Page 74 of The Hive Queen

For the first time in my life, magic affects me, and it fills me with a sense of helplessness beyond my inability to get my limbs to cooperate.

How do people deal with this kind of thing?

I need tomove.

But no matter how hard I try, my muscles refuse to work.

The man vanishes through the door to the stairwell, taking Flint with him.

The door slams shut behind him, and the buzzing cuts off.

With a gasp, I lurch to my feet and stumble after them, but the second I yank open the door, the buzzing invades my mind once more.

I stumble against the railing, narrowly avoiding tipping over the top before I fall to the hard concrete.

Dazed, I track the man’s movements as he plods down the stairs, taking each turn methodically, Flint dangling from his arms.

Come on.Move.

My muscles twitch, and I crawl toward the stairs. I can’t let him take Flint.

Darkness slithers through me, slipping along my bones and creeping into my vision. I black out, and when my vision clears, I find myself several flights down the stairs.

Did I fall down the stairs? Numbness fills my body, making it impossible to gauge if I hurt myself.

The man’s footsteps still echo in the stairwell, so I didn’t black out for long.

I strain toward the next set of stairs, my hand trembling, but my muscles listening at last.

Darkness sweeps in once more, but I keep a death grip on my consciousness and grasp the railing, pulling myself forward.

I stumble and fall down the last flight of stairs, my hold on the railing the only thing that keeps me from landing on my face.

The door closes, cutting off the buzzing, and I lunge forward before my legs are ready.

I slam hard into the door and fumble with the handle, my fingers twitching and struggling to turn the knob.

By the time I make it into the lobby, the front door is already swinging shut.

Teeth gritted, I chase after him. There are weapons in the van. He won’t get away with Flint.

Bursting out onto the street, I spot the man lumbering down the block past the van. The vehicle shakes, and frantic barking comes from inside.

I stumble, tripping and falling, to reach the van and fumble the door open.

Anny launches out, her claws scrambling against the sidewalk as she races after Flint.

I half fall into the van, reaching behind the seat, but the place Marc keeps his shotgun is empty. Falling onto the seat, I search beneath the bench, but all I find is the first aid kit.

With a growl of frustration, I yank open the glove box and uncover a flare gun. Or is it a portal gun? Sending the guy straight to the cabin won’t do me any good.

I pop open the back and see a regular flare cartridge loaded.

Snapping it back into place, I straighten from the van.

Anny has her teeth locked in the man’s pant leg, her paws scrambling at the sidewalk as she shakes her head furiously, but her small body isn’t strong enough to stop him.

I lift my arm to take aim, breathe out, and pull the trigger.

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