A tiny glass vial sat in my palm, no bigger than my thumb, a dusting of white clinging stubbornly to the inside. My grip on Marion loosened for half a second as I brought it closer, inhaling carefully.
There was a soft, metallic click behind me, barely audible over the generator’s faint hum.
I didn’t have time to turn before the crack split the air. For a fraction of a second, I didn’t feel anything.
Then my leg gave out beneath me and I hit the gravel hard, a strangled grunt tearing from my throat as the vial slipped from my fingers.
Pain followed a heartbeat later. It burned fast and deep, searing outward from my thigh in a way that felt fundamentally wrong.
Marion crouched with unhurried ease and plucked the vial from the gravel. “Lucky I brought this with me,” he said, waving the gun lazily near my head.
The metallic scent hit me then. Silver. My wolf recoiled violently inside me.
I flinched back instinctively, shoulders digging into the gravel as I tried to put distance between myself and the weapon.
Marion’s brow arched, amusement in his eyes. “Oh,” he said softly, “so your kind really doesn’t like this, huh?”
I forced air into my lungs through clenched teeth, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Who are you?”
He ignored the question. Crouching, he grabbed my injured leg and lifted it. A hiss escaped me before I could stop it.
He studied the wound without expression. “Bullet’s still in there,” he said flatly.
The pain didn’t dull. It spread toward my spine, crawling beneath my skin like molten metal, and my vision began to flicker at the edges.
Marion reached into his coat, pulled out a rag, and wrapped it around my thigh. He twisted it tight enough that my jaw locked against a groan.
“Still,” he said almost pleasantly, “wouldn’t want you bleeding everywhere.”
On the last word, he gave the knot a sharp yank. Stars burst behind my eyes. The fabric darkened almost immediately, crimson seeping through.
I glared up at him, fury the only thing keeping me conscious while dizziness and white-hot pain clawed through me.
He studied me briefly. “Can you stand?”
I tried. The moment I shifted, my leg buckled uselessly. I shook my head.
His gaze swept the area and landed on a small flatbed cart stacked with supplies near the far side.
Before I could protest, he slid his hands under my arms and hauled me up, half dragging, half lifting me onto it.
“Stay still,” he said mildly, as if I were nothing more than an unruly dog.
He threw a thick blanket over me. My wolf flickered inside my mind, panic rising but smothered beneath the burning haze.
Chris.
For some reason, all I could think of was that he would wake to an empty room.
The cart jolted as Marion started pushing, gravel crunching under the wheels. Each bump sent another spike of pain through my leg. I tried to keep track of where we were going, counting turns and listening for anything familiar.
But my vision blurred. I caught a faint whiff of exhaust before everything went black.
14
CHRIS
Something warm and wet dragged across my cheek.
