Page 14 of Feral Mates
The flat tire had been changed.
I stared down at the tire iron in my hand. Maybe whoever had performed the nice deed had used one they’d had with them. That had to be it. The lug nuts had been tight, so much so no human hand could have enough torque to break the connection.
Another even weirder cold prickle skittered down my back all the way to my toes. Who would do that? Dr. Death? No way. A security guard? Maybe. If not, that left…
Thank God, my keys were in the ignition. I was so lucky the escaped prisoners had left my car for me.
Right. As if that would happen.
And as if they were prisoners.
No, I wasn’t going down that road.
I grabbed the bag of clothes, hurrying into them. With my heart still racing, I jumped into the driver’s seat, saying a tiny prayer my car would start.
She did.
Thank God.
Just before pulling away, I glanced into the rearview mirror.
I could swear I was able to make out three sets of amber eyes, only they weren’t human.
They were canine.
CHAPTER 5
Savannah
Hunger.
Unbridled.
Unusual.
Unacceptable.
Yet that’s what I’d felt since returning to my apartment, an incessant need for something that remained unnerving. Even now after having spent the better part of Saturday attempting both to forget and to analyze what had occurred, I was still in a strange fog.
That wasn’t like me. I was organized. I analyzed everything I could make sense of situations that either confused or terrified others.
Not this time.
A tingle swept down my spine for the fiftieth time, tiny prickles of electricity continuing deep inside my core. While the effects were slowly ebbing from where they’d been a day before, I could feel them.
And the hunger remained, gnawing at me like… claws.Girl. You need to get a grip. What you’re thinking isn’t possible.
Normal people in a situation like this would have immediately contacted the police. Even before leaving the scene.
Not this girl.
No, this girl had fled the scene, ignoring every bit of common sense.
Was I worried about the embarrassment? Maybe a little bit. I could only imagine what story would be spun if some reporter hoping for a twisted sense of fame managed to get ahold of the police report.
Or how my fellow colleagues would react to hearing the news.
I jumped into the shower after locking the doors and checking all the windows. I’d even pushed a short bookcase in front of the door. As if that cheap fiberboard piece of furniture would keep out three burly savages.
