Page 49 of Nick
She’d thought she knew these tunnels—she’d dashed through them as a child, shifting form with the sheer thrill of the run.But now blood seeped from the gash on her side, and each drop pulled at her consciousness, darkness moving in to cloud her vision.
“Dammit, Sarah,” she muttered to herself.“Pay attention.”Anger curled in her gut.She could not, would not, give up.
She clenched her jaw, tasting iron as her tongue found the split lip, a trophy from the torture session.A sharp turn loomed ahead, and instincts screamed at her to take it, but as she did, the oppressive weight of the earth above seemed to laugh at her.
How could she protect her pack when she couldn’t even navigate this fucking underground maze?
Pain lanced through her with each step.Her mind spun, her hazy thoughts tangling.She swayed momentarily, the tunnel tilting around her.
“Not now.”This wasn’t the time for weakness; it was the time for the strength of the wolf within her.
“Keep moving,” she commanded herself, the words slurred by the creeping numbness that threatened to steal her senses.She could almost hear Nick’s voice in her head, urging her on, reminiscing about how they had once raced through these very tunnels, wild and free.
“Nick,” she breathed out, his name like a talisman against despair.But her knees buckled, sending sharp stones biting into her palms as she caught herself.She pushed back upright, refusing to succumb to the blood loss.
The walls seemed to close in on her, the darkness a physical force she pushed through by sheer willpower.
But then the air shifted, a subtle change that drew Sarah’s attention.
What was that?
She paused, holding herself upright against the wall, and sniffed the air, parsing the molecules she drew into her mouth and nose.
It was a scent, unmistakable and unwelcome, weaving its way through the musty dampness of the mine.
Percy’s scent.Anger flared within her, burning hot enough to momentarily sear away the fog of blood loss.
“You fucking bastard,” she murmured.
She had hoped to avoid him, to use the tunnels to her advantage, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.
As she began walking again, the smell grew stronger.
With every ounce of strength left in her, Sarah forced her legs to carry her closer to the source of the scent.
She would not let Percy’s scent dictate her actions.
Instead, she would use it, track it, turn his own arrogance against him.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”Sarah’s voice didn’t quaver.
In her mind, she pictured Percy’s face, the smug look she dreamed of wiping off with her bare hands.Her fingers twitched with the urge to shift, to let the wolf take over, but she clung to her human form, afraid she wouldn’t be able to complete the change in her weakened state.
Sarah’s stride faltered as the scent, that unmistakably sharp smell of Percy’s aftershave mingled with the mustiness of the underground, grew stronger.She knew the way the tunnels carried echoes and whispers, how they could deceive a mind—especially one already clouded by pain and fatigue.
But this was no trick.
Percy’s scent was being dragged inward toward her by a current of fresher air.
He was between her and an exit.
The thought fueled her, lending a surge of adrenaline to her weary limbs.If Percy was near an exit, so was her chance at freedom.
Her hand, slick with the blood from her earlier wounds, slid into the pocket of her torn jeans.The cool metal of the knife she had snatched from the table in the torture room pressed against her palm.In her grip, it felt like Excalibur.
“Okay, Percy”—Sarah’s words were a growl under her breath—“let’s see how you like being on the receiving end.”Her fingers curled around the blade’s handle.
The tunnel seemed to constrict around her, shadows dancing at the edges of her vision, playing tricks on her.But Sarah wasn’t fooled.She was a predator too.And just like the wolf within her, she could hunt, she could track, and she could survive.
