Page 32 of Witch's Wolf

Damn it, Stacy. I let my guard down for one second.

Her words slam me right back into the past, straight to the part I never want to relive. The part that still hurts, no matter how much time passes. A sharp retort rises to my tongue, ready to slice, ready to make her regret bringing it up. I open my mouth to cut, but then I see the black Hilux truck in the opposite lane.

Sam.

My pulse jumps. I honk, easing off the gas, but the truck rolls past without stopping. He doesn’t even slow. My heart stuttersas I watch him in the rearview mirror, waiting for the flash of brake lights. He has to slow for the upcoming hairpin turn. The lights never come. He doesn’t turn.

“No,” I gasp.

In my rearview the truck jolts off the road. For a second, time fractures. I see the Hilux pitching forward. Its nose dipping. Then it vanishes. A sickening thud punches through the night. Then another.

“Oh, God…” Stacy exclaims, her voice barely a whisper as she twists to look back. “What the hell got into him?”

I can’t answer. My mind is a white-hot blur, panic surging like wildfire through my veins.

I slam my foot on the accelerator. The tires shriek as the car surges, turning. Hands locked on the wheel, I don’t think I just drive.

I have to get to him.

That damn cliff doesn’t leave much hope. I’m not stopping to call for help because by the time an ambulance arrives, it could already be too late.

The brakes screech as the car skids. I’m out and running almost before it fully stops. Dust assaulting my eyes and nose as I run toward the cliff.

“Sam!” I scream, my throat tearing with the force of his name.

18

SAM

Asharp, sterile scent fills my nose. Antiseptic and latex with something metallic lurking beneath it. I force my eyes open. White ceiling. Two long bars of flickering, cold fluorescent light.

A monitor beeps somewhere to my left, each spike of the green line punctuating the pounding in my skull. My body feels disconnected like I’m floating in a haze of dull pressure with something sharper occasionally stabbing underneath.

My right leg is heavy. Too heavy. It has to be a cast. My arms sting, a dozen tiny cuts that burn against the crisp sheets. A tube tugs at the skin of my left hand, taped down, feeding me something I can’t taste. I try to move, but my limbs respond like they belong to someone else. Then, I see the shape.

Her? Erica?

A curvy silhouette at the foot of the bed, her form framed by the harsh light. It takes a second for my vision to clear, to make sense of the shape. Then disappointment floods my thoughtsas sight clears and I see Monica. She steps forward, her smile bright, her voice a warm contrast to the sterile air.

“It’s good to have you back, Sam,” she says.

I blink. My tongue is thick, my throat raw.

“Back?” The word scrapes out, hoarse.

“You had an accident,” she says, her expression softening.

Accident. The word rattles around in my skull, but it doesn’t make sense.

I try to sit up, but pain lances through my head like a blade, and I groan, slumping back into the bed. I touch my head and my fingers brush against fabric. Bandages. There’s a dull, searing ache beneath them, a steady throb pulsing with every heartbeat.

“Where am I?”

“Shandaken Medical Center,” Monica says gently. “Raul’s outside. He can fill you in.”

Raul.

His familiar presence barrels into the room before I can process more. Heavy boots. A shadow stretching across the linoleum. Then his voice fills my head like a cannon booming.

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