Page 18 of Too Cursed To Kiss
“RUN.” Wald’s intensity jolted me out of my state of frozen terror.
I sprinted up the driveway and into the house. The door wasn’t locked, which said enough.
Cobwebs clung to my hair as I bolted past a staircase and into a kitchen. Wald slammed the front door shut as I flung open the back one. Moonlight illuminated a lean-to garage behind the house—and a pickup.
A rifle cocked.
Boots pounded down the stairs. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?”
The front door exploded in a hail of shrapnel.
Non-human things stormed in. The man with theshotgun didn’t stand a chance. I bolted through the back door, stumbled across a porch, then half fell down the steps to a yard. Keeping my head down, I sprinted across the damp grass, desperate for cover.
I reached the lean-to which sheltered a pickup. The forest loomed behind it. I crouched by the back of the truck, clutching the gun with both hands, sweating and praying Wald could handle whatever came next. He didn’t seem helpless. Besides, I had a gun. I hated guns, but tonight it felt like my lucky charm.
I ducked lower as more shots rang out—then thumps, crashes, and two final blasts.
The trees looked better by the second.
Crouching, I edged around the inside perimeter of the lean-to and squeezed between two panels of corrugated metal that made up the back wall. I prayed the creaks would be drowned out by the chaos behind me.
Keeping low, I positioned myself near the wall. Then, terror propelling me, I sprinted into the forest, hoping the lean-to blocked me from view.
Twigs crunching under my feet, I weaved through the trees, sucking in breaths of cooling pine, wondering what was on the other side of the woods.
I tripped on a branch and hit the ground with a bone-rattling thud. The gun skittered into the leaves.
So much for stealth.
Shaking, I scrambled up, frantically searching for the gun. I found it and ducked behind a tree, panting.
Then—
A clawed hand grabbed my shoulder, sending shooting pains through my chest. Terrified, certain I was about to die, I twisted around and kicked. Breaking free, I raised the gun and fired. The recoil knocked me backward. I hit the groundhard, choking. The figure groaned and staggered, clutching its side.
That voice.
Wald.
Oh my God, I shot Wald.
Trembling with concern, I crawled to where he lay.
He tilted his head, sunglasses intact. Shadows masked his face.
“Why did you shoot me?” he asked, clambering to his feet. His voice was maddeningly calm. Relief drenched me like summer rain.
“I—temporary insanity? I couldn’t see you. I thought you were someone else? How about ‘I’m sorry’?”
Could he really be okay? There were other holes in his jacket. Blood and sweat mingled with leather and pine. I hugged myself to stop the shaking. “Are you bleeding? You can’t die on me.”
“Nice of you to care.” He examined the hole in his jacket, but he didn’t sound like he was dying.
“Are they gone?” I asked, rubbing imaginary cobwebs off my arms.
“Yes. They’re gone.” He grimaced.
“Then let’s get you to the ER.”
