by Lizzy Bequin
I stand there panting, my shoulders heaving up and down with each inhale and exhale as hot angry tears wobble and drip off my nose and chin. Both men are staring at me gape-mouthed in shock at my rage, Conway standing, one hand still outstretched, and my father sitting, his fingers clutching that device that he used to track me.
Then I notice that Conway’s face looks pale. His body leans, and he totters, losing his balance.
“What the fuck?” he groans, as he struggles to keep his balance.
He glances at his empty coffee cup.
“You motherfucker,” he growls, but his voice is faded and weak.
My father shrinks back as Conway turns on him. I’m expecting him to lunge for my Dad, and I cry out for him to stop, but before he can make a move, he falls face first into the table, his massive body as straight and rigid as a felled tree.
Unconscious, he slams into the table, flipping it, and sending the coffee cups rattling to the floor. The candles go tumbling, the flames extinguish, and the inside of the cabin is drenched in darkness.
“Conway!” I shout.
“Phew,” my dad breathes in the dark, “I wasn’t sure if that would work.”
He hisses an inhale of breath as he stubs his toe against some piece of furniture as he stumbles around the cabin in the dark. My eyes are still glimmering with the afterimage of the candle light—they have not yet adjusted to the darkness. I can just discern his shadowy shape lurching through the darkened cabin.
“You killed him.” The words roll out of me in a painful sob. My heart feels like it’s been crushed like an empty can.
“I didn’t kill him,” my dad says, and relief washes over me like a cool wave. “I just slipped a heavy dose of tranquilizer into his coffee. I don’t know how long he’ll be out, so we need to hurry.”
The relief that I feel at learning that Conway is okay confirms what I’ve been unable to admit to myself. I love him. Sure, I was seething with anger at him only a few moments ago. But I also know that I need him. As crazy as it sounds, he is my life now.
My father’s hand clamps around my arm, dragging me toward the front door, but I pull back. My bond with Conway is to strong. I can’t let myself be separated from him now. But how can I ever make my dad understand?
“Wait,” I hiss, struggling to keep him from dragging me away. “You don’t understand. Conway is on our side.”
“He kidnapped you,” he snaps, frustrated by my resistance.
“No, Dad,” I cry, fresh tears welling in my eyes. “That was before. Things are different now. We—“
My dad yanks me forward and grabs both of my shoulders in a firm grip. I can’t see his face; I can only make out the shadowy form of him in front of me as he shakes me.
“You’ve got to snap out of it, Amrita,” he insists. “You’re not thinking straight. It’s your hormones talking. Or Stockholm syndrome. I don’t know. All I do know is that we’re getting you the hell out of—“
He silences himself mid-sentence as bright headlights backlight the venetian blinds in the front window, sending illuminated stripes sliding across the ceiling and stretching down the wall. A moment later I can hear the rumble of engines—more than one—as vehicles draw close.
Someone’s here.
Still keeping a tight grip on my shoulder, my dad turns and peers out between a slit in the blinds.
“Shit.”
“Who is it?” I whisper.
“Bad people,” he rumbles in a hushed voice as he drags me toward the back door. My feet catch on Conway’s sprawled arm, and I stumble. I would fall if not for my dad’s relentless grip.
On the floor, Conway groans and stirs.
“Conway,” I hiss through my teeth, “Conway, wake up.”
My dad made a mistake knocking Conway out with tranquilizers. But he made an even bigger mistake doing it now of all times. Our one best hope of taking on these bad people is now sprawled out on the floor half-asleep.
“No time,” my dad mutters, yanking me roughly along with him.
He swings open the back door and pulls me after him into the night. I stumble at first, but once my feet hit the ground, I dig in my heels.
“Stop,” I snarl. “I’m not leaving my mate behind.”
Mate. I’m as surprised to hear that word roll off my tongue as my dad seems to be. But it’s the only word that fits. Conway’s not my boyfriend. He’s not simply my lover. It’s so much more than that now. We’re joined by some unseen power, like two links in an invisible chain. My heart is drawn to him like a magnet, and nobody—not even my dad—is strong enough to pull me away.
“Amrita,” my father whispers under his breath, “this is no time to—“
There is a startling thump as a heavy weight lands on the wood shingle roof of the cabin. In the dim moonlight of the forest, I can see my father’s eyes widen to circles as they flick upward and behind me. I whirl around to see what he’s looking at just as a sinister voice chills my blood.
“Tsk, tsk. Kidnapping your own daughter, Doc?”
The headlights of the cars backlight the cabin, creating an eerie corona of light around the edges of its silhouette. And there on the peak of the roof, perched like a massive gargoyle is the bulky shape of a man.
The voice is familiar, but it’s the repulsive odor that confirms it.
Kruger.
My fear is like cold fingers clenching and squeezing my stomach, and for a moment I actually think I’m going to vomit. In the short time that I was kept at the hideout in the city, I saw enough to know that Kruger is completely unhinged. A maniac. A bloodthirsty psychopath. And now he’s caught up to us, out here in the middle of nowhere.
We’re fucked. We can’t fight him. We can’t outrun him. There’s only one hope.
“Conway!” I shriek like a banshee, the sound ripping out of my lungs so violently that it leaves my throat ragged and sore.
Kruger springs, flying at us so fast it’s like he’s been shot out of a cannon. My father and I both tumble over, and I hit the leaf-strewn ground so roughly that every ounce of air is blasted out of my lungs.
The sounds of shouting and footsteps erupts around us as men in dark clothing rush from either side of the cabin. They look like a police SWAT team. But these guys clearly aren’t the cops. Some of them are carrying rifles and others have hand guns trained on my dad.
Dad. As I look at his body lying on the ground, I realize he’s not moving.
“Dad,” I cry.
“Shut up,” Kruger snarls.
He yanks me to my feet by my hair, sending scorching pain stinging across my scalp. Roughly, he shoves me toward one of the men in dark clothes.
“Put her in the car,” he snarls. “Make sure she’s well restrained.”
“What about the father?” one of the soldiers asks, prodding my dad’s body with the muzzle of his rifle. “Looks like he’s still breathing. Should I off him?”
“No,” Kruger says with an evil grin, his moist fangs glistening in the moonlight. “I’ll take care of him. Take the girl and get out of here. I’ll catch up with you later on foot.”
He turns toward the cabin.
“But first I need to pay a visit to an old friend.”
Kicking and screaming, I’m unable to stop the men from dragging me around the cabin toward the vehicles parked out front. As we go around the corner, the last I see of Kruger, he is stalking toward the back door of the cabin, his fingers splayed and claws fully unsheathed.
I scream Conway’s name again and again, my voice echoing through the forest, bouncing between the trees.
CHAPTER 22: CONWAY
Dark in here.
Someone’s calling my name. Sounds like they’re a million miles away.
Damn, my body feels so weak. I try to move, but all I can do is barely twitch my fingers and wiggle my toes a little bit. Can’t even tell if my eyes are opened or closed.
But my body feels nice. Warm and heavy like a big old bag of sand, and all I want to do is doze back off
to sleep. Haven’t had a real good night’s sleep in so long. Doesn’t matter this bed is so damn hard it feels like it’s made out of wooden boards.
So tired. Body feels so heavy. Just wanna sleep…
But whoever is yelling my name won’t let me. The voice cuts through the fog of my grogginess, denying me the deep restful slumber that I want so bad. I try to tell them to shut up and leave me alone, but all that comes out of my lips is some mumbled nonsense and a few bubbles of spit.
Let me sleep. Please, just let me—
The voice slashes through my consciousness again. It’s a woman, and she’s in trouble. This time she yells my name so loud it sounds like she could be right outside the walls of the cabin.
Cabin. I’m in my cabin. I’m on the floor.
The voice shrieks out one more time, but it’s cut off by the sound of a car door thumping shut. After that I can still hear the woman’s voice, but it’s muffled, like it’s coming from the inside of a vehicle. There is the sound of an engine roaring and tires crunching on gravel.
Amrita.
Someone’s taking Amrita!
That realization sends a jolt of raw lightning through my nervous system. My mind is wide awake again. I’m wired, my protective instinct on overdrive. I can feel my heart thundering against the wood floor boards of the cabin, and adrenaline is coursing through my veins like fire. But my muscles aren’t responding. I can barely move my hands, smoothing my palms over the boards of the floor.
As I struggle to make my stupid body obey, a rush of thoughts are tumbling through my mind. My first thought is that her father is carrying her off. But then I remember that his car isn’t right outside. As I listen closer, I can hear the sound of other, lower voices and feet scuttling around. More car doors closing. More than one vehicle pulling away.
One sound in particular gets my attention. Heavy footsteps thumping up the back stairs. Whoever it is, they’re going slow, taking their sweet time.
I swim my arms across the floor, like I’m trying to make a snow angel, but I’m face down on the floor instead of lying on my back in the snow. I’m getting my mobility back, slowly but surely, but I still don’t have the strength to push myself up off the ground, let alone stand.
There’s a dull thump as the toe of a boot nudges the back door open.
My muscles may not be functioning properly, but my nose is working just fine. His Alpha scent hits me full force as he treads into the cabin.
“Miss me, partner?” Kruger chuckles
I try to tell him to go fuck himself, but it comes out all wrong.
“What happened?” he clucks his tongue. “The old country doctor put a hurtin’ on you?”
He’s moving closer. Taking his time, the sadistic bastard. Short slow steps so he can really savor the moment. As he walks, he scratches his claws along the cabin wall. I struggle to get up to face him, but the best I can do is shift my weight. That’s when I realize I’m lying on top of something.
Reese’s bag. The mini arsenal he brought with him.
“You’re probably wondering what happened to me after I didn’t come back to the hideout. Sorry about leaving you high and dry like that.”
I roll my eyes up to look at him. My vision has adjusted to the darkness, and I watch as Kruger pulls one of his hand-rolled cigarettes from behind his ear as he towers over me, gloating.
Ever so carefully, I manage to work one hand under my body, slipping my fingers into the bag.
“Yeah, anyway, funny thing. After I ditched that kid’s body at one of my usual spots, some suits from Omicron caught up with me. I thought my number was up. Thought they were gonna finally pinch me for being a bad boy.”
His lighter clinks open. He flicks it once. Twice. The room lights up as he lights his cancer stick, and then it goes dark again as he snaps the lighter shut. There’s a faint crackling sound and a smell of burning tobacco as he takes a big draw and then blows it out.
“Turns out I was wrong though. Seems like the company was more interested in your bad behavior old buddy. Gave me a new assignment. Wanted me to surveil you and the chick from a safe distance. From what little I could hear, it sounded like you two were having a heck of a time. And those new tits that sprouted over night…”
He let’s out a long, low whistle. My fingers touch cold steel inside the satchel.
“Anyway, it wasn’t long before Daddy showed up. Would have helped you bud, but my orders were not to interfere. And I know what a stickler you are for following orders. I gotta tell you, it pained me to no end to just sit back and watch that guy put a round through you. But you got away. We lost your trail, but we followed the doctor. And lucky for us, he led us straight to you.”
Kruger flicks his cigarette, and the ashes fall on my cheek like warm snowflakes. Underneath my belly, the blood's coming back to my fingers. They coil around the handle of the revolver. The Judge.
“The bad news is, I’ve also been ordered to terminate your employment with extreme prejudice. It’s a shame about the state you’re in. I was looking forward to this. Have been for a long time. Oh well.”
I sense more than see that he raises his right foot high over my head, intending to bring the heal crashing down on my skull.
“No hard feelings, partner,” he snickers. “Strictly business.”
With every ounce of strength in my body, I roll myself over onto my side and point the revolver at that big boot hanging over my head and about to drop. I pull the trigger.
The thing about the Judge, it’s like a .44 revolver, but with a long cylinder that you can load with .410 bore shotgun shells, and that’s how the doc has this one loaded. Pretty mean little gun. Four-ten is a small shell, especially against a tough Alpha hide, but at close range it’s strong enough to do some serious damage.
The first shot blows a gaping hole clean through the middle of Conway’s foot, sending blood and chips of bone splattering to the ceiling. As he stumbles back, I fire again. I’m barely able to aim but the blast hits him dead in the stomach.
“Fuck!,” Kruger roars.
His voice shakes the cabin almost as much as the blasts from the gun. He lunges for me, claws swiping downward at my face, but I squeeze off one more shot just in time, mangling his fingers.
“Let’s see you grow those back,” I slur.
I’ve finally found my voice again, although it sounds like I’ve downed a whole bottle of Jim Beam.
I shoot twice more. One shot tears away the side of Kruger’s face, while the other sprays wild, puncturing the ceiling with a bunch of little holes.
Kruger is hurt bad, but he’s still not down for the count, and I’m still at a major disadvantage, but I’ve got one really big ace up my sleeve. Actually, it’s not up my sleeve; it’s in the bag of goodies that the doctor left behind. I’m almost willing to forgive that guy for drugging me.
With a flick of my finger, the grenade pin tinkles onto the floor, followed by a dull, billiard ball thud of the grenade hitting the boards and rolling toward Kruger.
“Son of a fuck,” he hisses.
I’m taking a big risk, because I don’t know if I have the strength, but I heave with all my might, and pray for the best. My clumsy, drugged-up body slams into the front door, busting through it. I laugh as the fresh night air washes over my skin while I tumble, still half paralyzed, down the steps.
And I made it out not a second too soon.
For the thinnest fraction of a second, bright yellow light illuminates the windows of the cabin and the busted front door. Then comes the deafening boom. I feel the concussion deep in the marrow of my bones. The blast shakes the earth so hard that curls of dust raise off the ground all around the cabin. The windows shatter outward, and immense billows of orange fire roll upward, washing me with waves of intense heat as I scramble farther away. Within seconds, the whole cabin is engulfed in flames.
Then I hear the roaring.
Impossibly, Kruger is still alive, bellowing my name from inside the flaming cabi
n.
“Conway!”
I manage to get to my knees, but when I try to stand, I stumble and fall. A million needles are prickling my numb legs. I crawl, digging my claws into the earth, dragging my body toward the 4Runner parked in front of the cabin.
“Conway!”
A scorched shadow materializes out of the flames licking the door of the cabin. Kruger descends the steps. looking like a demon from hell. His skin is burnt to a black crisp, his hair is gone, and his clothes are still crackling with flames.
I throw myself toward the 4Runner, and my numb body slumps against the passenger side of the vehicle, knocking a big dent in the paneling. My lungs are burning with exertion and my heart is thumping like a .50-caliber machine gun
Kruger stalks toward me, claws extruded, his one good eye charged with the purest hatred I’ve ever seen. He’s not even bothering to put out the flames consuming his body. It’s like he can’t even feel it.
Somehow, I manage to wrench the passenger side door open. My fingers frantically search the pouch on the inside of the door.
“I’ve had just about enough of your shit, Conway,” Kruger snarls, as he leaps, claws splayed, jaw practically unhinged to reveal his razor sharp fangs
I whip out the .357 revolver—the one that Amrita stashed in the door pouch—and aim it at my feral attacker. The snub-nosed pistol slides straight into his open mouth, his bottom incisors breaking against the trigger guard. Pain screams through my body as ten claws puncture my shoulders and chest.
“The feeling’s mutual,” I growl.
I pull the trigger. The explosion of the gunshot is muffled by Kruger’s mouth. The round goes straight through his brainstem, blasting a sickening pink mist out behind the base of his cranium.
His body slumps. His claws retract, leaving ten deep wounds on my chest and shoulders. I shove his dead body off of me, my chest heaving as I catch my breath, watching the cabin as the flames devour it, the structure eventually collapsing in on itself, sending up a wild spray of sparks like a gigantic campfire.
Slowly but surely, the feeling and strength returns to my legs. As I stand up, something moves around the side of the burning cabin. I tense, my reflexes ready for danger. But then, in the flickering orange light, I see that it’s Reese.
