Taken by Storm
Page 33

The thought came out of nowhere. I’d spent enough time worrying—and trying not to worry—about Griffin that I hadn’t thought much about the alternative, yet now I knew beyond knowing that if I ran, this thing would follow.
A hand clamped over my arm. Chase. He didn’t want me going anywhere. Our eyes locked, and we stood there, staring at each other, neither one of us willing to give.
On the far side of the room, cracks began spreading along the surface of the window. They spiraled outward, and then there was a whoosh of air, and glass exploded inward. The shards rained down, embedding themselves in skin—mine, the others’—tiny, razor-sharp, incessant.
If we stayed here, this thing might pick us off one by one. We couldn’t see it, couldn’t touch it, couldn’t fight back. Short of decapitation, Lake and Chase would survive, but Caroline and Jed were a different story.
Maddy’s baby was a different story.
Griff’s close, Bryn, but he can’t break through. Lake’s words were punctuated by the rumbling sound of the dresser, vibrating against the floor. Whoever or whatever this is, it’s shutting him out.
Griffin had been telling the truth—about everything. I’d doubted him, doubted Lake—
The top drawer of the dresser flew outward, crashing against the opposite wall with enough force that it splintered into pieces.
Another drawer. Then another. Shards of glass from the mirror. The nightstand.
In the middle of the room, Jed straightened suddenly, and his eyes narrowed, his pupils pulsing. There was something almost reptilian about his stare, but as the Shadow tore the room to pieces, debris biting into my skin, Maddy’s, Caroline’s—Jed’s posture changed from defensive to offensive.
Our assailant might not have been solid, but his makeshift weapons were. Bleeding adrenaline and power, Jed lashed out with a roundhouse kick, shattering one of the dresser drawers. A piece of debris became a staff in his hands, and then he was nothing but a blur of motion, deflecting projectiles with agility and speed that were beyond that, even, of a Were.
Run. Run, and it will chase me. I couldn’t shake the idea. What was happening in this room wasn’t our killer’s MO. It hadn’t Shifted yet. It hadn’t laid a ghostly hand on any of us directly.
Maybe it wasn’t used to facing off against groups.
That thought unlocked another one in my mind, a memory: the victim in Winchester was a girl. A teenage girl. Human. Before she had been reduced to blood and bones, she might have looked a little something like me: brown hair, tan skin….
The Wyoming victim had been a boy. A teenager. A human.
Most killers had a type. If this ghost—Shadow, whatever—was thirsting for prey, of all the people in this room, Caroline and I were the only two who might suffice.
Human. Teenagers.
Run, and it will chase me.
I ran. I jumped through the empty frame of a shattered glass door into air so humid, it clung like sweat to my skin. I ran harder, ran faster, ran like something was on my heels.
Come and get me, I thought. This was what our killer wanted, wasn’t it? One human, alone? At his mercy? Defenseless?
If I’d miscalculated, I’d just left the others to face the Shadow down alone. And if I was right, I might have just traded my life for theirs. I had no way of fighting this thing, no plan.
I could only hope that if I drew the monster out, Lake might be able to help Griffin break through, and together, they might be able to do to this Shadow whatever it had done to Griffin, send it wherever he was now.
Red, red, red.
I stopped fighting my racing pulse, the acid in my throat. I let it come. I beckoned my Resilience. I lost myself in—
Fear. The way it smells. The way it tastes. A small white room. No windows. No doors.
The change was instant and unmistakable. The sound of my own heart beating was drowned out by things a normal girl wouldn’t have been able to hear: the slight wind working its way through each blade of grass; gravel and rocks under my feet; heavy breathing, all around me.
It was here.
I’d run. The Shadow had followed. Had I not already been in Resilient mode, that would have flipped the switch, but this time, I felt the rush of power like a current instead of a wave. Each limb, each muscle, each cell of my body felt it separately.
It’s coming.
I ducked, falling into a roll and landing in a crouch. I couldn’t see the Shadow, couldn’t make out its form, but I knew where it was. I could hear its silence, feel the bloodlust.
I lunged to my left. It charged right. I dove forward. It came at me from behind. In a world of our own making, we danced, the monster and me.
Fight. Fight. Fight.
Harder, faster, farther, more. I couldn’t keep going like this indefinitely. Eventually, the Shadow would land a blow. Eventually, my knack would drain my body of everything it had.
Fight. Fight. Fight.
Without warning, the onslaught stopped. I felt nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing. A week ago, I might have lost hold of the state I was in—no immediate danger, no power, but I didn’t let myself.
Couldn’t let myself.
Flashing out—as Jed called it—took energy. If I fell back into an ordinary state, getting here again would cost me. Maybe this thing really was gone.
But maybe it was waiting.
So I stayed right where I was, my mind in a room with nothing but the sound of heavy breathing, the smell of rancid blood. Endless, infinite, overwhelming.
Fear.
I stood perfectly still, caught up in a nightmare I’d made for myself, playing possum and waiting.
Come and get me, I thought.
The Shadow obliged, but this time, its form felt nothing like a person. This time, it felt like a wolf.
It hadn’t wanted me to hear it Shifting, so I hadn’t—but if I’d been outclassed before, I was completely screwed now. I couldn’t keep running. Couldn’t keep dodging. The world settled into slow motion around me, but it didn’t matter.
Paws caught my shoulder, knocked me down. Nails as sharp as knives dug into my shoulder, tearing through fabric and into skin. I felt its breath on my face and twisted viciously to one side.
Teeth tore into my shoulder, instead of my throat.
Survive. Survive. Have to—
I was still fighting, still scrambling, still holding out and holding on, but I lost track of the details—of time and space and everything but the incredible need.
To get out of there.
To get away.
To live.
I couldn’t see anything but red, couldn’t feel anything but fear and power and red, red, red—
And then I was lying on the ground, and people were yelling my name, and the thing I’d been fighting—the thing that had sunk its teeth into me—was gone.
Vision came first, then exhaustion, then pain—a strange, numb pain, halfway between frostbite and a phantom limb.
“Bryn.” The last thing I heard before losing consciousness was Chase saying my name—his voice aching and angry, equal parts boy and wolf.
The last thing I saw was Griffin standing over my body.
And then I was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I DREAMED ABOUT NOTHING. NOTHING BUT THE SKY overhead and the dirt under my feet. Nothing but rain that hung in the air without falling.
Nothing but the moon.
“If you’re dead, Miss Ali is going to be really, truly, exceptionally pissed.”
I turned sideways and found Dev standing beside me. For a second, I thought he was like the raindrops and the dirt and the moon, but then he took a step toward me.
“Bronwyn.” His voice was dangerously pleasant.
“Yes?”
“Picture, if you will, my feelings about Pierce Brosnan’s performance in the Mamma Mia movie, circa 2008.”
I winced.
“Now,” he continued, “picture someone forcing me to grow a mini-mustache and setting my entire summer wardrobe aflame.”
Uh-oh.
“Dev,” I started to say, but he didn’t give me the chance to finish.
“And now,” he said, closing the space between us, “tell me what the hell is going on here.”
This was Devon in full-on alpha mode—a hint to the person he’d someday be.
“It’s not that bad,” I told him.