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Holden had come down from the loft and was pummeling the hell out of some poor schmuck’s face.
“Make sure my brother is safe,” I added, hauling ass for the front door exit.
Outside, the cool air greeted me like a slap. My breath was stolen by the sudden shift in temperature, and I took a moment to compose myself as I scanned the fields, trying to determine which way Mercy had gone. Randomly, I thought how proud Lucas would be of me for taking this course of action. This was how real wolves settled their grudges. One-on-one, to the death.
We weren’t using the others as pawns anymore.
By the time the sun streaked the sky purple in a couple hours, one of the McQueen women would be lying dead on the forest floor, and this whole ordeal would be over at last.
Away from the deafening noise I’d been surrounded by in the barn, being outside was like stepping into a soundproof room. It was so quiet I could hear the thump of my pulse in my ears, and each breath I took sounded ragged and forced.
Footfalls rustled the grass, moving away from the Syler house and towards one of the big empty parcels of land beyond it. If she ran about three more miles, she would cross the border into America, that’s how close we were.
Stealth no longer mattered.
I took off running behind her, pausing only when the sound of my own crashing footfalls blotted out hers and I wasn’t sure which way she’d gone. Within minutes the farm was out of sight and I was tearing through the woods, trying to maintain my speed while bare branches clawed at my face and roots conspired to trip me.
Here, only the sound of the odd leaf or snapping twig told me I was still going the right way.
When the sound of running stopped, I skidded to a halt, bracing myself against the nearest tree branch. I wasn’t out of breath so much as I was tired from fighting the elements with each new step. My bullet wound was starting to bleed freely, something I wasn’t altogether accustomed to. Normally the skin would have begun to stitch itself together by now.
Another fun side effect of silver bullets.
I let my eyes adjust to the surrounding area the best I could, but it wasn’t exactly like having night vision. I could make out shapes better than a human might, but Holden could have read an eye chart down to the last line from a hundred yards away.
Why couldn’t I have inherited that vampire trait, instead of needing blood to survive and being allergic to sunlight?
Evolution baffled me.
I squatted down, knowing her night vision was no better than mine. If she decided to take a shot in the dark—literally—she’d miss my head and give away her location.
Unless she decided to aim for my chest, in which case I’d be screwed either way.
Scanning the darkness, I tried to pick up any signs of motion or hints of where she might be. It didn’t occur to me to look upwards until she landed dead on my back, knocking us both to the ground.
“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” she snarled.
Funny, wasn’t that exactly what Peyton had said to me? Nice to know how many of my enemies regretted their missed opportunities to do away with me.
“Which time?” The retort lacked finesse this time around, so to punctuate it I punched her across the cheek with enough force to send her reeling. Brute strength was one area where I could outclass most werewolves. “You’ve failed to kill me a lot.” Thinking about Brigit lying dead in my arms, I stoked my own rage. I’d softened the slightest bit when Mercy had shown emotion in the barn. I empathized with a woman who’d lost the man she loved.
But Mercy didn’t deserve my empat
hy, and she sure as hell didn’t deserve my forgiveness. Thinking about Brigit made a pellet of pure white-hot loathing blossom into something greater inside me. I felt alive, recharged, and the world around me was painted red.
Without thinking, my fangs were out, and the bloodlust had taken over.
Kill, the monster inside me commanded.
My rational brain—the part of me who might normally struggle against that kind of instruction—had nothing to say about the matter.
Mercy collected herself quickly after the punch and came for me again, only this time she was demonstrating a neat little trick of hers. Something she’d passed down to me.
Her hands had shifted form, creating a freakish and terrifying hybrid of human and wolf. Her fingers were long and jutted at bizarre angles, with hair on her palms and knuckles, and deadly sharp claws protruding where her fingernails had previously been. She slashed at me with those claws, and in spite of my efforts to backpedal, she managed to get me across the chest.
Deep, red gashes appeared over my skin, and when they didn’t hurt right away, I knew I was in trouble.
“I’m going to finish the job tonight,” she snarled.
