Page 5 of Stalk the Dark
Don’t fall.
The trees grew closer, denser, forcing me to weave between them. The ground softened, sucking at my boots and slowing me down until the tree line came to an abrupt halt and I was running on marshland, sliding and windmilling to regain my balance.
Shadows spilled around me, rushing ahead to block my path.
I skidded to a halt, falling into a defensive stance, ignoring the pit inside me that screamed that this was the end.
The wolves circled me, snarling and yipping, an attempt to tenderize me with terror. But I’d be damned if I gave them the satisfaction.
“Come on!” I waved my dagger and bared my teeth. “Come on, you overgrown canines!”
They snapped, inching forward then back, growling and snarling. Playing with their food. Playing withmeuntil my limbs shook with the heat of adrenaline, torn between fight or flight.
I slashed out with my dagger, turning this way and that to keep them at bay, but I was surrounded, thecircle growing smaller, tighter as they closed in, almost done with their game.
I swiped at the nearest wolf, too late in pulling back. Fangs sank into my arm, the pressure a vise. Heat ballooned into my chest, a roar spilling from my lips as I stabbed and twisted, fighting to be free while the mass closed in, secure they had their prey, done with their games.
No.
This couldn’t be happening.
Not like this.
A snarl of triumph. Pressure on my shoulder.
A bite.
The whoosh of blood in my head. The iron tang of it in the air.
My knees buckled beneath the weight of the pack, and the next moment, I was being dragged.
Fight. Kick.
Fire raced up my arm and down my back.
No. No. No!
A low, sharp whistle pierced my eardrums, and the jaws holding me captive let go. I caught the flash of hungry yellow eyes, the wrinkling of a snout, then they were gone.
Oh God. Oh God. I had to move. Palms sinking into boggy earth, I pulled myself to my knees just as the beat of wings registered. A shadow swooped at me, red eyes burning in a batlike face.
My dagger. Where was my dagger?
A gust of sweet air hit me in the face, and I was swallowed by crimson.
Chapter 3
There was only one shaft of moonlight lancing down from a window high up in the stone wall of my prison. A pool of light just over three feet in diameter, and lying smack bang in the center was Jeremy’s dismembered head. The ragged, torn flesh at the neck didn’t speak of a quick death. His head had been torn from its body with brute force.
Sucking, slurping gulps registered along with Mary’s soft whimpers. I squeezed my eyes closed, working to block them out.
I’d failed the Walkers, and the urge to scream, to rage, pressed against my senses, begging to be free. But rage was futile here. Screams would do nothing but enflame the beast.
I needed a moment to process. To plan. To block out the bloody odor that saturated the air and filtered into my lungs with every fucking breath becauseJeremy was dead and Mary was being fed on, and there was nothing I could do about it. My stomach tightened, breath threatening to come faster because those people, those innocent people hadn’t deserved to die.
My gums ached where I clenched my jaw. Focus, Orina.
This wasn’t an escape situation. There was no getting out of the shackles binding me to the stone wall. Not unless someone let me out.
