Page 5 of Break Out the Girl

Pack. Protect.

I said, we don’t need him. Yes, his oily green toxins helped us, but he’s still just an Elite with a superiority complex. If I leave him, the RRT will drag him back to a dark cell, and I can have Rory to myself.

PACK.

The beast inside me flares, insistent. Fucking annoyingly insistent.

“Godsdammit.” I start to bend down, my body moving by its own volition, then grab him by the collar and heave.

Charlie steps in, bracing de Vaux’s other side.

He’s heavier than he looks and I’m weaker than usual; nonetheless, we set off at a slow, painful run.

“You better be worth the effort, Frank, you asshole.”

We hit the deep treeline just as a searchlight splashes across the stone behind us. Then the forest swallows us whole.

Hopefully London got Rory far away from here. Finding her will have to happen once we’ve shaken off the search party.

Following these guys seems the best option currently.

Charlie's eyes drift to the still-unconscious figure of François. “We could shift and get away easily, but it would mean leaving your friend.”

Hmm, two things.

He’s not my friend.

And I’ve never shifted.

I just grunt in reply and keep moving. The rain is like ice needles, but I don’t care. The transition from the muggy, sweat-drenched air of the prison to the fresh, pine scent of the woods hits like a physical blow.

A defibrillator.

My lungs expand, taking in the wild, alive, dampness.

We move fast, the other Ashgrave shifter running point in his coyote form. The roar of distant engines and the piercing white fingers of the searchlights strobe through the upper branches, but Charlie guides us through the deepest hollows, away from the search grid.

The further we run from the prison, the further we leave the suffocating dampness of the Null-Wards behind.

And that’s when the heat hits my blood.

It starts as a low, simmering itch beneath my skin that morphs into a violent boiling point within seconds. I stumble over a rotting log, my knees buckling as an agonizing wave of fever expands through my veins.

“Tally?” Charlie looks back, but his voice sounds like it’s underwater.

My jaw aches fiercely, my teeth suddenly feeling too massive, too sharp for my mouth. I can hear the wet, heavy grind of my own bones sliding out of their human sockets, lengthening and shifting.

The “beast” isn't a voice anymore. It’s an explosion.

I fall heavily to all fours, my fingers tearing deep into the forest floor mulch as a guttural, terrifying sound rips from my throat. I don't fight the monster inside me.

I welcome him.

Until I look at the man lying beside me. François. His scent—sharp, chemical, and oily—clings to the damp air. My newly formed ears twitch, filtering the distant roar of RRT engines and the crunch of tires on gravel a mile behind us.

Pack. Protect.

AHH!