Suddenly, headlights cut through the darkness.
I jump back, pressing myself against a tree on the edge of the road. My pulse hammers in my ears as a black sedan rolls past, slowly, and I catch the flash of an insignia on the driver's jacket.
Shadowharbor.
Not the charity one. Not the fake smile and clean hands version they show the world.
The real one.
The kill if you run one.
The car disappears around a bend and I wait.
I need to move. Need to find another way, but my legs feel like they're made of lead and the cold is seeping deeper now, making everything numb.
From across the road, deeper in the woods on the other side, I hear the rumble of an engine.
My head snaps up.
Suddenly, a dark SUV bursts out from the tree line on the opposite side of the road.
Its tires spit gravel, headlights flashing on as it hits the road at an angle that sends my heart slamming against my ribs.
For a split second I just stand there, caught in the glare.
Those lights don’t look like salvation, they look like a spotlight.
Then the engine roars and instinct takes over.
Run.
I bolt toward the ditch, robe whipping around my legs. The SUV swings its nose toward me, picking up speed. The tires squeal and the vehicle lunges across the road, cutting me off.
I duck the other way and the car swerves.
Doors slam open before it’s even fully stopped. Voices explode into the night as men jump out, yelling in a language I don't recognize.
“Stai! Stai acolo!”
Panic spikes hard enough to make my vision blur and I keep going.
"Stop!" they yell now in English, but I don't.
I decide to head back into the forest so I sprint for the tree line. Footsteps pound on the ground behind me, fast and hard.
I make it about five more feet before a body slams into me from the side.
We hit the ground hard. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. Pain explodes through my ribs and shoulder.
I scream. “No. No, get off!” I gasp, thrashing. I twist and kick, but the man is twice my size and he pins me down with one hand on my chest.
I claw at his face, my nails dragging across skin, and he jerks back with a curse. His grip loosens just enough for me to twist free and I scramble to my feet, lungs burning, legs shaking.
I run ten feet, maybe twelve, when someone grabs my hair and yanks me backward. I fall to the ground and hands grab my wrists, wrenching them behind my back. Another pair of hands closes around my ankle, dragging my leg out when I try to curl into myself and protect my stomach, my ribs, my throat, any vulnerable piece of me.
More hands surround me. “?ine-o!” someone snaps. “Nu o lasa!”
Adrenaline floods me, hot and wild.
