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Blondie’s fast. Too fast. He swings wide around the shopping center and vanishes into the trees.
I put on a burst of speed, ignoring the pain in my paw. When I hit the grass, it dulls the pounding enough to clear my head, and I glance around the forest for my mate.
Only darkness and the murmur of the wind through the trees. At least when Kian crashed through the forest, I could hear his big, bumbling body in the brush and follow him based on sound alone.
This guy has vanished like a phantom.
Putting my nose to the ground, I sniff around in the area where I saw him leave the pavement. I pick up a hint of him after several seconds, and I’m floored by the smell—contrary to his pale, icy good looks, Blondie smells spicy and warm, like the steam rising off a mug of chai tea. The scent sends a thrill through me, and my wolf whines for him. She wants him for reasons contrary to what I’m here for, and she is not winning that battle.
I take off into the trees after him with my nose to the ground. I don’t need to see to follow scent markings, so I just rush through the undergrowth, testing the ground every few feet to make sure I’m still locked onto Blondie’s scent. But I hardly make it half a mile before his trail goes cold.
Frustration makes my fur bristle, and I let out a long, angry howl.
Again.
How did both Kian and this guy cover their scents so thoroughly?
They were both right in the palm of my hand today, and I lost them. I turn a couple more useless circles before finally giving up.
I return to the motel at a slower pace than I left it, limping on my burned wrist. Now that the rush of adrenaline has faded, all of my aches and pains from fighting Kian earlier today have returned. I feel chewed up, spit out, and left to die.
Which reminds me—if Blondie hadn’t shown up in my room… maybe I would have.
Or maybe because Blondie showed up in my room, he put my life in danger. Living shadows have never tried to kill me before, after all. Seems a little suspect to me.
Back outside the motel, I realize climbing through the window after Blondie had been a stupid idea, given the fact the door was right there. I shift to human form, glad it’s the dead of night and no one seems to have heard the commotion. So no one’s around to see the crazy naked lady climbing through a motel room window. I grimace as I haul my beat-up ass back through the window, then turn around and lock it behind me.
I turn on the light that dangles over the table and grimace at the state of my room. I hadn't realized it was happening in the fury of the fight, but we made a mess of the place. I right both chairs at the table, then pick up the dislodged alarm clock and return it to the nightstand, as well as my water glass and wallet. There are knife marks in the headboard, on the wall, and on the table.
Not a chance in hell I can explain that to the manager. At least I didn’t pay with a credit card. Maybe I can slip out before the staff notices and tries to make me pay for damages.
I turn on every light in the room—both globes over the bed, the strip of buzzing fluorescents over the sink, the combination light-and-fan in the shower, the sound of which makes my teeth hurt. Then I check for shadow beings who want to kill me, but there don’t appear to be anymore lying in wait.
At the sink, I run cold water over my burned wrist, hissing at the pain. It looks better than it feels, probably because shifting sped the healing process. But the skin is still fairly mangled in a strange approximation of a handprint.
I wasn’t able to hurt the shadow, so how was it able to hurt me?
I clean up the wound as best I can, then bandage it up before I crawl back into bed. A night of rest and letting my natural healing stitch me up is just what I need, because tomorrow, I’m going to find my mates. All three of them.
They’re nearby. I know it.
Just in case, I leave all the lights on.
Chapter 8
I open my eyes to the blaze of half a dozen still-burning light bulbs, plus a hint of golden sunlight pouring through the crack in the curtains. I blink at the overwhelming illumination coupled with my grogginess.
Sleep eluded me most of the night after the ordeal. I jerked awake at every small noise, from barking dogs to slamming doors to my neighbors’ television coming on at five a.m. Every time I opened my eyes, I expected to find Blondie standing over my bed, or to see a new shadow monster hovering over me, about to pounce.
On any other day, I’d grumble and complain at the bright lights, slam the pillow over my head, and go back to sleep for a little while longer, until my irritable attitude chills the fuck out. But I’m not really interested in the dark right now, considering that’s where shadows sleep. Nor do I have time to waste lying around in bed while Kian and Blondie’s scent markers grow even colder.
Last night feels like a strange dream. Rolling over onto my back, I glance at the corner of the room where my mate stood to watch me, looking like he belonged in the shadows. Then I look up to see the knife gouges in the headboard—a stark reminder that it wasn’t a dream at all.
I hold up my injured wrist and peel off the bandage, sucking in a breath when some of the fresh, healed skin comes off with the gauze. The skin beneath is still pink bordering on red, but the worst of the burns have healed, minus a wicked blister near my wrist bone. I clench my fist twice, testing my pain tolerance, and grin when the skin barely tugs.
Nobody can argue the perks of being a shifter.
Shoving aside the covers, I stand and stretch, then head for the bathroom to brush my hair and get ready for the day.
