Page 48 of The Last Sanctuary
She had no idea, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. “Then I’ll kill you now and take whatever head start I can get.”
“I won’t say anything.” His voice was steady. He didn’t sound afraid anymore. “Isn’t that worth the risk? If you kill me, they will hunt you down. Whether you have ten seconds or ten minutes, they will find you. If you let me go, there’s a chance I’m true to my word, and they won’t know where to look for you, or that you were even here tonight.”
She despised his logic, but it rang true.An image of Shadow’s jaws closing around her throat flashed through her mind.An alpha was the one with the power to kill, but who chose not to.
She didn’t want to kill this guy, even though she was fairly certain he was lying through his pretty teeth. She didn’t want blood on her hands. Not yet, anyway.
He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. “Are you going to let me go now?”
Abruptly, she was aware of how close she was to him, his breath rustling her hair, the hardness of his body pressed againsthers, his muscles spare and wiry. His piercings shone in the dim light when he tilted his head slightly. She could make out the individual lashes brushing his cheeks when he blinked.
Her breath caught in her throat. “No. I can’t.”
“Yes,” he said. “You can. Because you know I’m right.”
“You’re the bad guy.”
“That’s a matter of perspective.”
“Tell that to Carl. Or Phil. That was on you. You nearly killed him.”
“I wassavinghim—from Dekker. Dekker would have killed him, too, if I hadn’t stepped in. Better to be knocked out than shot in the head. That wound is pretty hard to heal from. I never would have murdered that old man.”
She stared at him in the dark, trying to wrap her mind around his words. They made a terrible sort of sense.
“Damien!” a muffled voice shouted from down the hall.
“You’re running out of time,” he said, his voice infuriatingly calm. But his frequent swallows betrayed his nervousness. He might not sound afraid, but deep down, he was. He didn’t want to die, either.
She watched the blade ride up and down his throat. Damn it. She hated that he was right. She hated that she didn’t trust this guy as far as she could throw him. But in the end, she had little choice. Only one option made sense. These men would come barreling into this room in a minute; she had to be gone when they did.
“Fine,” she said grudgingly. Inhaling sharply, she stepped back, removing the knife from his neck but keeping it up and ready, half-expecting him to scream. Or attack her.
He did neither. He stood, hands loose at his sides, his head tilted. The way he looked at her—wary but curious, fascinated even—it was jarring. She didn’t like it. She wasn’t one of the captive animals meant to be stared at, examined with impunity.
“What’s your name?”
“None of your damn business.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. He took a small step toward her. “Tell me your name.”
Fear jolted her heart. She pointed her knife at him. “Stay back!”
That cunning look was back on his face. Like she was the chicken in the hen house, and he was the fox in search of dinner. But that wasn’t quite right, either. “You’ve stayed alive all this time. I’ve seen so many people die. Strong, capable people. How did you do it?”
From the kitchen, someone shouted. “Damien! Hurry the hell up! Let’s go!”
Raven and Damien froze. They were four feet apart. He had the room to shout before she could reach him. Would he yell now? Betray his promise and reveal her presence? How many seconds did she have? Five, ten? Not enough.
“Run,” he said. “Run, and don’t look back.”
She ran. Feeling far too exposed and vulnerable with her back to the enemy. Sprinting to the window, she clambered up and out awkwardly with the small knife still in her right hand.
Her heart raced, waiting for a bullet to the back. None came.
She nearly stabbed herself as she shoved her body over the sill and tumbled to the ground. Scrambling to her feet, she flipped the pocketknife closed and shoved it in her pocket, then hoisted her backpack and the rifle with the burlap sack over her shoulders. She fled without a backward glance.
The fog had thickened. It drifted between the exhibits in hazy white ribbons, making visibility poor. Ahead and fifty yards to the right, a few lights bobbed like spotlights in the murky gloom.
