Page 78 of Raven

I shot across the manicured lawn, the bike chewing up turf as I made for the wrought-iron gates. Those same gates we'd thundered through on Moon Night, when my father had paraded me around like some prodigal puppet.

The country lane stretched before me, a ribbon of tarmac hemmed in by looming dry-stone walls and the ominous silhouettes of fells. The headlight carved a feeble path through the inky blackness. Every pothole and bump sent shockwaves of agony through my battered body. My ribs shrieked where Rick's claws had found their mark, but sod him—I hoped the bastard was writhing in twice the pain.

I shoved the agony aside—or tried to. There was no way I was stopping. No way in hell I was going back. Pack or no pack. They were not my people.

My mind raced, thoughts as wild as my desperate flight. Where to? Home? Safety? Those words tasted bitter now. I had no clue where safety even was anymore. My only coherentthought had been escape, and now—hell—I didn't even have a way to contact anyone. The phone Malcolm gave me? Gone. Taken by my father. Who else could I call? Sue? That'd be like sending up a flare to my father's pack.

Spy Glass was out too—they knew about that place. It had to be somewhere off their radar, a hole to crawl into and figure out this mess. Just keep moving. I had to just keep moving..

In these early hours, Humans slumbered on, oblivious. I stuck to the back roads, avoiding motorways like the plague. My senses—the only guide I had left—led me through a labyrinth of lanes. I passed through sleeping villages, their windows dark and accusing. Glimpses of moonlit lakes flashed by, reminders that I was in the heart of the Lake District. Not far from home, but far enough—a good two-hour ride.

My father had been this close for years ...

When did my father move down from Scotland? Their accents were thick, but not too much. At least it explained my own slight lilt—words that sometimes slipped out, echoes of my mother. Raised by a Scotswoman, how could I not pick up her accent?

Mum. Her voice ghosted through my head, formless but achingly familiar. A vice clamped around my chest, grief threatening to choke me. I bit it back, tasting blood.

The sky was beginning to lighten, with a pale glow creeping over the horizon. A double-edged promise. Daylight meant the end of curfew, but it also meant every pack member would be up and out, hunting for me. If they weren't already.

I kept glancing over my shoulder, ears straining for any hint of pursuit. Engines, shifters, panthers—nothing yet. But the bike's growl seemed to echo for miles in the quiet. Every set of distant headlights sent my heart into overdrive. Any moment now, I'd round a bend and come face-to-face with one of my father's panthers.

My grip on the handlebars tightened, knuckles white and aching. A familiar sign loomed: Preston. Forty miles from what used to be home. My heart raced, a frantic drumbeat. Keep going, keep going—but where?

I didn't know. Didn't have a clue.

The bike ate up the miles, but with each one, dread grew in my gut. I couldn't go back to my old place—didn't want to. Was my mother's body still there? Lying there, rotting, forgotten? No, someone from the underground must have come looking. They had to have. She didn't have many friends, but the ones she did have, they cared. And Malcolm—he must know something was wrong. Tia and I hadn't shown for the mating, and?—

Tia. Her name was a knife twisting in my gut, worse than any wound Rick had inflicted. The betrayal hit me anew, a wave of pain threatening to swamp me. I'd trusted her, loved her—and it had all been a lie. A setup. Part of my father's sick game to reel me in. The bike swerved as her smirking face flashed through my mind, standing there with Rick. I wrenched it back under control, forcing myself to focus on the road.

But focusing on the road meant facing where I was going. I was losing blood, too—wet, sticky, a warm trickle down my side and across my stomach. If I'd been Human, I'd be dead by now. The wounds were deep, but my guts weren't spilling out just yet. Shifter healing—the one thing keeping me from bleeding out on this road. I pressed a hand to my side and my fingers came back covered in red. Shit.

I would heal. It'd just take time. Rick had hit hard, making sure to do some damage, but not enough. Oh, I'm sure he was a trained fighter.

I pushed the bike harder, ignoring my battered body's complaints. The familiar landscape of the coast began to emerge as I neared my hometown. I was almost there ... almost. The adrenaline was wearing off, and with that, the pain was kickingin. It hurt to breathe. I tried to move as I rode, but it made me slow down. Sweat beaded on my forehead, even with the wind whipping at me and chilling me. I shivered too, my body not knowing what the hell it was supposed to do. If I had been home, I could have shifted, could have made the healing happen faster. My body needed me to rest; my panther could have worked better to heal the body we both shared if I was asleep.

I was running on empty and everything that'd happened was crashing into me. I followed the road Lachlan and I had taken that night that felt so long ago now. I followed it all the way. My head just wanted quiet, my eyes wanted to close. I was fighting my body, fighting its natural need to put me out.

The bike wobbled beneath me, mirroring my fading strength. Each breath was a battle, sharp pain lancing through my chest. The familiar sights of home blurred in and out of focus as I struggled to stay conscious. Part of me wanted to just pull over, to curl up and let the healing take over. But I couldn't. Not yet. Not when I was so close.

I had to keep going. Had to reach ... where? The question nagged at me, a persistent itch in the back of my mind. I had a destination, didn't I? Something important. Someone who could help. The name danced just out of reach, taunting me.

My vision swam, the road ahead becoming a smear of grey and green. I blinked hard, forcing my eyes to focus. Just a little further. Just a little more ...

I think my panther took over then. Not a full shift, nothing like that, but somewhere my conscious mind checked out and my panther's survival instinct kicked in. Next thing I knew, I was pulling up to an old, tattered-looking building. The bike barely stopped before I was falling off it, my legs giving way beneath me.

I staggered, half-crawled across the broken tarmac to the door. My fingers, slick with blood, fumbled with the keypad.Somehow, I punched in the code. Don't ask me how I remembered it. I didn't. My panther did.

Dragging myself up the steps felt like climbing a mountain. Each movement sent fresh waves of agony through me, but I kept going. Had to keep going.

I don't even remember knocking, but the door opened. I looked up, vision blurring, and saw a familiar face peering down at me. My heart stuttered, then raced. The world tilted sharply, edges going dark.

"Raven." Anika's voice cut through the fog in my brain. "Oh, god." And then I was gone.

THIRTY-SIX

I drifted in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of movement, of hands supporting me. Pain flared with each step, but it felt distant, like it belonged to someone else.

She eased me down onto something soft, a bed, I think. I don't even know. I was gone again the moment my head hit the pillow, sinking into the comfort of it. Rick had got me good. I wouldn't die from the injuries, but my body needed time to heal, and I didn't have the Lycanthrocyte my mother had. I'd have to do this the old-fashioned way and ride it out.

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