Page 86 of A Malicious Menagerie
“God fucking dammit!” the man screams, writhing in pain, and a big wave ofholy shit, I just did thatwashes over me. Fingers too numb to hold the gun any longer, it falls to the dirt with a dullthud, and I stagger to one side to throw up at the base of a tree.
Too absorbed in my misery, I don’t notice the sounds of Chase shifting, and I jump about a foot in the air when his hand lands on my shoulder. “Come on,” he murmurs, “we have to go.”
Thankfully, Chase had the mental wherewithal to pick up the gun, and we leave our hunter cursing us to the depths of hell and back. His screams ring in my ears, and I sink further and further into cold shock.I just did that. I just did that. I just did that.
When a familiar rock formation comes into view, I ask faintly, “How did you know where she was?”
Chase taps his nose. “Followed your trail backward.”
Thank God Mathis doesn’t have any werewolves working for him. He should have recruited Chase, not locked him up like a zoo animal.
“I don’t know that I can face her,” I admit in a warbling voice.
“She’ll just be glad you’re okay,” Chase reassures me, his big palm running up and down my arm as if he can rub feeling back into my numb soul. I almost wish he wouldn’t. Numbness is easier to handle than guilt and fear.
“I don’t feel okay.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “You will. It just takes time.”
And I guess he would know, though he’s never seemed to have the same qualms about hurting people to protect me as I do.
Speaking of which… “There was a third guy. And a driver, too, I think.”
“Yeah,” he agrees darkly. “Therewere.”
I try not to think about our body count, but the number keeps flashing in my mind in neon lights.Six.Six men dead, and one with no kneecaps. Not to mention however many the wendigo savaged in his hunt for Mathis. Which, if the mercenary was to be believed, wasn’t even a successful hunt. Mathis is still out there.
“Anna! Chase!” Nan must have caught sight of us, and sure enough, she sounds so relieved. Will she judge us for what we had to do?
I can’t dawdle out here in the cold forever. Taking a deep breath, I slip from under Chase’s arm with a fond pat on his chest and go to face the music.
* * *
We debate taking the hunters’ SUV and leaving our car, but with the strong possibility that the car’s GPS can be tracked, we decide to leave it. We do, however, leave all of our clothes minus the ones on our backs and the tracker we pulled from Nan’s wheelchair in the SUV and hide it in the woods before the tow truck arrives.
The mechanic diagnoses the car with a leaky radiator, among other, less urgent problems. He’s skeptical when we tell him to patch it up as best he can. Short of an imminent threat of it blowing up, we’re going to limp it along to Alaska.
With the car in the shop and a few hours to kill, we find a run-down thrift shop and set about buying some essentials without losing what little remains of our funds. While it takes Chase all of five minutes to toss together some T-shirts, flannels, and jeans, I’m far less efficient. I’m going through the motions of flipping through garments, but I’m not really seeing the fabric. My mind is still back in the woods with the bloody mess of my attacker’s knees and the eerily still body.
I was in the car when my father died, but I don’t remember much besides flashes of that night. I do, however, remember in excruciating detail watching Mom draw her last breath. I was no stranger to death even beforeour escape, but there’s something different about seeing Smarman or any of Mathis’s henchmen dead and knowing it wouldn’t have happened if not for me.
Suddenly, a curtain of multicolored fabric swings in front of my eyes, the musty smell of old mothballs assaulting my nostrils. I blink a few times, trying to focus back on the here and now, and nearly recoil at the monstrosity before me. The Christmas sweater is made of patchwork neon with tiny quilted Santas rocking chartreuse and hot pink.
“Just in time for Christmas,” Chase quips, waving the abomination again. “Try it on.”
My eyes snag on the price tag. “We can’t afford that, even if I wanted to blind everyone I meet.”
“That’s not the point. Try it on.”
Too tired to fight him, I slide the sweater from the hanger and tug it on over my clothes. It hangs nearly to my knees, and the sleeves dangle almost as far. Before I can whip it back off again, Chase takes my shoulders and firmly directs me to a mirror in the corner.
The laughter is slow to come, but every time I look at one of the creepy, grinning Santas, another chortle escapes until I’m bent over laughing but also crying. I can’t tell if I’m broken or amused or devastated or just thankful to be alive and here in this weird little shop with my family.
“See? Sexy,” Chase drawls, doubling my laughter.
“If you think that, there’s something wrong with you.”
“You could make a garbage bag look sexy,” Chase replies with a grin, pleased that his distraction is working.
