Page 72 of Hunted

Only through Dominic and Luke’s careful love of her had she moved past the hurt and agony.

But now the worst thing that could happen was happening.

He was doing itagain.

And this time, he meant to do things to her that Abigail knew she might not come back from. She wanted to retch with disgust and anger as she thought about what Christian really wanted.

And as she looked for a way out, a way to defend herself, a way to not get hurt in one of the worst possible ways, she could not push away one, painful thought.

He must have always been this way. Going feral just made it worse, but he must have always been a predator. He must have always been this way.

Tears burned in her eyes as she thought about her relationship with Luke, and the way it had been tainted by Christian’s madness.

By his wickedness.

He also wasn’t giving up. He crawled toward her and hovered over her, leaning down again to force a kiss on her.

At that moment, Abigail knew she had two choices.

One: Allow her remembered trauma and fear to supersede her efforts to survive.

Two: SURVIVE.

She screamed then, as shrilly and loudly as she could. Hopefully, someone in the damned motel would have a conscience and come running to help her. Then Abigail grabbed the collar of Christian’s shirt with both hands and yanked it backward, choking him.

He spluttered and rolled off her.

Abigail jumped up and pulled the lamp off the bedside table, wrenching it out of the wall by the socket.

She heard Christian behind her but did not give him any time to recover before she was bringing the lamp, heavy as cement in her hands, down on his head.

Abigail would later be completely unsure of how many times she hit Christian with the lamp.

In the moment, all she was aware of was the blood splattering all over her.

Later on, when she looked properly at the motel room around her, she would notice the blood in an arc on the ceiling.

Later on, she would shudder at the brutality of her attack.

But in the moment, she didn’t feel any anger or hatred.

Every time she brought the lamp down on Christian’s head, she had no thoughts of vengeance in her mind.

She was simply afraid.

Because she knew as long as he was alive, she would never be safe. Or free.

Her fear threatened to choke her, forcing a lump into her throat and making her want to cough. When Christian finally went limp, she wasn’t sure if he was dead or alive. She could not tell if he was breathing but could not see any movement.

Abigail was about to drop the lamp, about to burst into tears, about to run to the bathroom to throw up when the doorknob to the motel room rattled.

She heard whispered voices on the other side, and the doorknob rattled again and again.

His betas. They’ve come to see him, come to torture me. They’ll see he’s dead and they’ll kill me.

No way was she letting that happen.

She lifted the lamp, and a thousand thoughts ran through her mind as she prepared to defend herself.

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