A part of her recognized that her claws were out. Her fangs, too.
“This isn’t real,” she murmured, tears pouring down her face. She didn’t care if the clown heard her. “You’re having a breakdown. This is just a hallucination. You’re going to open your eyes and this will all be gone.”
The laughter suddenly ceased and was replaced with a slow, soft chuckle that was ten times worse.
“I already told you this is real,” the voice whispered as the demented chuckles continued. “As real as our first meeting in that graveyard. Only this time, things will end with you bleeding to death at my feet.”
With a sob, Rachel scrambled to her feet and fled the kitchen at warp speed. She should have run for the door, but her inner werewolf took over and pointed her toward the bedroom—and the weapons in there. Though what the hell she was supposed to shoot was beyond her.
“Run, little wolf.” The clown’s leering grin mocked her as she sped past her dresser and the large mirror attached to the top of it.
Rachel ignored the taunting voice, slowing long enough to wrap her claw-tipped fingers around the mirror atop the dresser, ripping it off with a growl and slinging it out the bedroom door and into the living room, where it smashed into pieces.
Scrambling for the nightstand, she grabbed the .380 she’d left on the top, then yanked open the top draw and grabbed her Sig. Somehow, she ended up in bed, back against the headboard, handguns pointed in two different directions, steady despite the terror tearing through her like a storm.
“You can’t run and you can’t hide,” the voice said, the deep sound seeming to fill the very air around her. “You’ll never be free until I’m done with you, and by then, you’ll be begging for me to end it all.”
Rachel screamed so loud and so hard it felt like her vocal cords were being ripped out. The laughter continued no matter how much she begged the monster to leave her alone. A little voice inside told her to get the phone and call her pack for help. But the thought of getting off the bed and going into any part of her apartment that might have a reflective surface terrorized her so much her body refused to even consider it.
So instead, she sat there on her bed, hugging her knees, weapons in both hands, sobbing uncontrollably as endless waves of fear washed through her body.
* * *
Knox grinned as he guided his motorcycle across town. A little while ago, he’d driven Ben home in one of the DAPS vehicles. It had been interesting, to say the least. He’d expected to spend the time talking to Ben about how to excavate his butt out of Addy’s friend zone, but instead, the kid had used the entire drive attempting to convince Knox that he had a legitimate shot at getting Officer Bennett to be his girlfriend. Knox would have laughed if it wouldn’t have hurt the boy’s feelings.
So, he’d bitten his tongue, nodded his head at the appropriate moments, and agreed he’d give it a shot. As soon as an opportunity presented itself, he’d let Rachel know he was interested in her.
“You shouldn’t wait,” Ben told him firmly, his face far more serious than a sixteen-year-old kid should ever be. “I waited around and look where it got me. Addy could have gotten hurt. Heck, she could have died. You should go see Officer Bennett tonight.”
Knox pointed out it wasn’t quite that dramatic for him and Rachel. She wasn’t in danger. Besides, it would be well after midnight by the time he got to her place. She’d be asleep and wouldn’t be thrilled to have him show up on her doorstep.
“You really sure about that?” Ben asked.
“What part?” Knox wanted to know.
“Any of it,” Ben said, sounding wise beyond his years.
After dropping off the teenage Yoda, Knox had gone home, changed clothes, then jumped on his bike, headed for Rachel’s place. He had no idea what the hell he was going to say when he got there. But something inside—maybe his inner werewolf—told him this was the right thing to do. Given his track record of decision-making as of late, he was slightly leery of this approach, but he hoped if he let his wolf make the call, the outcome would be better this time.
He thought the ride over in the cold night air would clear his head and help him come up with a clever reason why he was showing up at Rachel’s place. Unfortunately, by the time he pulled to a stop in an empty space in front of her apartment complex, he was still at a loss.
Killing the engine, he climbed off the bike and took off his helmet, leaving it on the seat, then walked into the building. As he took the stairs up to her floor, he tried to come up with a plan.
The first thing to do was knock on her door, of course. But what would he say when she opened it? Especially if she was pissed about him waking her up. Did he charge in boldly and admit how much he’d enjoyed the kiss they’d shared? Or should he slip into the situation a little more smoothly, maybe say he wanted to make sure she was okay after tracking Addy and Aaron through the school? Because he was pretty sure that red glow in her eyes meant she’d lost time again.
He was still trying out different variants ofare you okaywhen he heard what sounded like whimpering from somewhere on the second floor.
Rachel.
He didn’t know how he knew it was her, but he did. She was in trouble.
Knox took the last five steps in a single leap, claws and fangs extending as he raced down the hall. He was grateful that it was so late and there was no one around to see him. Not that he cared if there was. Rachel needed him and he’d do anything—face anything—to get to her.
The whimper turned into screams before he was even halfway to her door. Didn’t anyone else hear them? But then he remembered her saying she had nightmares a lot. Maybe her neighbors had gotten used to it.
Knox didn’t slow as he approached her door, instead lowering his shoulder and slamming through it at full speed. He’d thought he’d take the whole thing down, but the door swung open, dumping him into the middle of a war zone.
Pieces of wood and shattered glass from a mirror covered the living room floor, as if something had exploded. But before he could even consider how all of that crap had gotten there, another scream from the bedroom ripped through the apartment. He kicked the door closed behind him without thinking, then pulled his Glock from his holster and headed for the bedroom, expecting the worst.
