Glass shattered downstairs before Pun hollered and choked, and Drea screamed.
He bolted into the back bedroom, shoved the balcony door open, and leapt over the railing, dropping two stories like a man who’d rather break both legs than be caged again.
He hit the lawn hard, rolled, and ran fast. Enhanced-fast.
He tore across three yards and vaulted an eight-foot fence, landing in an iced over garden bed.
Several sets of footsteps thundered after him—not stumbling—closing in terrifyingly fast.
Without breaking stride, he dipped low and ripped a solar lantern stake from the frozen mulch and hurled it backward without sight or aim, only instinct and desperation.
The man behind him swore as he dropped into a roll, and sprang right back up in one fluid motion. But Scar heard the stake tear through fabric before it lodged into a tree trunk.
He didn’t slow.
He came up on a six-foot fence and leaped over it, landing badly but still didn’t stop.
Two blurs appeared on both sides. Two more at his back, and he knew he couldn’t outrun them all.
He was almost at the main road, hoping he could bob-and-weave through the traffic and—
Pffft.
“Fuck!”
Something sharp pierced his thigh.
His leg seized, muscles locked. His stride faltered before his right leg buckled. Cold slammed into his jaw as he hit the frosted grass.
The world tilted before everything slowed.
Through the clouded edges of his vision, he saw him.
The devil’s angel.
A tall figure loomed over him, motionless and wrapped in a long black trench as if the night itself had molded around him.
His hood was pulled so low over his face that Scar couldn’t see his eyes, only darkness staring down on him.
No, no, no. Please. I can’t go back.
Scar cursed and clawed at the ground, trying to get up.
A gun he’d never seen before was pointed at his chest.
There was a quick hiss, like a snake striking, and the earth beneath him softened until he thought he’d melt through it.
More cloaked, faceless figures came into view.
The dark angel knelt beside him.
His voice—so deep and soothing it was frightening—reached him even through the fog.
“You’re a survivor, and you have good instincts. I look forward to honing that raw talent.”
Scar blinked at him, wanting to say something, but his tongue sat heavy in his mouth like a slab of stone.
“Did you see him throw that damn thing?” One of them laughed. “Fuckin’ hell.”
