Page 2 of Freeing Her Cheetah

I distantly hear roaring behind me. However, they are still at the diner, and I’m almost in the car. I pray that they don’t hurt Sally. We made plans to reach out when it is safe to. I hope she is alive when I do. I made sure she knew the risks of helping me. I told her all the sick things they had done and what they might do to her. She agreed anyway. She insisted.

My breath is steady when I reach the car and jerk open the door. I don’t waste time starting it and peeling out of the spot. I speed down the road, never taking my eyes off the pavement in front of me. I don’t dare open the windows to relieve the oppressive heat inside. The men that are after me would be able to smell me.

That sounds weird, right?

The world is filled with shifters, vampires, warlocks, and witches. The men tracking me are cheetahs, like me. I’ve been hiding and running most of my life. I’ve picked up tips and tricks over the years, trying to evade the shifters who want to get to me. I know about the smells that identify shifters versus humans. I know the factors that contribute to how long your scent can linger in an area.

My heartbeat is steady, even though fear courses through me. I have learned to control everything that would give me away. For years, I have practiced keeping it all shoved deep inside. If they knew how they affected me, they would use it against me.

I’m sad to be leaving the small town in my taillights. I lived there for six months—the longest out of all the places. It was quiet. It was peaceful. It was home. The people welcomed me with open arms. They knew me by name—or at least, by the name I gave them. I’ll miss being Beth. Plain, quiet Beth who smiles quietly, talks quietly, and listens to everyone.

Every new place, I have a new name. I make a game out of choosing one. I’m surprised I know my real one anymore.

I dream of the day I can live without fear. A day I can introduce myself as Saylor Spade. I think it’s a killer name. I love it. I sigh. I dread picking another one at the next place I decide is safe, even though I pretend to be excited when I have to choose.

I force myself not to look at the seat beside me.

My mother should be next to me.

I loved her. She was my whole life. She protected me always. She gave up everything to keep me happy and safe. She was my best friend. She was my teacher, my protector, my confidant, and my safe place. She knew how to make everything fun and an adventure. There is a hole in my heart where she used to be. I remember fondly our nights sleeping in the car.

We would stuff our faces with chips and snacks from a vending machine and tell stories while snuggled under our thin blankets. We couldn’t go to the movies, so we would make up our own. She would start with the first scene, and I would pick it up, and back and forth we would go. We would always give it a happy ending—life is already sad and challenging enough.

I can picture her dark, long brown hair blowing in the breeze of the open window. I see the same hair when I look in the mirror. Her laugh would burst out, loud and magical. I gotmy laugh from her, but it’s been years since I had anything to laugh about. She was tall and thin but strong. I attribute my curves to all the chips we ate. Her eyes were dark blue with the darkest lashes I have ever seen, and they always shined with possibilities. My eyes are light blue, and I have to put on a pound of mascara to get the same effect.

I always marveled at her ability to make it fun to be running for your life. But I must admit, if she were still with me, I would be smiling instead of frowning.

I do not waver in my concentration. I know exactly how far I can go with a full tank of gas. I know the town where I will dump it and pick up the next car. I know where that car will take me. Rinse and repeat.

This is my life.

I do not know any other way. I have been homeless since the age of five. I am thirty-two. Of course, I don’t remember the early days. I try to so I can have more memories of my mom.

I am thankful he sent his lackeys in first. If he had come in, I wouldn’t have been able to get away. I assume he wanted to be sure it was me before wasting his time coming to a diner in the middle of nowhere to kill or kidnap the wrong girl.

I am a cheetah shifter who has lived her life in a car, on the run from the Alpha of a pack of deadly cheetahs.

They killed my father when I was four. They killed my mother when I was twenty-eight. He now wants me. He wants to force me to mate with him.

I refuse to let him.

I will not let him win.

I will find a way to kill him. I will do what I must to get revenge for my mother and father.

That motherfucker will not get away with what he has done. I want him to think I will run the rest of my life. I want him to think I am weak. I want him to think he’s going to win.

Then I will slit his throat and laugh as I watch the blood drain from his cowardly body.

Chapter Two

Elijah

“Ilove listening to a woman's pleasure, but this is getting ridiculous,” I sigh.

“I don’t think they’re going to stop anytime soon,” Logan says, disinterested.

I roll my eyes toward him. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

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