The car descends into chaos. Cory curls in on himself, coughing blood over his naked chest as his hands scrabble at his throat. Larson is having his own trouble breathing as I cut off his air supply with my duct-taped hands. Trying to steer and pull my arms away at the same time is no easy job. The human might normally be stronger than me, but I have better leverage. Digging my knees into the seat, I wrench harder.
Larson gives up driving, fully in pursuit of breathing. Nails tear into my skin, fingers prying the steel hold I have on him.
The winner of the battle is never discovered. Without a hand on the wheel, the truck veers to the side, the wheels rattling over gravel before leaving the pavement completely.
We careen off the side of the road, landing hard in a ditch. The impact slams me against the back of the driver’s seat, knocking the wind out of me.
Still, as I gasp in air, a part of me acknowledges how lucky I am I didn’t go through the windshield.
As a dazed Larson fights against an air bag, I retrieve my sore, bloody wrists. In his mad clawing to get rid of my choke hold, Larson tore into the duct tape covering my hands.
With jerky movements, I rip my hands the rest of the way free, all the while keeping a slice of my attention on the two men in the front seat. Larson is still struggling with the air bag, his breaths wheezing, and Cory continues to cough, throwing in curses that spray blood droplets.
Once I have the use of my hands back, I reach for the door handle.
“Abby—” Cory growls my name in warning, blood-soaked hand reaching for me.
But he misses, and I don’t stick around to hear another word.
With a frantic shove, I push the truck’s door open. The vehicle is at an odd, sideways angle, and I have to pull myself up and out of the truck, scrambling over it and onto the grass. Evening is falling, but there’s still a dim light in the sky. When I climb up to the road, there are no signs or mile markers to tell me where I am. But from the direction Larson’s truck is facing in the ditch, I figure my best bet is to head the way his taillights point.
I run, tearing at the tape around my mouth as I go.
Do I have a chance?
Not against a werewolf at full strength. But obviously, something was making my ex sick. Could that be some kind of territory magic? Plus, his door was half smashed into the ground. That’s got to slow him down some.
I just need to get back to town. Just need to find one Pine Falls wolf.
They’ll help me. I know they will.
My lungs burn, my muscles ache, and I’m pretty sure I now know what it’s like to have a scalpel driving into my brain. But I keep running.
My breaths are so heavy, filling my ears with their noise, that it takes me a moment to recognize the distant, familiar sound. The deep rumbling that reminds me of rolling thunder.
Pinpricks of light appear up ahead, and I know I’m not hallucinating.
Motorcycles.
“Here!” I scream, waving my arms even though I’m sure the riders are still too far to see me. But soon they will. The sound of their bikes already roars, as if I were surrounded. “I’m he?—”
A massive force strikes me from behind, driving me to the ground.
“Got you.” The menacing words are hot against my ear, the breath sneaking into my nose and smelling strongly of iron.
Rough hands flip me over, and I glare up into Cory’s face. His lips are smeared with crimson, painting a horrifying image.
Still, I don’t scream and cower. I rear up and bash my forehead into his nose.
“Fuck! You?—”
Whatever he was about to snarl at me gets cut short by another bout of gore-filled coughing. His hands can’t seem to decide whether to circle my neck or claw at his own.
Taking advantage of the indecision, I writhe and lash out with my fists, doing my best to squirm out from under him. So close to being free, but he latches a punishing grip on my shin, dragging me back toward him.
“What are you doing to me?” The words growl from his chest, along with bubbles of blood and spittle.
“Whatever it is, I hope you choke on it!” And I slam my foot as hard as I can into his face.
