Page 37 of Under Dark Skies

A shot of pride rose from somewhere deep inside. She wasn’t born to this, hadn’t trained for this, and yet she was hanging tough. “You’re kicking ass, you know,” he said.

Her smile showed the statement had touched her. She whispered, “Flatterer.”

It was enough to let him know she was okay—and if she was okay, so was he.

A garbled voice mumbled over the intercom. The system was so bad even he couldn’t pick up most of the speech. He did, however, catch the one phrase he’d been waiting for. “Next stop, five minutes,” it said.

At the door, he motioned Layla in front of him and said, “Watch your step, the space between cars can be tricky. Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind.”

She hit the button,stepped in, and almost fell on her ass when the train rattled especially hard. He caught her, tapped the next door open, and ushered her through. “Told you,” he said.

She pretended she hadn’t heard and made a point of heading straight for the next connection. This time she sailed through and stuck her tongue out at him once they were safely on the other side. He would have chuckled if the odor of the other shifter hadn’t reached him at the same moment.

She was closing in, too fast. Making a clean getaway was looking like an impossible dream.Fuck.

They lurched over to an exit and stood poised to jump out at the first opportunity. The wheels screeched and groaned as the train slowed. Rafe’s pulse quickened as he braced for whatever may come.

They hopped off and took a few wobbling steps before they found their land legs again. The station—little more than a shed—stood dark and deserted.

The seconds ticked by.

He’d almost let hope take root when a figure exited the train, gracefully landing on the concrete slab. Rafe angled his body to shield Layla. His gut had told him it would come to this.

Anything less than a stand-off was inevitable. He’d known it the second he’d first caught the assassin’s stink. The knowledge didn’t make it any easier.

But he was no stranger to the hard way.Fuck it—let’s go.

Thirty-Three

Layla

“Oh, hell, no,” Layla whispered in defeat. Though Rafe had told her the female wolf was on the train, she’d still needed to see her to truly believe it. And no surprise—there was zero comfort to be had in knowing their luck had turned so completely to shit.

Despite the brief nap she’d enjoyed, exhaustion gripped her. Her thoughts felt slow and smothered with cobwebs—like she couldn’t quite understand how the pieces fit together in the scene unfolding before her. She stood, frozen in place, gaping at the woman fast approaching them.

Rafe lunged over to shield her from the other wolf. The move conjured a bolt of clarity that shot through her, shocking her into full awareness. Fear shivered up and down her spine, its icy fingers stabbing into her so hard she shivered.

A fight was the only possible way out. Past skirmishes had taught her it was going to get ugly, fast. And Layla had a terrible feeling only one of the shifters would be walking away this time.

Please, whatever powers are out there and listening, let it be Rafe.“Be careful. I need you—and so do a lot of others,” she said, hoping the fierce love she felt for him was the only thing he’d detect in her voice. He didn’t need to hear her desperation.

The train’s wheels squealed as the engine groaned forward. It pulled away, built up speed, and hurtled off into the night. They were alone.

Rafe tensed into a fighting stance. His body swelled, ripping into more muscle, claws, and teeth as he unleashed his wolf form. “Stay back,” he growled—and Layla couldn’t tell if he meant her, the assassin, or both.

The other woman sped forward, shifting as she moved. She remained eerily silent and kept her focus solely on Rafe. The two circled one another, looking for an opening or some other starting signal Layla couldn’t begin to identify.

She scrambled backward, all the way to the edge of the concrete platform. “Think, girl, think,” she muttered. Where were they going to find help in the middle of nowhere?

Rafe slashed at the other shifter. She dodged the blow and swept out a leg in a vicious kick. He caught the edge of the attack and lost a few inches of ground.

Layla’s heart slammed in her chest. Her throat felt tight, and she gulped in air. Though she wanted to scream bloody murder, she knew it wouldn’t do any good—and worse, it might distract Rafe.

She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if her panic fucked everything up. If Rafe lost, she was done for.This looks very Take-No-Prisoners, and I am not a fighter.

Rafe grunted in pain as his opponent connected with a body blow. He recovered, feinted, and landed a return shot. She recovered all too quickly and closed in again.

The bitter feeling of powerlessness had become a near constant companion. Layla hated it. It was like being a little kid again, at the mercy of those who were stronger and knew more than she did. The nastiest bit to swallow was the fact that though she wanted to stand and fight by her mate’s side, she was too weak.

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