Page 20 of The Reaper's Vow

My phone buzzes again. I pull it out to read Elias's text.

Almost there.

“Fuck!” I shove the phone back in my pocket and stalk toward her bedroom. No more time for niceties.

She crams clothes into a small duffel, every motion sharp with desperation. The change in her scent hits me, sharp, frantic, cutting through the haze of her cycle that’s had my wolf on edge since I walked in.

“Time's up,” I growl, grabbing her arm.

“Wait!” She yanks free, lunging for her laptop on the desk. “I need this. And my purse.”

I'm about to argue when I hear car doors slamming outside. My wolf's hearing picks up footsteps—multiple sets—entering the building downstairs.

“Move,” I snarl, seizing her wrist and pulling her toward the door. She clutches her laptop and purse to her chest with her free hand, stumbling as I drag her from the bedroom.

We burst into the hallway just as heavy footfalls echo up the stairwell. Three, maybe four men. Lockhart isn't taking chances.

“Fire escape,” I mutter, changing direction and hauling her back toward the bedroom window. My claws extend with a painful prick as adrenaline floods my system.

She doesn't fight me now. I slam the bedroom door behind us, twisting the lock. She drops her laptop on the bed and rushes to the window while I drag her dresser in front of the door. It won't stop them, but it'll buy us precious seconds.

“It's stuck,” she hisses, straining against the window frame.

I shoulder her aside and drive my fist through the glass. Shards rain down on the fire escape as I clear the jagged edges with my jacket sleeve.

“Go,” I order, boosting her through the opening. She lands hard on the metal grating outside, her bag tumbling from her shoulder.

Heavy footsteps thunder down the hallway outside her door. They've found us.

I grab her laptop and shove it into her arms before following her through the window. The fire escape groans under our combined weight as we start our descent, but the old metal holds.

“Faster,” I growl, taking the stairs three at a time.

Above us, something crashes against her apartment door—probably a shoulder or boot. Wood splinters, and I hear the dresser scraping across the floor.

Shouts echo from inside her apartment, followed by the distinctive sound of furniture being overturned.

“Where are they?” Lockhart's voice carries through the shattered window.

“Not here,” one of his men responds. “Looks like they went out the window.”

I press Karina against the brick wall of the adjacent building, my hand covering her mouth as footsteps thunder above us. My heart pounds against my ribs like a caged animal, but I force my breathing to remain steady.

“Stay quiet,” I whisper against her ear, my lips brushing the shell of it. She shivers, and I catch the subtle shift in her scent. Even now, even terrified and running for her life, her body responds to mine.

The fire escape above us groans as Lockhart's men climb out onto it. I can hear them moving, their heavy boots clanging against the metal grating.

“Check the alley,” Lockhart's voice drifts down to us. “I can smell her. She hasn’t gone far. “

I wait until the sounds fade before releasing Karina. She sags against the wall, clutching her laptop like a lifeline. Her scent lingers in the air, sharp and impossible to miss. Lockhart will smell her if he’s close, and we’re running out of time. I need to move her before he gets the chance.

“My car is two blocks over. Can you run?”

She nods, her voice unsteady. “I think so.”

“Think isn’t good enough.” I grip her chin, tilting her face up to mine. “I need to know you can keep up. If you fall behind?—”

“I won't fall behind,” she insists, straightening her spine. “I know these streets better than they do.”