The deafening roar of an engine was the only warning I got before the van I’d been forced into swerved around the corner. Darting onto the sidewalk, I prepared to go on the offensive when one of Carter’s men jumped out of the moving vehicle.
The ghosts surrounding me gasped. Their voices were loud in my head, wails of agony causing me to shiver as the pendant burned into my skin. Just as before, I saw my attacker’s intentions before he struck. His arm came back, poised to snatch and grab. I jumped to the left, bringing the heel of my right palm up. Strength that was not my own powered the blow to his chin. He staggered before he fell on his ass, and I continued running like the devil was on my heels.
“Stop her!” Carter roared.
Barreling past the van, I hooked a left and was stunned as spirit upon spirit appeared, shimmered and became solid. As they did, my heart and lungs seemed to take on new life. I felt like I was walking instead of running. Only one sensation had ever compared to the high—when Disco unlocked the mark that existed between us—but even that sense of power was weak in comparison.
The buildings blurred, becoming nothing more than varying colors in my peripheral vision. I could hear the heavy, pounding footsteps at my back. I knew Carter’s people were behind me but unable to gain ground. My legs had never moved so quickly, my once bum knee now a distant memory.
Something struck me in the middle of my shoulder blades, knocking me off balance and sending me to the ground. I cried out as my palms met warm asphalt. The tiny shards of pebble and cement scraped away the skin at the meaty part of my hands, embedding dirt and remnants of rubber in my flesh. Within seconds, my knees followed suit, and the pain was equally intense.
Lifting my head, I came face-to-face with the same kind of monstrosity that Carter had become in the library. Half man, half beast. It snarled at me. Its large clawed hands were inches from mine. Its jaws parted, saliva pooled down its muzzle, and lethal teeth stopped inches from my face.
An American Werewolf in London had absolutely nothing on this shit.
Nothing at fucking all.
There was no opportunity to make it to my feet or attempt to flee. Carter wrapped an arm around my waist and hoisted me from the ground, bringing my back against his chest while wrapping his free hand around my throat.
“I warned you.” His voice was markedly different, almost unrecognizable.
My struggles didn’t do much. The strength he was so careful to keep in check was now unmistakably evident. Even if I wanted to move, I couldn’t. My arms were locked firmly at my sides, and my head was bent at an awkward angle that forced the base of my skull against his shoulder.
The van returned and, once again, everyone piled in—including the one that had shifted back and now wore clothing that was ripped and tattered.
The angry gazes of the pack homed on me, their irises shifting brightly.
No words were spoken, not that there was much to say. Instead, I took the time to process everything that I’d learned in the last few hours. A plan had started to formulate. Disco was gone, which was something I wasn’t prepared for, but all was not doom and gloom. If I could find some way to contact Disco, I could give him my message, sever the debt with Zagan, and learn how to destroy the bastard.
Goose was the ace in the hole, which meant I had to find some way to get back to the burbs. Swallowing thickly, I eyed the werewolves that looked like they wanted to rip out my throat and say to fuck with it. As soon as I was under lock down, I’d never get out in time to sever the debt. Zagan had said I had ten days, and that was six days ago.
The clock was ticking.
“Shit.”
At first, I thought the word was another one of my inner ramblings. Then I realized it was from the driver—a very loud, alarmed and snarling werewolf.
“Carter, we’ve got trouble.”