But she wasn’t about to risk her life by getting
cocky. It was a lucky strike. She knew it. He was still
faster and stronger, but she’d had the element of surprise. And that was gone now.
She spun and sprinted flat out for the back door. She
was running from him, and from herself. What the
fuck was wrong with her that something inside her
wasgladto see him? Glad he wasn’t dead. Or butchered. Or skinned. She vaulted the couch, one foot on
the seat, the other slamming the back until the whole
thing tipped over exactly as she wanted, carrying her
forward while creating an obstacle in his path.
Her blood pounded in her ears.
Almost there. She reached out with her numbed
hand, scrabbling for the doorknob.
Almost.
There.
He grabbed a hank of her hair, yanked her up short
and hauled her back against the solid wall of his body.
He wasn’t even breathing hard.
Because he wasn’t human. She had to remember
160
SINS OF THE HEART
that. For all the red blood that had poured from his
thigh, he wasn’t human.
But then again, neither was she. Not exactly. Not
anymore.
He yanked on her hair again, harder. Her scalp
prickled and throbbed. Figuring he expected a struggle,
she let herself go limp, hoping to throw him off balance.
But he seemed to expect that, as well, holding her weight
easily.
