Page 58 of The Reaper's Vow
No, I think. I’m not.
I stay still, crouched in the dark, every muscle trembling, listening as they tear the room apart. Sheets rip. Furniture breaks. Boots scrape the floor. And then, slowly, the sounds shift—fading deeper into the house, away from me.
Now.
I push the closet door open just enough to slip through, lungs burning, eyes stinging. The hall is empty. The front door stands open just ten feet away, freedom if I can reach it without being seen.
My wolf pushes closer to the surface as she prepares to run. I feel Damien's rage building to dangerous levels. He's coming. I just have to survive until he gets here.
“She's not in the bedroom!” one of the men calls out.
The wounded man's head snaps toward my hiding spot, his nostrils flaring. “Then where the fuck?—”
I don't wait for him to finish. Bursting from behind the door, I sprint toward the open entrance, knife still clutched in my blood-slicked hand. The wounded man lunges for me, his fingers grazing my arm as I twist away.
“She's running!” he shouts.
Cold night air hits my face as I clear the threshold, my bare feet slapping against the gravel path. The compound is eerily silent—no guards, no patrols. Where is everyone? What happened to Elias?
I scan the shadows, searching for any sign of him, when something catches my attention—a crumpled form near the tree line. My stomach lurches as I recognize the blond hair, now matted with blood.
No time to check. No time to help. I keep moving.
I veer away from the main buildings, aiming for the dense forest that surrounds the compound. If I can make it to the trees, I might have a chance. My wolf surges closer to the surface, lending me strength and speed I didn’t know I possessed. The knife feels like an extension of my arm as I drive my legs harder, ignoring the sharp stones slicing into my bare feet.
“Cut her off!” someone shouts behind me. I hear them splitting up, trying to flank me.
The tree line is so close—fifty yards, maybe. My lungs burn as I push harder, the woods wavering in front of me like a mirage. Forty yards. Thirty. The sounds of pursuit crash through the night—boots pounding gravel, shouted commands, the rustle of bodies tearing through underbrush.
Twenty yards.
Something slams into me from the side, sending me sprawling across the rocky ground. The knife skitters from my grip, clattering somewhere in the gloom as I roll to absorb the impact. My shoulder screams in protest, but I force myself up, scrambling on hands and knees toward where I think the blade landed.
“Got her.” Heavy hands grab my arms, hauling me upright despite my struggles. “Feisty little bitch.”
I twist in his grip, my wolf snarling beneath my skin, lending me strength I didn't know I possessed. My elbow connects with something soft—his solar plexus—and he doubles over with a grunt.
“Shift,” I whisper to my wolf. “Please, I need you.”
But she's still too close to human, too confused by years of suppression to break free completely. The partial transformation leaves me caught between forms. Stronger than human but not fully wolf, claws extending from fingertips that shake with the effort of holding the change.
The man recovers faster than I expected, backhanding me across the face with enough force to send stars exploding across my vision. I taste copper as blood fills my mouth, but the pain only makes my wolf angrier.
“Enough games,” he snarls, producing a syringe from his jacket. The liquid inside glows faintly in the moonlight—something unnatural, something wrong. “Lockhart said to bring you in conscious, but he didn't say anything about cooperative.”
I lash out with my partially extended claws, raking them across his wrist. He curses, dropping the syringe as blood wells from the gouges. The glass vial shatters against the rocks, its contents hissing as they eat into the stone.
“You stupid bitch!” He grabs my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat. “I should have just shot you.”
He's close—so close I can almost smell pine on the night air.
“Hold her still.” A second man emerges, carrying a rope and what appears to be a shock collar. The first man tightens his grip on my hair while the second approaches with the collar. The metal gleams dully in the moonlight, and I can smell the acrid scent of electricity crackling through its circuits. Whatever that thing is, I know I can't let them put it on me.
“This would be so much easier if you'd just cooperate,” the second man says, reaching for my throat.
I don't waste breath on a response. Instead, I drive my knee up between his legs with every ounce of strength I possess. He doubles over with a strangled cry, the collar falling from his hands. The first man's grip loosens in surprise, and I tear free, leaving strands of hair in his bloody fingers.
But there's nowhere left to run. Three more figures emerge, surrounding me in a loose circle. My back hits the rough bark of an ancient redwood as they close in, their faces cast in shadow but their intent crystal clear as they close in. Five men now. I press harder against the tree, feeling the rough bark dig into my back. There's nowhere left to run.
