Page 73 of Hunted

Most of those chaotic thoughts revolved around Nic and Luke.

If only they were here, everything would be okay. They’d fix this. They’d save her.

They would take her into their arms, and she would cry. It wouldn’t matter that she had potentially just killed Christian because they would all be together, and she would be okay.

She was sobbing silently as she backed away from the door. Christian’s big, hulking form lay unmoving on the floor.

This is it. This is how you die. Anonymously, in a shitty motel room where no one knows your name. Just take out as many of them as you can.

The door rattled again, and she frowned.

Why don’t they just take it off the hinges?

Abigail almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the thought.

She lifted the lamp high, as though she was holding a baseball bat.

Her hands, arms, chest, and upper legs were coated with blood and brain matter.

Her hands were sticky as the blood began congealing.

A wave of nausea washed over her, making her dizzy.

Later on, Abigail would realize that it was a miracle she hadn’t had a heart attack as she waited for that door to open because her heart was beating so hard and fast she thought it would burst.

Chapter 31

Abigail

Abigailbrandishedthetablelamp in her hand, gripping it so tightly she could feel her knuckles turning white. Her eyes bulged, chest hurt, and breathing accelerated. She looked back at the bloody pulp of a man—beast—she had slain, and her heart ached for Luke. He’d lost a father, regardless of what he had done. Then the grisly reality of the situation came crashing back to her.

Blood was everywhere. This wasn’t normal. She started to think of what a civilian might think of this if they should find her in the room, blood and viscera decorating the ceiling, before reminding herself that she needed to stay in the moment. There was a bigger threat, and it was more present than housekeeping or police.

The door was still rattling, now more frantically than before. She held the lamp higher, looking back over the room and planning an exit strategy. If more assailants burst through the door, she would need to force open the window. She wasn’t sure if motel windows opened, but she’d break it if she had to.

It was her only way out if she needed to run. She could sense multiple shifters beyond the door but was too focused on survival to interpret their scents. A single raw moment of impaired judgment could spell her end at the hands of a vengeful mob.

She wasn’t even aware of the pain anymore. Her heart beat like a stereo system, pulsing loudly and erratically. She was so cold. She could feel ice running down her spine and along her shoulders and neck. She just wanted to be out of this moment and into another one, even if that moment was worse than this one. The not knowing rattled her.

She began backing up, her gaze not leaving the door, pupils dilated and adrenaline coursing through her veins. She bared her teeth. If they wanted a fight, she’d fight to her grave.

That’s when the shaking stopped and the wood splintered as the door splintered open.

Good,she thought. So, they’d finally resorted to taking the door off its hinges. She braced herself for the inevitable assault, limbering up her muscles.

The door swung open and before her were not a pack of shifters looking to rip her to shreds for her betrayal, but Dominic and… she closed her eyes and heaved the deepest breath she’d produced in weeks…Luke.

That’s when she realized what she was standing in front of, and as the urgency of her situation shifted, she could feel the pain entering her in waves.

First, she felt the physical pain as she crumpled to the ground and thought she might have blacked out before her body jolted her awake. Then the trauma of what she’d had to do crashed over her, and she knew that she would never be the same. She had taken a life.

The life of Luke’s father.

Shock hung in their wide-eyed stares as they saw the horrific scene before them. She wished they’d say something, but time slowed to a crawl. In their eyes, she saw not just horror, but the reflection of a monster — herself.

The lamp fell to the ground with a thud, and as her grip relaxed, she could see where she’d driven her fingernails into flesh, leaving small gashes.

“I’m s-sorry!” she stammered, “I-I didn’t… He just—”

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