Page 74 of Fang Fatale

I press my back against the doorframe. Trent slides a hand onto my shoulder—a steady anchor. Theo's fingers tighten around the pistol tucked into his pocket.

"Try me."

From the treeline I hear boots scraping as the underlings fan out. The brute shifts, restless. Mason laughs, like we've played this game before.

"You know we'll tear this place down, brick by bloody brick," he says, taking another step. "Then we'll come for you."

I glance back just as Birdie blinks awake.

Her eyes find mine immediately.

Not Theo.

Not Trent.

Me.

I mouth, We're running.

She nods once without hesitation.

In two heartbeats we're moving.

Trent slips to my right. Theo takes my left. We burst off the porch into the rain as Mason's crew surges after us.

Bullets chew through the cabin behind us, splintering wood into the darkness.

Birdie's breath hammers beside me, uneven but determined. She slips once on the muddy slope, catching herself against my arm.

"I'm sorry," she gasps.

Sorry.

She's apologizing for being hunted.

Something vicious unfurls low in my chest.

"I can run," she says between breaths.

"I know."

I catch her around the waist before she can protest again and lift her into my arms.

She opens her mouth.

Then closes it.

One hand curls instinctively into my shirt as I keep running.

Better.

If she has to trust something tonight, let it be me.

The woods swallow us whole, black trunks crowding the narrow trail. Rain lashes through the pines. Theo's flashlight carves a tunnel through the darkness while Trent darts ahead, every movement sharp with barely restrained violence.

One crooked braid bounces softly against Birdie's shoulder.

I pretend not to notice.