Chapter 14 Karina #2
My fingers brush over a bottle of bleach on the shelf.
I grab it, twist the cap off, and pour a jagged line across the threshold—just enough to let the sharp, stinging scent swallow everything else.
The fumes hit instantly, burning my nose, making my eyes water.
Good. Wolves hunt by scent; if I’m lucky, this will blur the trail long enough to fool them.
The front door crashes open. Heavy boots hit the floor.
“She went towards the bedroom. Lockhart wants her alive, but I don't give a shit about her condition after what she just did.”
I press a hand over my mouth as they rush past, shadows slicing through the hallway, the air vibrating with growls and the scrape of furniture. The smell of bleach mixes with blood, sharp enough to make my head swim.
One of them snarls from the bedroom, “She’s bleeding—she’s right here!”
No, I think. I’m not.
I stay still, crouched in the dark, every muscle trembling, listening as they tear the room apart. Sheets rip. Furniture breaks. Boots scrape the floor. And then, slowly, the sounds shift—fading deeper into the house, away from me.
Now.
I push the closet door open just enough to slip through, lungs burning, eyes stinging. The hall is empty. The front door stands open just ten feet away, freedom if I can reach it without being seen.
My wolf pushes closer to the surface as she prepares to run. I feel Damien's rage building to dangerous levels. He's coming. I just have to survive until he gets here.
“She's not in the bedroom!” one of the men calls out.
The wounded man's head snaps toward my hiding spot, his nostrils flaring. “Then where the fuck—”
I don't wait for him to finish. Bursting from behind the door, I sprint toward the open entrance, knife still clutched in my blood-slicked hand. The wounded man lunges for me, his fingers grazing my arm as I twist away.
“She's running!” he shouts.
Cold night air hits my face as I clear the threshold, my bare feet slapping against the gravel path. The compound is eerily silent—no guards, no patrols. Where is everyone? What happened to Elias?
I scan the shadows, searching for any sign of him, when something catches my attention—a crumpled form near the tree line. My stomach lurches as I recognize the blond hair, now matted with blood.
No time to check. No time to help. I keep moving.
I veer away from the main buildings, aiming for the dense forest that surrounds the compound.
If I can make it to the trees, I might have a chance.
My wolf surges closer to the surface, lending me strength and speed I didn’t know I possessed.
The knife feels like an extension of my arm as I drive my legs harder, ignoring the sharp stones slicing into my bare feet.
“Cut her off!” someone shouts behind me. I hear them splitting up, trying to flank me.
The tree line is so close—fifty yards, maybe. My lungs burn as I push harder, the woods wavering in front of me like a mirage. Forty yards. Thirty. The sounds of pursuit crash through the night—boots pounding gravel, shouted commands, the rustle of bodies tearing through underbrush.
Twenty yards.
Something slams into me from the side, sending me sprawling across the rocky ground.
The knife skitters from my grip, clattering somewhere in the gloom as I roll to absorb the impact.
My shoulder screams in protest, but I force myself up, scrambling on hands and knees toward where I think the blade landed.
“Got her.” Heavy hands grab my arms, hauling me upright despite my struggles. “Feisty little bitch.”
I twist in his grip, my wolf snarling beneath my skin, lending me strength I didn't know I possessed. My elbow connects with something soft—his solar plexus—and he doubles over with a grunt.
“Shift,” I whisper to my wolf. “Please, I need you.”
But she's still too close to human, too confused by years of suppression to break free completely. The partial transformation leaves me caught between forms. Stronger than human but not fully wolf, claws extending from fingertips that shake with the effort of holding the change.
The man recovers faster than I expected, backhanding me across the face with enough force to send stars exploding across my vision. I taste copper as blood fills my mouth, but the pain only makes my wolf angrier.
“Enough games,” he snarls, producing a syringe from his jacket. The liquid inside glows faintly in the moonlight—something unnatural, something wrong. “Lockhart said to bring you in conscious, but he didn't say anything about cooperative.”
I lash out with my partially extended claws, raking them across his wrist. He curses, dropping the syringe as blood wells from the gouges. The glass vial shatters against the rocks, its contents hissing as they eat into the stone.
“You stupid bitch!” He grabs my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat. “I should have just shot you.”
He's close—so close I can almost smell pine on the night air.
“Hold her still.” A second man emerges, carrying a rope and what appears to be a shock collar.
The first man tightens his grip on my hair while the second approaches with the collar.
The metal gleams dully in the moonlight, and I can smell the acrid scent of electricity crackling through its circuits.
Whatever that thing is, I know I can't let them put it on me.
“This would be so much easier if you'd just cooperate,” the second man says, reaching for my throat.
I don't waste breath on a response. Instead, I drive my knee up between his legs with every ounce of strength I possess. He doubles over with a strangled cry, the collar falling from his hands. The first man's grip loosens in surprise, and I tear free, leaving strands of hair in his bloody fingers.
But there's nowhere left to run. Three more figures emerge, surrounding me in a loose circle.
My back hits the rough bark of an ancient redwood as they close in, their faces cast in shadow but their intent crystal clear as they close in.
Five men now. I press harder against the tree, feeling the rough bark dig into my back. There's nowhere left to run.
“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 strangled cry. 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.