Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Again, my freaky thing with magic works to my advantage. As we hurry out of the building, the ward slides over us. So far, so good. I have found that the trick seems to work for anything or anyone that is touching me.
I hurry towards what I hope is the west boundary of the estate.
My sense of direction is appalling, and it is even worse after my roller-coaster ride on Pudding.
My brain feels like Pudding stuffed it into a washing machine on spin.
With each step, the shifter gets heavier and heavier in my arms. Any time I even think about putting her down, hoping she will follow me, she cries.
My arms feel like they are going to drop off, and my ribs… God, my poor ribs… Suck it up, Emma.
I hobble along. My heels feel painfully red-raw, undoubtedly bleeding as my handmade riding boots rub them. These boots are not made for walking; they especially are not made for tromping through trees and scrambling over walls.
We slink passed another ward, the last one—which surrounds the whole eight-hundred-acre estate—and we end up down the road at a local grocery store.
The shop is sandwiched between a kebab shop and a Chinese takeaway. My legs almost buckle with relief when I realise the shop is open.
I peer about and puff out my cheeks. All it would take is for someone who works for the estate to notice us and everything I’ve done so far, everything I’ve risked, would be lost.
I have never done anything so stupid or so brave.
As luck or fate would have it, we bump into a shifter. The pup sniffs the air and wiggles in my arms, also sensing the shifter.
The guy gives me a flirtatious smile. “Fuck, you’re hot. You lost your horse, blondie? You can come and ride this—I will even let you whip me.” He cups his groin and thrusts his hips at me. My mouth drops open, and my nose wrinkles with disgust.
Ewww, what an idiot.
This right here is why I prefer my horses over people—at least their shit comes out the right end.
I resign myself to fate and the fact that this horny shifter is all the help we currently have.
No one else is around and needs must. I can only hope and pray that he doesn’t do anything stupid.
Like, attempt to kidnap me or the pup. “Can you help us?” I say in an urgent tone.
“I need to get in contact with her pack.” I widen my eyes meaningfully and nod down at the wiggling bundle of fur.
It’s as if I’ve said the magic words.
The shifter snaps to attention. His focus switches from me and the rude stuff undoubtedly going on in his head to the female shifter in my arms. His nostrils flare, and his eyes comically widen. He promptly backs away from us with his palms in the air.
“Oh, fucking hell. Oh, fucking hell,” he says, shock and panic lacing his tone.
Oh no, oh God, he looks as if he is going to make a break for it.
I step forward in a vain attempt to stop him.
Instead of running, he digs into his jacket pocket and fumbles for his phone.
He holds a finger up for me to wait. “Sir, that missing pack you are hunting…I think I’ve found one of the kids. ”
After we’ve both guzzled down some water, I find a safe place in the shop to wait while the nervous shifter stands guard.
I sit on the floor in a dusty corner with my back propped up against a buzzing fridge.
In this position, I can see the door, and through a handy gap in the shelves I have an excellent view of the street.
Now that I have stopped moving, my entire body feels like one enormous bruise. My feet are throbbing and my long boots are digging into the back of my knees. I daren’t take them off, so my poor feet and ankles will probably swell like balloons.
The shifter pup crawls across me and curls up on my lap. I unconsciously stroke her fur as I fret about what is going to happen to me when I get home. The anticipation. God, there is a peculiar agony to waiting, when you know something terrible is going to happen at the end.
The demon sees everything.
I regularly glance at the shop’s clock. Time seems to have sped up.
I need to get out of here.
The longer I’m away from the estate, the worse things are going to be. But I can’t seem to force myself to leave, not until I can see with my own eyes that she is safe.
“They are here,” says the gruff voice of the shifter as three black Land Rover-style cars pull up to the kerb. I struggle back to my feet and scoop up the pup. My riding hat and gloves, I leave on the floor. I will grab them in a moment.
I watch with nervous interest and a smatter of relief, happy knowing that I can finally hand over my furball to somebody who knows what they’re doing. The car doors open, and what I can only describe as a squadron of men spill out onto the pavement.
Unease skitters through me, and the small hairs on my arms rise.
Wearing black fatigues, loaded down with shifter-killing silver weapons that catch the sun and glint in its light, the men who exit the cars aren’t standard shifters.
No, the fatigue-clad men who exit those vehicles are in an altogether different class.
A predator class of their very own. My relief turns from nervous trepidation to abject horror.
They are bloody hellhounds.
“Oh my God, you didn’t tell me they were hellhounds,” I say to the shifter with a squeak.
Hellhounds are powerful shifters with rare fire magic, the shifter council’s elite fighting force.
I’ve never seen a hellhound before. I don’t really want to see a hellhound again.
My pulse picks up, and my fear wafts off me in waves.
It’s something that I can’t control…heck, any sane person would freak the fuck out.
Hellhounds. What my now-pounding heart can attest to is that hellhounds are scary.
What the hell—pun intended—have I gotten myself into?
Ten pairs of eyes lock onto my position. The hellhounds fan out. Frightened butterflies crash against each other in my belly, and my heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest.
Oh bloody hell.
I have the urge to slap myself silly. I’ve made a colossal mistake—I know it instinctively. Alarm bells are going off like clappers in my head. I groan. Why did I think I could just drop off the shifter pup and skip back to my life?
I didn’t think. I am an idiot.
I got so caught up with fear over what the demon will do to me, I forgot about other dangers. For my stupidity, I blame my fall from Pudding and the blow to my head.
Keep your eyes down. Try your best to be invisible. Only speak when you need to. Hand the pup over, and at the first opportunity, run.
In the big bad world of creatures, you have the powerful, and then you have the prey. Ha, I know which category I firmly fall into. These hulking monsters that prowl towards me, that tower up above me like army-clad trees, are at the very top of the power scale. They’re on a godlike level.
I’d rather sit on Pudding while he bolts down a motorway than stand here with ten hellhounds advancing. Hunting.
Hunting. Me.
Oh my God. I stand trembling in the shop doorway and keep my eyes respectfully lowered.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as the hellhounds continue to approach.
The shifter that called them is bouncing from foot to foot.
I wouldn’t be surprised if at any moment now, he didn’t drop to the floor and prostrate himself in submission.
Come to think of it, that sounds like a good idea. Throwing myself on the floor while wailing, “Please don’t kill me.” Yeah, begging for mercy might be the way to go.
My heart pounds faster and faster. Yet I force myself to stop trembling and keep still, so still. I’m afraid to even breathe too loudly.
I need to get a grip on myself. I slam my eyes closed, like a coward.
I welcome the comfort of blackness to the view of the encroaching hellhounds.
I hug the little shifter to me in a vain attempt at unrepentant self-reassurance.
She stirs in my arms. I open my eyes and glance down.
Her bright green eyes blink up at me. Her little tongue comes out, and she licks underneath my chin.
“Eww, puppy spit. Thanks for that,” I say with a small smile.
I return the sentiment with a quick kiss to the top of her head.
“You’re worth the hassle of this living nightmare, pup. ” I think.
The biggest, meanest hellhound shoulders himself through the others, and they part for him like a wave. I forget to keep my head down and instead I slowly trail my eyes over his massive form as he prowls toward us. The scowl he wears makes him look petrifying.
God, but he is handsome—handsome in the way deadly creatures are.
I take a deep breath and try to ignore how my body quakes in fear.
His wild, masculine beauty only serves to make him appear more lethal.
His aggressive hellhound energy hits me with the force of a double-decker bus.
I’m surprised I don’t see it crackling in the air between us.
This creature is downright terrifying.
“What the fuck did you do to her?”
My surprised gaze flicks up to his. Familiar but livid green eyes meet my own. His glower is like the slash of a knife. I tamp down the urge to check if I’m bleeding. Those eyes—there is no doubt in my mind that he is related to my pup. I’ve found her pack. Stupidly, I give him a tentative smile.
“Are you dense? I asked you a question. What the fuck did you do to her?” he barks again. I drop the smile and gulp. His face, his face is angelic, proud. He is almost too much to look at. Too beautiful, too breathtaking, too ominous…
Whoa, I’m so confused. This is not a normal reaction to a gigantic monster of a man who is so angry he’s almost frothing at the mouth. Has he got some freaky hellhound attraction magic that I’m not aware of? I am supposed to be immune.