Page 22 of Nick (The Moonstone Pack #4)

SARAH’S PANTING brEATHS ECHOED off the cold, unforgiving walls of the mine tunnels. The passages beneath Sunburst twisted and turned like a serpent, its fangs sinking into her with every step she took in the wrong direction.

She’d thought she knew these tunnels—she’d dashed through them as a child, shifting form with the sheer thrill of the run. But now blood seeped from the gash on her side, and each drop pulled at her consciousness, darkness moving in to cloud her vision.

“Dammit, Sarah,” she muttered to herself. “Pay attention.” Anger curled in her gut. She could not, would not, give up.

She clenched her jaw, tasting iron as her tongue found the split lip, a trophy from the torture session. A sharp turn loomed ahead, and instincts screamed at her to take it, but as she did, the oppressive weight of the earth above seemed to laugh at her.

How could she protect her pack when she couldn’t even navigate this fucking underground maze?

Pain lanced through her with each step. Her mind spun, her hazy thoughts tangling. She swayed momentarily, the tunnel tilting around her.

“Not now.” This wasn’t the time for weakness; it was the time for the strength of the wolf within her.

“Keep moving,” she commanded herself, the words slurred by the creeping numbness that threatened to steal her senses. She could almost hear Nick’s voice in her head, urging her on, reminiscing about how they had once raced through these very tunnels, wild and free.

“Nick,” she breathed out, his name like a talisman against despair. But her knees buckled, sending sharp stones biting into her palms as she caught herself. She pushed back upright, refusing to succumb to the blood loss.

The walls seemed to close in on her, the darkness a physical force she pushed through by sheer willpower.

But then the air shifted, a subtle change that drew Sarah’s attention.

What was that?

She paused, holding herself upright against the wall, and sniffed the air, parsing the molecules she drew into her mouth and nose.

It was a scent, unmistakable and unwelcome, weaving its way through the musty dampness of the mine.

Percy’s scent. Anger flared within her, burning hot enough to momentarily sear away the fog of blood loss.

“You fucking bastard,” she murmured.

She had hoped to avoid him, to use the tunnels to her advantage, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.

As she began walking again, the smell grew stronger.

With every ounce of strength left in her, Sarah forced her legs to carry her closer to the source of the scent.

She would not let Percy’s scent dictate her actions.

Instead, she would use it, track it, turn his own arrogance against him.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Sarah’s voice didn’t quaver.

In her mind, she pictured Percy’s face, the smug look she dreamed of wiping off with her bare hands. Her fingers twitched with the urge to shift, to let the wolf take over, but she clung to her human form, afraid she wouldn’t be able to complete the change in her weakened state.

Sarah’s stride faltered as the scent, that unmistakably sharp smell of Percy’s aftershave mingled with the mustiness of the underground, grew stronger. She knew the way the tunnels carried echoes and whispers, how they could deceive a mind—especially one already clouded by pain and fatigue.

But this was no trick.

Percy’s scent was being dragged inward toward her by a current of fresher air.

He was between her and an exit.

The thought fueled her, lending a surge of adrenaline to her weary limbs. If Percy was near an exit, so was her chance at freedom.

Her hand, slick with the blood from her earlier wounds, slid into the pocket of her torn jeans. The cool metal of the knife she had snatched from the table in the torture room pressed against her palm. In her grip, it felt like Excalibur.

“Okay, Percy”—Sarah’s words were a growl under her breath—“let’s see how you like being on the receiving end.” Her fingers curled around the blade’s handle.

The tunnel seemed to constrict around her, shadows dancing at the edges of her vision, playing tricks on her. But Sarah wasn’t fooled. She was a predator too. And just like the wolf within her, she could hunt, she could track, and she could survive.

Her hand gripped the weapon tighter, knuckles whitening. She was an injured predator, limping through the darkness, driven by the need for retribution.

Her breaths came in shallow bursts, and she silently prayed that they wouldn’t betray her approach.

And then, as she rounded a bend, the scent of him hit her hard—aftershave and sweat mixed with something foul, a corruption of soul that seemed to seep from his very pores.

His silhouette loomed just yards away, his back to her, his attention fixed on something beyond her line of sight.

With a surge of adrenaline, she quickened her pace, each barefoot step soundless against the stone floor.

Just as she drew within striking distance, Percy spun around. His eyes widened in surprise—or perhaps recognition. For a split second, time seemed to dilate, stretching between them.

Then Sarah lunged forward, her fingers tight around the hilt of the knife. Her arm swung in an arc, aimed with desperate precision at Percy’s throat.

“Traitorous bitch,” Percy snarled, dodging to the side with a fluidity she should have expected. The blade sliced through air, grazing the fabric of his shirt instead of flesh.

Panting, Sarah tried to muster her strength for another blow, but her body betrayed her. Blood loss fogged her vision, making the stark walls of the mine swim and blur into indistinct shadows. She swayed, her grip on the knife faltering as dizziness overtook her.

Percy took advantage of her weakness, his hand shooting out like a viper strike to wrest the weapon from her grasp. It slipped from her sweaty palm, leaving her defenseless.

His laugh echoed off the stone, a cruel sound that cut deeper than any blade.

“Did you really think you could take me down?” he asked, holding the weapon just out of her reach. “You’re weak, Sarah. Always have been.”

No. I can’t let him win.

Percy may have taken her weapon, but she still had her will, and she was not done fighting yet.

Blood loss made her limbs leaden. Percy smirked above her, weapon in hand, his presence a mocking insult.

“Get up, Sarah,” Percy goaded, his voice a serrated whisper that threatened to unravel the last threads of her control.

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, her anger a living thing writhing inside her chest.

She would not let him see her break. She focused inward, calling to the beast beneath her skin, but it was like reaching through a fog—thick and unyielding.

Her body refused her silent pleas, remaining painfully human.

“Pathetic,” Percy spat.

A growl echoed through the tunnel, menacing, vibrating the very air around them. It wasn’t hers.

Percy’s head whipped around, his attention snapping to the darkness behind her.

Sarah didn’t need to look to know what—or who—it was. The familiar, beautiful scent flooded her senses, overpowering even the stench of blood and sweat. Nick.

Pushing to her feet while Percy was distracted, Sarah reached into the pocket of the pants she’d pulled on before she’d gone outside to get her phone—God, what seemed like days before, but had probably only been hours.

Her fingers closed around the nail she’d used to break the lock on her chains.

Gathering the last remnant of her failing strength, Sarah launched herself at Percy.

He caught her easily—but he wasn’t expecting it when she slammed the nail into his chest.

Percy huffed an irritated laugh, but Sarah’s move had distracted him yet again.

Just as she’d planned.

Without warning, a massive form barreled out of the shadows, a blur of tan fur and snarling teeth. Nick, in his glorious wolf form, collided with Percy, sending both men crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs and fury.

Percy howled, caught off guard, as Nick’s powerful jaws snapped inches from his throat. Sarah’s knife clattered to the stone floor, momentarily forgotten in the chaos as it skittered along the tunnel floor.

Percy fought ferociously, his cruelty manifesting in every blow he aimed at Nick.

But the wolf was relentless, dodging and snapping with precision honed by years of survival.

Sarah lunged for the knife, her fingers closing around the hilt.

“Nick, hold him!” she called out, her voice echoing against the stone walls.

Nick responded with a growl, moving to pin Percy down.

“Sarah…don’t—” Percy gasped as she approached, but she cut him off.

“Your time is done.”

A sharp cry escaped Percy as he tried to squirm away, tried to shift into his wolf, his eyes wide with fear. But there was no escaping. Not this time.

With a swift motion, she brought the weapon down, directly into his heart.

Nick released his hold as Percy crumpled to the ground, the life draining from his body.

Sarah stood over him, her chest heaving.

Nick lifted his heavy paw away from Percy’s body.

“Are you okay?” Sarah asked Nick.

The wolf gave a single nod.

“Good,” Sarah said. She met Nick’s gaze, finding the echo of a bond that had never truly been severed.

“Let’s finish this,” she said and headed toward the exit.