Page 3 of Claimed By The Tracker

Just for a minute.

Because I had three hundred and forty dollars, someone else's car, no destination⁠⁠—

and a father powerful enough to have me dragged home.

But going back wasn't an option.

Not after what I'd discovered in that contract.

Not after realizing my marriage wasn't only about joining two families.

My father had been selling something that wasn't his to sell.

Me.

And the power I'd spent twelve years hiding.

My magic had surged when I walked out of the estate. Again when I crossed the county line. Now it moved beneath my skin in a low, restless pulse, like it knew I'd finally done something neither of us could take back.

Twelve years of hiding it.

Twelve years of pressing it down. Swallowing it back. Being the good daughter with the good smile and the power nobody knew existed.

Or at least, I'd believed nobody knew.

Until I found the contract.

Bloodline rights.

Transfer provisions.

Words designed to make ownership sound civilized.

I swallowed hard.

I needed to reach the state line. Get a new phone. Find somewhere my father's network couldn't trace me.

Then I needed someone with enough supernatural authority to look at that contract and tell me it was illegal.

Void.

Something I could fight.

I didn't know how to do any of that yet.

I only knew I couldn't do it from inside that house.

The diner door opened.

The air pressure changed.

I felt it before I turned.

A pressure in my sternum, like a hand pushing against the inside of my ribs.

My magic surged hot and sudden.

Not away.