Page 36 of Bad Moon Rising
The world teetered as she sat up, bracing herself against the side when the truck jerked again. Mr. Badass in the front seat may have expected her to be out another eight or more hours from the tranquilizer, but surprise surprise. Lycan metabolism must give her super drug-processing ability in addition to super healing. Guess this meant she believed Roman about her non-human status. And her abductor didn’t know what she was.
She wiggled her hands against the ties.You have to shift.
Shift? Freedom required she turn into whatever it meant to be lycan.
If she didn’t do this, she’d die. Deep in her gut, she wanted to survive. She wanted to see Roman again. He still owed her a kiss to erase the icky feeling of Dom’s lips on hers. How screwed up was that?
Shift. Now.
Something wild rose to the forefront of her brain. Senses sharpened and muscles expanded. The muscles of her legs and arms felt larger, stronger. Her vision in the pitch dark became sharp, using the light from the few holes in the metal shell to see everything.
She easily broke apart the tie around her wrists and the one around her ankles.
A feel of her head informed her it was about the same size, but her teeth were longer. She wanted a mirror.
More than that, she wanted revenge on Mr. Badass driver. Anger thrummed in her veins, more potent than when in human form. Lead by pure undiluted rage, she kicked open the back door as if it were plastic wrap. Bright light blinded her momentarily. It’d been midday when she’d been darted. The sun was low on the horizon. She scaled the roof of the truck to the passenger side without fear. After she gave it a yank, the door flew off its hinges and glided into the middle of the dark highway. In a flash, she slid into the passenger seat and punched the driver before he got a shot off from the Sig aimed at her head. She wrenched his arm upward. The shot pierced the roof. Its noise brutalized her sensitive ears.
The car lurched as it bounced against the containment wall on a curve, throwing her off him. He shot again. She shifted position instantly, but the bullet grazed her left arm. She punched him again, this time harder. Kidnapper was no longer moving. The vehicle whirled out of control. She stared in horror out the windshield.
This was going to hurt.
The truck hit the concrete containment wall dead-on, throwing both her and the unsecured driver through the windshield, over the wall. She rolled down the steep embankment, bouncing off rocks and ping-ponging against trees until ending on a muddy shelf overlooking a wooded ravine.
The vehicle sat wedged hundreds of feet above her between two trees. For endless moments, she watched it, expecting the trees to give and the truck to crash down on top of her. Nothing shifted.
In the silent aftermath, her breaths echoed in her ears. Aches resonated from places she’d never considered could hurt. She gripped both sides of her pounding head and lowered her forehead to her knees as she felt herself transform back to her normal state.
She should be dead. No one survived climbing the top of a moving vehicle and then going through a windshield down a cliff. Unless she wasn’t human.I’m not human.
Blood came away on her hands when she touched her face. Her arm still bled where the bullet hit. A quick examination found an entry and exit wound through her biceps, not a graze as she’d thought but a direct through-and-through hit. Another bullet wound. Another lucky shot.
This one hurt far worse when looking at the small holes oozing blood than it had moments ago. What hurt more was her index finger, which had turned a dark shade of purple red, likely broken or dislocated.
Anger-driven revenge had been a bad option. Lesson learned.
Jumping out of the back of the vehicle would’ve been the smart move, although she suspected the driver would’ve hunted her again. Round two would’ve been guaranteed to be more difficult for her to escape alive unless she had Roman on her side. Would he fight for her? She suspected he’d gone to meet the ones who gave him orders, not that he would say anything about where he headed.
She cradled her head in her hands again as tears flowed. Broken and hurting, maybe this was her sign she should give up.
Somehow, deep in her gut, she knew no one existed to miss her. No one waited for her. No one other than assassins searched for her.
There was Roman, but she represented a burden he’d been saddled with. Some sort of ingrained species honor drove him to help her and watch over her. Sure, there might be a hint of attraction—okay, a shitload of chemistry—but he’d probably be relieved if she lay down and died right here or disappeared from his life.
She stared up at the sky where a gray haze in the distance heralded an approaching storm. Given the freezing air, it’d be ice or snow.
Why is this happening to me?
The idea of a god listening reassured her. She whispered, “Where do I go? What’s the right choice?”
Her arm tingled. She wiped mud off her wrist to expose the tattoo. Roman.
Why was this inked into her skin? She touched the tattoo as if it might activate some long dormant memory. Nerves built up in her stomach, as if this time, something was going to happen. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting.
Nothing surfaced in her mind other than memories of him.
I won’t give up. Even though I might fail, I won’t give in until I figure out who took my memory.
“All right,” she said out loud, nodding. “Not yet.”
