Page 6 of Savage Thirst

Stop again.

Without thinking, I toss the armband. It hits the floor beside him with a metallic clang. Not in his hand, but close enough.

And then I walk away.

CHAPTER TWO

Present Day

Sage

I tear down the road, tires screeching, headlights chasing me like hungry eyes in the dark. In the rearview mirror, they're closing in.

I glance at the dash. The gaslight is flashing.

Maine is a forest without a single gas station in sight. Not that I could stop if I saw one. I doubt Darius's goons would wait politely while I filled up.

"Shit, shit, shit," I mutter as rain starts to fall. Because why not make it worse?

Then the car coughs. Once. Twice. And dies.

"No, no, no—damn it!" I slam the steering wheel like that'll help. It doesn't.

The lights behind me pull up and stop.

I throw the door open and bolt out into the trees, into the dark, the cold rain slapping my skin.

Branches snag my pants, my blouse. I rip through them anyway. The fabric tears, it stings where my skin scrapes, but I don't stop.

The forest hums beneath my feet. I can feel life pulsing through roots, moss, bark. The rhythm of it calls to me. For a moment, it almost feels like home.

However, the ones hunting me are forest spirits too. Older and stronger. Whatever edge I might've had here is gone.

I hear them. Branches cracking, leaves rustling, heavy footsteps moving faster now. Voices low and guttural, slipping between trees in that old Slavic dialect that sounds ominous in the dark.

And the forest answers them. Chirps. Howls. Rustling wings and twitching claws. Night creatures giving me away.

Damn leshy and their power. This place bends for them.

Thunder cracks overhead. Lightning splits the sky.

In the flash of light, I see the dark, still surface of a lake just ahead.

I swerve hard, slipping through branches. I nearly slam into him.

He steps out from behind a tree. Broad-shouldered, leather jacket soaked. Piotr.

I twist at the last second, momentum throwing me off-balance. Doesn't matter. He's faster than he looks. His hand fists in my hair and yanks me back. Pain shoots through my scalp. I cry out.

"Stop running," Piotr growls. "She's here!" he calls out.

Footsteps behind me. The other leshy—whose name I never learned, so I just call him Not-Konstantin—appears from the dark.

"Darius just wants to talk, little darling. Only that," he says, voice too smooth to be reassuring.

"Yeah, right," I snap, twisting, trying to pull free.

Piotr chuckles. A low, mean sound. "Might want more than talk after this little stunt."