“Where’s...Colin?”
“He’s theirs now.” Before Farren could ask what he meant and whotheywere, he flicked the knife in a half circle right over her ribs, and the wound burned like nothing she had ever felt. Not like before. Not even like the time her wolf had fought her way out of a building consumed by flames.
What was happening to her? Her thoughts fuzzed, and it was like someone else was trying to force her to obey. To lie still. To accept this madman carving her up like she was his canvas.
“No!” Farren wailed, and Fergus jerked back, dropped the knife, and started to pace once more.
“My air. I need my air.” He reached into his pocket for a bottle of pills, tossed three into his mouth, and crunched them like candy. “Ya’ cannot fight them, wolf. I tried. Ya’ need to help me now. Help me get my air.”
“No.” The word escaped on a snarl, and she kicked at him, but she was too weak, and he launched himself on top of her, punching and thrashing her until at least two ribs snapped and her forearm broke with a twisting pain that spiraled from her shoulder to her fingertips.
And all of a sudden, he stopped. Just…calmly rose, spun on a heel, and headed for the door. “Ya’ need to understand. And ya’ will.”
The whole dark, dirty room shook, and Farren closed her eyes, reaching for her wolf.
Please. Fight. He can’t keep ya’ inside me forever.
She’d always talked to her beast. For as long as she could remember. Her mum had too. Even though her da’ never understood why. She knew the animal could hear her. The sleek, white wolf was her best friend. Half of her soul, of her very existence. The only being who’d ever understood her.
The wolf howled, long and low, a desperate, feral sound, and tried to claw her way free. Farren’s skin tingled. Just the faintest hint.
Yes. Keep going, ya’ badass bitch. We’re not just going to lie down and die. Ya’ hear me?
The wolf fought harder, trying to tear Farren apart from the inside out. She welcomed the pain. Embraced it. The bastard would die. Because it was him or her, and there was no way she was leaving this world with some fucking symbol carved into her side.
And controlled by another? Fuck that.
Her skin started to burn, and her bones felt like they were about to crumble into dust. She let out a high-pitched scream, and her neck cracked. One vertebrae. Two. Three. Four.
Her clothes. She had to get out of her clothes.
I’m tryin’. I know it hurts.
The wolf whined, and Farren’s legs shattered. Her fingernails sharpened into claws, and she sliced the ropes binding her wrists, then went to work on her black leather pants, tearing them at her hips until they were no more than shreds.
Finally freed, her wolf crawled towards the door. So weak from loss of blood. She needed to eat. Needed to sleep. Needed to get out of this fucking place.
The door wouldn’t budge. But Farren started to dig. The earth was soft. Almost muddy. Easy for her beast to tear through with nails and paws and teeth. She spit out huge mouthfuls, the taste bitter. Imbued with some evil sort of magic Farren couldn’t understand. Not in this form.
She could think. She had her human faculties. And would for at least a day or so. After that…if she couldn’t shift back, her thoughts would dull. But not yet. Under the door would be easiest, and after less than an hour—she thought—she wriggled her lupine body beneath the metal frame.
Limping slowly up a set of stairs, she emerged into a cloudy night, no moon to light her way.
She had no idea where she was. Or how far she’d been taken from Lahinch or her home. Scenting the air, she tried to find Colin, but all she could smell were Fergus and the sea.
Her wolf started to run—if anyone could call what the animal was doing running—and she didn’t stop until she simply couldn’t push herself any longer.
A tall copse of cedar stood against the edge of the cliff, and Farren staggered over to it and slunk behind the large trunks. Her wolf collapsed, and she stared up at the branches swaying in the wind.
She’d done it. She’d escaped somehow. But her survival depended on her ability to hide—and keep moving—and she wasn’t sure she could do either.
A twig snapped, and she jerked, tried to get up, and fell over again with a small whimper.
“Easy now.” The man’s raspy voice was familiar, and she tried to place it. To remember his name. “Old Paddy’s here. He’ll take care of ya’.”
Paddy.
Doolin’s oldest and most mysterious resident. The daft man spoke in riddles. Half the time, Farren was convinced his rational mind had fled decades ago. But still, she trusted him, though she couldn’t explain why.
