Chapter 1
Amara
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“Who does a girl haveto kill around here to get her hands on some damn ibuprofen?”
Shooting a final glare at the locked glass doors of the inconvenience store, I return to my car, half-falling into the cracked and worn seat. So close, and yet, so far. Might as well have the quote tattooed on my forehead with as often as it taunts me.
Resting my forehead on the steering wheel, I soak up the few precious seconds of coolness against my skin before that’s stolen from me, too. “Overpriced, expired gas station drugs it is.”
Throwing the car into drive, I head out of the nearly abandoned parking lot, taking slow breaths while fighting my wavering vision. Night’s fallen in full force, and the last thing I need is to get into a wreck. Ten minutes later, I’m pulling into one of the prime parking spaces in front of the door, finally catching a break. Tucking the black fabric of my shirt sleeves inside of my leather gloves, I run through the normal precautions on autopilot, already on the verge of overheating and passing out. Honestly, it might be worth spending the money on a motel room simply so I can strip and get a decent night’s sleep for a change.
A strong spring breeze kisses my fevered cheeks for a blissful moment before it whips my ponytail into my face, temporarily blinding me with a dark brown haze. Sputtering and shoving my hair out of my eyes, I tug the door open and make a beeline for the depressingly small section set aside for emergency supplies. Three less-than-stellar options are waiting for me, so I grab them all, hoping a drug cocktail and solid night’s sleep will be enough to finally kick this fever’s ass. Running a mental tally to make sure I have enough cash on me, I backtrack to snag a couple of bottles of water out of the cooler and take my place in the short line. The guy ahead of me at the counter is taking for-fucking-ever, and it’s a struggle to keep my eyes open as the room begins to spin.
Just need to hold it together for a few more minutes. Then I can find somewhere to park for the night that won’t get me towed, and sleep for the next two days straight.
“What is this bullshit? I said all of it!” The harsh demand is followed by a slap of a palm against the counter and the sound of a gun being cocked.
Only a few feet separate me from the man currently robbing the place, but when I take a step back, I crash into someone that slipped behind me in line. His hand wraps around my upper arm when I flinch away automatically, everything tumbling out of my hands to the floor with an obnoxiously loud clatter. A second later there’s a jagged hunting knife pressed to my throat, and my chest tightens painfully, my stomach threatening to revolt. My temporary flash of panic disappears as quickly as it arrived the moment I feel the leather brush against my neck instead of his bare skin.
Gloves. I’m okay, he didn’t touch me.
“Easy there, sweetcheeks.” The man behind me tightens his grip, the blade nicking my throat. “Don’t want to hurt such a pretty little thing, but I will if I have to. Hand over your phone, yeah?”
Swallowing, I stow my remaining panic in the deepest recesses of my mind. With my thoughts already a jumbled, semi-delirious mess, it’s the only shot I have at thinking clearly enough to get out of this. “I don’t have it on me; left it in the car.”
Releasing my arm, he rifles through every pocket of my jeans, taking his good sweet time and blatantly copping a feel of my ass. “Smart girl, not trying to lie to me.” Stealing my wallet, he tucks it away, roughly grabbing my arm again and dragging me forward.
The elderly cashier glances up from the open register, flicking his gaze to me and away before quickly shoving the rest of the money into the bag on the counter. “That really is all of it, I swear.”
“Bullshit,” the first spits, using his gun to gesture to what can’t be more than a couple hundred bucks.
“We don’t keep much cash on hand at night! Take anything else you want; cigarettes, scratch-offs, beer, whatever. But I’m telling you, that’s it.” Lifting his hands, he adds, “No need to hurt anybody.”
Wincing at the sudden gunshot, sweat beads on my skin. Heart hammering a mile a minute, I release a slow, steady exhale to keep myself rooted firmly to the spot. I know firsthand that situations like these, with emotions running high and volatile men, can escalate faster than a person can blink. One wrong word, one stupid choice, and neither me or that man will be walking out of here tonight. I stand a far better chance of surviving it than he does, but that still hinges on playing my cards right.
Lowering his arm from where he fired beside the old man’s head, he snarls, “Menthols, then. And your wallet.”
The cashier complies, sending another worried look my way. “Of course.”
While he hastens to follow orders as quickly as possible, the man holding me tightens his grip to bruising levels. “Maybe we should bring this one with us so the night isn’t a complete wash.”
A thin line of blood snakes down my neck as I grit my teeth, trying to force my abilities to the surface through sheer force of will, but I can’t find so much as a single spark. The temptation to throw my head back into this bastard’s nose and make a break for it is only kept in check by the heart-sinking realization that I can’t even count on my accelerated healing to save me this time.
Escape attempts are a lot easier to talk yourself into risking when you know that you can eventually heal from almost anything your attacker throws at you.
I just had to go and get sick. What kind of shifter getssick?
The gunman looks me over appraisingly, his soulless eyes sparking to life with interest that’s far too familiar, and I involuntarily shudder. For a moment, his blonde hair darkens a few shades, his brown eyes morphing to a piercing emerald that haunts my dreams even after all these years. The illusion shatters with the force of a gunshot; literally. Bullet shells clink against the floor as the cashier fires again a split second later, reflexes far better than I would have expected from the old man, but adrenaline is a powerful thing.
“Jay!” the asshole screams in my ear as we watch his friend fall, clutching his side and cursing up a storm.
Choices rapidly dwindling, I slam my head back, the ground tilting beneath my feet from the sudden head rush. The crunch of his nose and howl of pain are music to my ringing ears as I stumble forward, making it all of two steps before he wraps a hand around my hair, yanking me back.
“Fucking bitch!” he growls, hauling me against him.
Everything happens so quickly that it takes a few seconds for my sluggish brain to process it. One minute I’m being used as a human shield, the next there’s a knife buried in my stomach. Yanking the jagged blade free in an upward arc to gut me further, my captor shoves me away from him.
