swaying as Oscar took a corner more swiftly than he probably needed to.

“Stay away,” Nif whispered.

“Come on, Jenny. This doesn’t have to be hard or scary. I need any devices you have. Watch, phone, tablet. If you give them to me now, I promise not to touch you.”

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Oscar snorted from the front, and while all Nif wanted to do was spit in their faces, she also wasn’t stupid. There was no way she could take on a pack of wolf shifters even if she told them where to shove it.

She handed over her phone and watch, even though it wasn’t a smart one, and then turned her jacket pockets inside out to show they were empty. Moira’s phone was still in her back pocket where Nif had automatically slipped it after she’d lost connection with Oliver’s call. She prayed no one would call Moira’s phone.

“That’s everything I have. I promise,” she said and thankfully Baskerville backed off with his spoils.

“See, not so hard after all. Hey Oscar, deal with these, will you?” He handed the driver her things and the driver unwound the window and tossed them out of the moving van without even blinking. Nif’s heart twinged. She’d really liked that watch. God, what was wrong with her? Kidnapped and she was upset about losing her phone and watch.

The desire to ask them again where they were taking her had her mouth open but the words froze in her throat. Nif didn’t think they’d answer. She listened to the thump of the road beneath the tyres, trying to pick out where they were. For a very brief few seconds they rattled as if they’d crossed a wooden bridge, but Nif didn’t know the city well enough by car to recognise it. She tried to peek out the front window, but she was tucked too far behind the driver’s seat and could only see the warm glow of street lights as they passed overhead.

Gods, what would her mum do in this situation? She’d never have been caught in the first place, and would’ve torn her attackers to pieces. Her father would’ve just flown away.

She hoped Oliver was okay and Moira would be safe with the police by now. Thea would know what to do, and surely one of the watching students would’ve gotten the van’s number plate.

Except they then stopped and the door was thrown open, artificial light spilling inside. Nif saw the covered shape of a car jacked up on cinder blocks and a portaloo on its side. An abandoned lot of some kind, a street lamp revealing the warped chain link fence surrounding them.

For a moment Nif was in the alley in the renovated warehouse district again, Morris’s body tucked just out of sight but waiting for her to stumble upon. Before she could even shake off her thoughts of Morris and run, she was forced back into her corner by a growling Stella, her black lips pulled back to reveal glistening teeth and pink gums.

The brothers in the back tumbled from the van in a confusion of limbs and laughing voices, Daz hauling out an oil stained duffle bag. It had been less than half an hour so they had to still be in the city. Oscar sat in the driver’s seat, drumming his hands against the wheel to the still playing radio while craning his head, scanning the skies for flight shifters or drones.

“Get the plates, Bas,” Daz ordered, shaking the bag towards Baskerville, metal clanging together within the fabric.

“On it.”

Over Stella’s warning growls, Nif could hear the buzz of an electric screwdriver and the metallic jangle of something hitting the ground. They were changing the number plates. Any witness reports would be false now. Nif’s stomach sank.

“Dougie, stop lollygagging,” Daz snapped and there was a sudden ripping sound. The van shuddered. “Get that edge, would you? And make sure you don’t miss any.”

What were they doing? It sounded like they were ripping off skin, an awful tearing sound.

“Yeah, yeah. I heard you,” Dougie grumbled from the other side of the van. In less than five minutes, the three were jumping back into the van, Dougie’s arms full of white laminate, the kind students would cover their notebooks in.

Baskerville noticed Nif’s confused frown.

“The pigs will be chasing a white van with an out of state number plate. Pity we don’t fit the bill anymore.”

Nif didn’t say anything, but she imagined punching him in the face, messing up his pretty features so he could no longer use them to lure victims in. A broken nose at least, though she was pretty sure she’d break her hand. If only she could get a hold of that screwdriver.

Half an hour passed. Then an hour.

Stella curled up against Dougie and they exchanged a strangely whispered conversation, one in words and the other half in gruff barks and huffs. There was an underlying affection that made Nif briefly wish she hadn’t been an only child.

Daz sat in the front passenger seat and was chatting to Oscar about the latest hero flick. They sounded so normal and for the most part they ignored her as if she was nothing more to them than that evening’s takeaway.

Baskerville, though, never took his eyes off her.