Page 59 of The Reaper's Vow

“Just come quietly,” one of them says, reaching for my arm. “Lockhart doesn't want you damaged.”

“Too late for that,” another laughs, gesturing to the blood on my hands and face.

A gunshot cracks through the night, so close it makes my ears ring. One of the men crumples to the ground with a strangledcry. The others whirl around, weapons appearing in their hands as they search for the source.

“Get away from her!”

Elias staggers from the shadows, blood streaming down his face from a gash across his forehead. His shirt is torn and soaked crimson, but the gun in his hand is steady as he fires again. Another man falls, clutching his thigh and howling.

“Kill him!” shouts the one who tried to collar me. “Now!”

The remaining men turn their attention to Elias, who ducks behind a tree as bullets splinter the bark around him. His eyes meet mine across the clearing, and I see the silent command in them. Run.

I don't hesitate. As gunfire erupts between Elias and my captors, I bolt toward the trees, my bare feet finding purchase on the uneven ground. The forest swallows me. The sounds of gunfire fade behind me as I push deeper into the woods, my lungs burning with each desperate breath.

I run until my legs threaten to buckle, until the mark on my neck pulses with such intensity I can barely see straight. Every step carries me farther from the compound, from Elias, from whatever fate Lockhart had planned for me. Elena Rosewood. The words echo in my mind like a foreign language. Who is she? What does it have to do with me?

Branches whip across my face as I stumble through the underbrush. My feet are torn and bleeding, but I don't slow down. Can't slow down. The night air fills my lungs in ragged gasps as I push myself harder, faster, my wolf lending me strength to keep moving.

I don't know how long I run—minutes or hours blur together in a haze of adrenaline. The forest gradually thins, and suddenly I'm breaking through the tree line onto asphalt—a road. Somewhere to my right, I hear the distant hum of an engine.

Headlights appear around the bend, blinding in their intensity. I freeze, The car skids to a violent stop mere inches from where I stand. The tires screech against the asphalt, burning rubber and sending gravel flying. I throw my arms up to shield my face, certain I'm about to be hit, when the driver's door flies open.

“Karina!”

Damien. My knees nearly buckle with relief as he unfolds from the car. Blood covers his shirt, none of it his own, from what I can tell. He rushes toward me, pulling me into his arms with such force that the breath leaves my lungs.

“You're alive,” he mutters against my hair, his hands frantically checking me for injuries. “You're alive.”

I cling to him, my fingers digging into his back as I breathe in his scent.

“They came for me,” I gasp, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths.

Damien stiffens against me, his arms tightening possessively. “I know. Get in the car. Now.”

He doesn't wait for me to respond, practically lifting me off my feet as he guides me to the passenger side.

My hands shake as I fumble with the seatbelt, adrenaline making my fingers clumsy. Damien slams the car into drive before I'm even fully seated, the engine roaring as we tear down a mountain road.

“Elias,” I gasp, suddenly remembering. “He was shot. He helped me escape. We have to go back for him.”

“Elias can handle himself. You're what matters now.”

“Where are we going?”

Damien clenches his jaw. “Home. To my father, and the protection of my pack.”

“No, I can't?—”

“There's no choice, Karina. My father's territory is the only place with enough strength to protect you.”

The road is a blur of shadows and headlights, the silence between us thick with everything I don’t understand. He’s keeping something from me. I can feel it in every clipped word, every sharp inhale. And whatever it is—it’s big.

Somewhere beyond it waits his father. His pack. And answers I’m no longer sure I’m ready for.

Damien

Idrive through the endless night with death riding shotgun. Not the kind I deal in but the kind that nearly stole her from me. The kind that still might.