Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
I drifted in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of movement, of hands supporting me. Pain flared with each step, but it felt distant, like it belonged to someone else.
She eased me down onto something soft, a bed, I think. I don't even know. I was gone again the moment my head hit the pillow, sinking into the comfort of it. Rick had got me good. I wouldn't die from the injuries, but my body needed time to heal, and I didn't have the Lycanthrocyte my mother had. I'd have to do this the old-fashioned way and ride it out.
Clawing my way back to consciousness, though, felt like swimming through mud. The room was dim, lit only by a small lamp in the corner, its soft glow barely penetrating the shadows. The curtains were closed, and I sensed someone near to me.
I blinked, trying to force my bleary eyes to focus.
"He's awake," a little voice beside me chimed up, too loud, too happy.
"Back up a little," came her voice, and then hands on me as I tried to sit. "Easy," she said. "You've taken quite the beating. You've been out of it quite a while."
I licked at my dry lips, trying to process what she was saying, who was saying it.
Anika.
I shot up, or tried to, but pain lanced through me, spearing my side like a white-hot blade. It made my breath catch, a strangled gasp escaping my lips. "How long?" I swallowed hard, my throat dry and scratchy. My memory struggled to piece together what had happened. I was still in that place, where my world was a dream, and all this shit had not happened.
"Twelve or thirteen hours, maybe."
Thirteen hours ...
I heaved in a breath, trying to push myself up and off the bed. I couldn't even sit properly, because when I did, pain lanced through my side where Rick had slashed me. I made myself, though. It was the only way, or I'd lie back on that bed and pass the hell right out again.
Anika stepped away from me. She held her son to her, a protective arm around him. He was watching me, wide-eyed and curious.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here."
She shook her head, her blonde hair swinging with the movement. "No. It's okay. I'm glad you did." She swallowed, hesitation clear in her voice, and while her apprehension was evident, there was something else there too. It'd been the same when I'd brought her here—I didn't know what it was. Like a connection, something there. Like she wasn't afraid, but she knew she should be, and something in my panther too.
She was a witch, her magic vibrated along my skin. I could almost reach out and touch it. Little sparks of energy. I'd never had that with any other witch.
"I called that number you gave me," she said. And there were the nerves. "I wasn't sure if I should, but then you weren't waking up and I thought ... You were a mess." She swung the boy to her other hip. "I patched you up. Put a bandage on your side. I had some balm, so I rubbed that into the wounds. I have that a lot. He's always getting into scrapes and bruises." She motioned to her son, but her words were apologetic.
It dawned on me then that I was topless.
"Your shirt was torn to pieces. And caked in blood. I cut it off and threw it in the bin." She reached to the table. "I have this one you can have. It's a little old and tatty, but it should fit you. I only use it to sleep in." She handed it to me, and I took it.
My panther came alive the moment I did. Rushing to the surface, but not like he had with Tia. No, this was something totally different. "Thank you," I said. "You spoke to Malcolm? Did he answer?" My heart rate picked up, a mix of hope and dread swirling in my gut.
"No. Another man did. I think it must have been his son. Stephen? Is it? I've seen him. He's been here. He ..." She shook her head, shaking off whatever she was going to tell me.
I peeled back the bandage she'd put over my wound. The skin was raw, red and swollen. It was jagged, and open, but parts of it were knitting together. "What did he—" but I didn't get the chance to finish what I was going to say. Engines roared outside, the sudden noise shattering the quiet like gunshots. My heart raced, pounding against my ribs as if trying to escape.
The sound grew louder, multiple vehicles by the sounds of it, gravel crunching. My body screamed in protest as I lurched off the bed totally, towards the window, every movement sending fresh waves of agony through my battered frame. I didn't care. Adrenaline surged, dulling the pain to a distant throb as I reached for the curtain.
My fingers trembled, as I peeled the curtain back so I could peek out. My heart, already racing, nearly stopped.
"Shit."
How the hell had they found me here? And so quickly. I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut. My mind raced, grasping for explanations. Tia. It had to be Tia. Or they'd followed me, or ... I didn't know. It didn't matter.
My father got out of the large black vehicle, some kind of massive SUV style thing. Flanked by Rick and a handful of other pack members. Rick was looking in better shape than I was. Pack members. He'd have got expert care. Bully for him.
"Raven?" Anika's voice was tight, cutting through my spiralling thoughts and I'd almost forgotten she and her son were there. "What's going on?"
I turned to face her, seeing the terror in her eyes, her arms wrapped protectively around her son.
"My father," I said. "We need to move. I'm sorry. I ..." but I was ushering her across her small room to her door, ignoring the protests of my wounds. Without thinking, I scooped her son out of her arms, biting back a groan as pain seared across my side. The boy let out a startled squeak. So did his mother. But I just needed to move them, to get them out of the way.
"Raven ... what?—"
"No time. Come on." I cut her off, already moving her out of the flat. When I opened the door, I half expected my father to already be there, or him to have pack waiting outside and his arrival outside was nothing but to smoke me out. But the hall was clear. "This way."
We moved down the corridor as quickly and as quietly as we could. Every step seemed to echo, every creak of the floorboards, a beacon announcing our presence. Her son stayed silent.
"Here," I passed the boy back to Anika as we stopped at a door not three from where her place was. There was no time to run up the stairs, to get to another place, and I knew this room was vacant. The key was locked in a hatch on the wall so whoever Malcolm got to refurbish these places, could get in. This one hadn't been done or even touched. It was rotten floorboards, smashed windows and a sickly-sweet smell, but it was away from my father. "Get inside," I said, as I pushed the door open, and stepped away so she and the boy could get in. I gave her the key. "Lock the door and don't come out, no matter what you hear. Do you understand?"
She swallowed hard, then nodded. "Raven, I?—"
"It's okay. Thank you," I said,
And as I went to pull the door closed, she caught my arm. "Here." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bottle. "It isn't much. I carry it in case of..." she trailed off. "I just have it. If you need to get away, throw it hard enough to smash. It only gives you seconds, but ..."
"Sometimes seconds are all you need?"
She nodded, and I reached for her hand, clasping her hand around the small bottle and holding both in mine. "Thank you," then I took it and closed the door. The lock clicked into place behind me.
I stood there for a moment, my heart pounding, the small bottle clutched tightly in my hand. The weight of it was reassuring, a tiny lifeline in the chaos that was about to unfold. I could hear footsteps now, heavy and purposeful, echoing up the stairwell. My father and his pack were coming.
Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself for what was to come. My body ached, my wounds screaming in protest at every movement, but I pushed the pain aside. I had to face this, had to protect Anika and her son, and had to find a way out of this mess.
I flexed my fingers around the small bottle. A last resort, a desperate gambit if things went south. And knowing my father, things were definitely going to go south.
The footsteps grew louder. Closer. I could smell them now, the scent of my father's pack, a mixture of aggression and anticipation. My panther stirred within me, ready for a fight we both knew we might not win.
But I had to try. For Anika. For her son. For myself.
I took one last steadying breath and stepped forward to meet my fate.